Time is running out.
We barely see either kid anymore. Eli is wither working or hanging in Chicago or trying to hack nuclear codes in our basement. Luca is constantly with his ball of arms and legs and baseball hats. The day that Diana and I officially become empty nesters is fast approaching.
We’re on a constant hunt to find ways to force them to hang out with us. We can barely get them to sit with us long enough to shovel food down their throats before the night shift of friends begins.
So we decided to take a trip to New York. I have a soft spot for the city from my publishing days. Maybe I could get one of them to move to New York so I can come visit every weekend and continue my search for the most beautiful person and/or the craziest person on the planet.
By coincidence, it was the hottest week of the year. “It will just be like ‘Do The Right Thing!” I’d say, not remembering the second half of the movie.
It stormed in Chicago the morning we left, and our flight was promptly cancelled.
While people scrambled around O’Hare, Diana and I silently agreed not to freak out. If this was one of our last vacations together it was the kids who were going to ruin it, not us. Diana found us a flight on a competing airline and I asked not one, not two not three, but four different people if our luggage would arrive in New York.
“Oh yeah. Totally. We have our top people tracking down your luggage. Why I think I see your luggage right now. They’re black squares, right? Yeah. Those are going to meet you at the gate.”
We arrived in New York and spent a delightful hour trying to track down our luggage. The hilariously New York baggage dept laughed when we told them the tale of our helpful O’Hare crew. They waved their arms at the thousands of misplaced luggage littering the terminal.
Don’t freak out, we silently said to ourselves.
We promised everyone new wardrobes if the stuff didn’t arrive the next morning. We b-lined to our hotel (which was lovely) and decided to grab some provisions before dinner. I forced Eli to join me in visiting an authentic bodega.
“Look at this city, Eli! The energy. The people. Ooh look. That person is beautiful. Ooh, a crazy person! Don’t you want to live here?”
“It smells.”
I shoved him into the first shop I could find. Upon entry, I realized I should have done a little more research with my eyeballs. It was less “Bodega” and more “Place you go to take a B.M. after shooting up heroin.” The plywood shelves sagged with sadness. The patrons coughed on each other (and us). The owner was unrecognizable behind 14 inches of bullet proof glass.
I tried to make the best of it. “Huh. I bet you’ve never seen anyone that strung out before, huh Eli? No sir, I will not buy you a Coors.”
After buying the oldest toothpaste in the world we hightailed it out of there and met Luca and Diana for some real authentic touristy Italian food. The wine was delicious, the waiter was hilariously surly and the boys were in high spirits after we promised to buy their love with as many souvenirs as they could carry.
Our luggage arrived the next morning in perfect condition. Stay tuned for part 2.
