New York. And Jetlag (sigh).

I’m home. In France.

It’s 1:00 in the morning and my kids are still up (when I had hoped they had the sense to cry themselves to sleep after I screamed at them). I just couldn’t take it anymore. I mean, don’t they know they have school tomorrow? Don’t they get that they have to resist the jetlag and re-train their bodies and minds to be on french timing?

Oh! There goes Petit Prince now. I thought at least he had fallen asleep.

You see, I was a cool mom. I understood that they had trouble sleeping. I picked them up, cajoled them, laughed with them, made them peanut butter sandwhiches at midnight because their little bodies thought it was dinner time. But enough is enough, isn’t it? We all have to get up bright and early tomorrow.

I wonder how long he’s going to scream.

But here are a few shots of the last leg of our journey.

This was supposed to be a poetic shot of the kids chasing the pigeons with Times Square as the back-drop. Except that NY pigeons are so fat and lazy. They feel … entitled. Barely a wing was lifted. And since that little area is now a pedestrian walkway, they have all the rights they could wish for. They have some serious lobbyists on their side.

What is Petit Prince staring at?

Oh!

We celebrated Young Knight’s fifth birthday (for the third time) at …

you guessed it. Can you imagine the shock and awe when they dimmed the lights and the entire restaurant started singing?

Finally, here is the picture of me and Dusty Earth Mother.

We’re real life friends and we crashed at their place while in NY. You can read about her experience here, but suffice it to say that it was such a traumatizing experience that she felt compelled to warn everyone with a list of do’s and dont’s when entertaining bloggers.

It’s fine, Shar – I’m not hurt or anything and I never even bring up when Letter Boy decided to feed a gum drop to Petit Prince when he was only two months old.  (Except when I teased you about it the minute I arrived.  Oh, and when I blogged about it on the World Wide Web).

No just kidding. We go way back and the Pistol is three months younger than Young Lady, and Letter Boy is three months older than Young Knight. I wanted to buy matching BFF tee shirts from Gymboree for the Pistol and Young Lady, but they didn’t have the right size. Plus, the Pistol calls Young Lady “that girl” so it might really be the moms that are BFF’s and trying to shove it down our girls’ throats.  D’ya think?

Oh wow. All three kids have started screaming.  It’s 1:07.

I’m going to go jump off a bridge.

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