Sad Days

We just arrived back from a week in NYC due to a death in the family. Husband’s aunt died. It was not unexpected, but it was still sad. Despite our melancholy basis of the trip, it would be a lie to say it wasn’t also really nice. In this case, spending time with family in the wake of his aunt’s passing was special—people seemed more open, more giving, less afraid of emotion, more real. I think this outpouring of good will is due in large part to who she was, and also that she was no longer suffering. Also, all accounts suggest that Q was quite the nice leveler in a time of pain. It’s hard to cry when a 5 month old is grinning ear to ear at you.

No one knew we were in town since we came so spur of the moment, and it wasn’t a social visit. That helped to alleviate the hustle, and ironically, this trip was almost relaxing. Especially given that if Q was awake, usually someone else (read: grandparent) was holding him. I actually got a break.

However, what you must really be wondering is, were we in NY on the record breaking coldest day in years??? Why yes. Thank you for asking. We were (this is where I nod in self-congratulatory way for getting through a harrowing experience. My eyes are closed and I have a very earnest look on my face). How did we handle such weather you want to know? We were totally unprepared. It was horrible. I screamed when the air hit my face. But we managed to get through it somehow (commence nodding).

Actually, “somehow” came in the form of a suggestion to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My mother took young Q and me. I was willing to go only after hearing that there was an underground parking garage (who knew?). It was actually the perfect activity. There was lots of walking around with plenty to look at. No one told Quinn about museum manners, so he decided to comment on the art in the form of screeches, babbles and oohs and ahhs. He commented very loudly. He thought the art was okay, but the light fixtures were really something worth talking about. We had three hours to kill, so I even paid for the head set for my tour. But it was a bad one. I like it when they tell the dirty back-story on the artist and their lives (e.g. “Pollack was a terrible drunk and at the time of this painting was a shameless womanizer.” Or, “Van Gogh was certifiable when he painted this and cut off his ear the following week”). This headset just went on and on about the actual art. Bor-ring.

But it was still great. It seemed that everyone with a stroller in NYC decided the Met was a good way to escape the apartment on a freezing day because there were babies everywhere. I hadn’t been to the Met for years. When we entered the glass room that holds Temple of Dendur, it really felt…well sort of religious. It was beautiful.

Now we are home. The baby thinks he should wake up at 5am everyday and forego naps.