Here’s what he did: he took both boys to Legoland Windsor for the entire day. Without me.
I hear there’s a castle in Windsor too, but as far as my kids are considered, it’s all about the Pirate Flume, baby.
We’ve been living out of suitcases now for a month, with another week to go, and while I love my children (especially now that they’re asleep), we’ve had a whole lot of together time in the last four weeks. A whole lot. A whole, whole, whole lot. Like they’re attached to me at the hip, shoulder, hand, elbow, neck, and knee. That kind of a lot. Think limpet.
So when Husband saw the ad for Legoland, he took pity on me and off they went. The boys planned their attack:
(That’s hot chocolate in Liam’s hand, btw, not coffee. I hope. But when you’re traveling with Daddy, anything can happen.)
They arrived to this:
Lots of lines, lots of crowds, lots of noise.
I pedaled through the park, dropped the bike at the top of Regent Street, and walked along the shops. Why is it that in other cities we do things we’d never, ever do at home? Because in New York, on a beautiful sunny day, the last thing in the world I would elect to do is wander down, say Fifth Avenue from 59th Street to Madison Square. I hate shopping, mostly, and department stores make me anxious. Too many choices! Too many escalators that never, ever, take you where you want to go!
I made my way down Regent Street, through the ghastliness of Piccadilly Circus, and roundabout to Somerset House for art at the Courtauld Gallery. Paintings that I got got look at without someone saying “can we go yet? can we go now? are you done now?”
There was an exhibit called “Falling Up”:
And the only thing I saw that came even close to a roller coaster were the stairs of Somerset House:
After I was done at Somerset House, I found another Cycle Stand, grabbed a bike, and pedaled back to our friend’s apartment through the late afternoon sunlight.
A day alone. Funny how ten years ago, in PKL (pre-kid life), a day alone didn’t seem like any big deal. Now? What a gift. More than atones for Husband’s evening ritual of carefully placing his dirty socks on the coffee table.
And hell, Windsor Castle has been there for umpteen hundred years. What’s the rush?
*the image of “Falling Up” is a piece by Catherine Parker, entitled “Neither From Nor Towards.” The stones are from the shoreline at Dover.