I Heart New York

This is a long one. Get comfortable.

The Tornadoes and I arrived in Yonkers Friday night after dark, and I was so overjoyed to finally be off the Taconic freaking Parkway that I shuffled the Tornadoes inside Miss T.'s house and didn't look back. What is up with the Taconic Parkway? I have never before seen a highway with perpendicular on and off ramps and zero lighting. Yeah, put that picture together in your head -and remember you are travelling at 55+ mph. Whatever, New York.

This was all about having a girls' weekend, and six of the others had journeyed to Yonkers from New Hampshire a day earlier. To be clear, when I say "girls' weekend," I'm talking seven little girls, four moms, and Bernie. Technically, as mother of Miss M. and Miss T., Bernie is mom #5. And you know I am not normally a user of names here. But Bernie? Is so Bernie. Miss T. -the brave soul - was gracious enough to allow all of us (except Bernie, who lives seven minutes away) to crash all the hell over her house. What was left of Friday night once I got there was, in a nutshell, a whole lotta females watching Grease, speaking every line and singing every song from memory. In a word: glorious.

How we managed to sleep, shower, eat, dress, and make it into two vehicles with seven little girls AND seven American Girl dolls (oh yes) by 10 a.m. Saturday morning astounds me, but somehow it happened.

Now, I've been to Manhattan many times, and as I have always felt that, deep down, I am part New Yorker - even before I ever set foot in the city, which was not until adulthood - I typically try to blend in. A party of twelve? Does not blend in. ...Not important, as we are all much too absorbed with keeping the group together and getting to the pier, where we embark on a water taxi tour to see the Statue of Liberty and the infamous waterfalls. This is a fine idea, it turns out, because nobody can escape. We all marvel at Liberty Island and take many pictures. The waterfall under the Brooklyn Bridge is especially cool to see up close. I realize I am sightseeing, but so is Bernie, and she lives here. Bernie makes it okay. That's my logic. Anyway, the Tornadoes really loved it.

Our next destination is lunch, midtown. We do not want to move the cars. Bernie inquires of the non-English-speaking parking attendant where we might catch a bus. Bernie then leaves us - eleven of us, mind you - and walks up and around the block in search of a bus stop or bus schedule or other bus-related intelligence. She returns empty-handed and we all begin to walk, as though twelve of us in a heap will have better luck. I have taken the subway here before, no problem, but I am having trouble with the image of seven hungry little girls sitting through multiple stops on a bus, and am not at all disappointed to find that the bus we finally locate will only accept coins and metrocards for payment. Taxi convoy it is!

Lunch is exactly how you might picture it. 'Nuff said.

And now we are off to our crowning destination, the real reason we are all here: American Girl Place.

Guess what? It's a store.

I mean, I knew it was a store before we went. But I believe in magic. Oh yes. I do. And for the Tornadoes, I do believe it was a magical place. (It magically sucked up some dough, I can tell you that much.) For Mama? ...It hit me in the doll hair salon - which is not actually a salon but a booth with about a dozen miniature salon chairs mounted on the counter - while I watched the "stylist" work on Second Grader's doll, who was seated in one of these chairs and draped with a little cape.

Oh My God. I'm a tourist.

We American Girled ourselves out after two hours, thank heavens, and taxi convoyed on back to the cars and back to Yonkers.

I have not mentioned the fact that Second Grader almost stepped off a curb and got herself killed TWICE, or that a certain youngest of the seven showed New York a thing or two about public screeching. While I'm at it, I won't mention that Second Grader puked all the way back to Yonkers and on through the night for no discernible reason. What I will say is this:

Tourist or no, I still heart New York.

Miss T., you are a saint of a hostess.

Who loves ya, Bernie!