Although green space sometimes feels short on the ground here in the city, the truth is we are spoiled for parks. They aren't always handy when you need to
just run for a few minutes and they lack the
will you please just go outside and play! thing, but there really are a plethora of parks for the choosing. We all seem to have our favorite. Briton loves Hudson Beach down at Riverside, Evelyn prefers "her" playground in Union Square ("What will they call Evelyn's Playground when we move?").
Will and I love Bryant Park. It's not, really, a kid park, although there are lots of kids in it, and so we don't go as often as I'd like. But it remains my favorite, mostly because it hosts an outdoor reading room where anyone can come and sit and read to their heart's content. The fact that it has both a coffee stand and a wine bar doesn't hurt either. Evelyn really really needed to show her uncle the real Pooh Bear, which gave us the perfect excuse to spend an hour just sitting and watching in the sun, with a view of both the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building in the background. What could be better?
My brothers whirlwind trip over the weekend meant that we got to play tourist in a way that we haven't before. Grand Central, Ellis Island, MOMA, a play, a park or three, we squeezed a lot in over three days.
You never know what you might see here. You could be walking down the street, minding your own business, and run into some acrobats. You just never know.
Things that she loves.
Waterlilies
And twirling.
When he was two, I worried that he didn't have a good imagination, that he didn't pretend or make up stories. Obviously there was nothing to worry about. For either of them. And thank goodness too, because I don't think I can imagine a world where the frames of an old pair of sunglasses cant be turned into goggles with a little pink sock yarn and where my children don't spend hours and hours making up intricate tales of imaginary lands where Lego men fight epic battles with the folks from Playmobil and a Pink Pig in a tutu doesn't rule the world. That would be tragic indeed.
