New York, New York. Except Not.

A week ago yesterday, I was in New York City with the Tornadoes. It was Day Two of a three day trip which I had arranged months earlier as their "big" Christmas gift, and which began a week ago Friday with an excruciatingly slow bus ride in the middle of a blizzard.

Aside from the prolonged commute, Day One played out pretty much exactly as I had been rehearsing it in my head for two months: Infected with the energy of the city at night, we ignored the bitter cold and set off for Rockefeller Center, where we ice skated and then rode to the Top of the Rock and gazed out at the city surrounding us. The Tornadoes honored my request for a texting moratorium with ease. It was so magical, I didn't even mind that we had dinner at Olive Garden.

Day Two? Still bitterly cold out. My planned itinerary of museums, local eateries and general assimilation? Not so much. How about hours upon hours in Times Square inside Toys R Us, Aeropostale, Forever 21 and American Eagle? They are too different, Mom. They are multiple floors. How about TGI Fridays for lunch and Sbarro for dinner? And about that art you want us to see and possibly find inspiring. How about an eighty dollar hansom cab tour of Central Park instead? It's culture, Mom. See? The Friends fountain! You love Friends! And that school over there? That's where Buddy the Elf picked up his little brother! And here's where they got into their epic snowball fight! Culture! So what if the charming West African hansom cab operator said that the author of Stuart Little also wrote Alice in Wonderland. We have blankets!

We did follow the planned evening agenda of attending a show with the rest of our bus trip group. Putting aside the fact that our designated show, Billy Elliott, was positively riddled with foul language and inappropriate sexual references (which would lead, several days later, to Fifth Grader being taken into the hallway at school to "have a talk" with the Vice Principal, who is Australian and who happens to know the meaning behind those derogatory terms that Fifth Grader was "sharing" with her curious classmates), I'd say it was a delightful night of family fun. And I only had to tell Seventh Grader once to stop texting in the middle of the show.

A perfect ending to the evening, as I had envisioned (for two months), would have been to share animated discussion of the performance we had witnessed while also sharing a little after-show dessert. Almost as much fun was what we actually did: tromp on back to Times Square in skirts and nylons and heeled boots (still bitterly cold out, mind you) in order to retrieve Fifth Grader's cell phone, which she had accidentally left in a third floor dressing room of American Eagle earlier in the day. We then chose to retire for the night to our hot, dry-as-a-bone hotel room. This was a great idea, most notably because it provided just the missing environmental ingredient needed to push my burgeoning cold into full bloom.

A week ago today, I surrendered my plans to introduce the Tornadoes to Greenwich Village and SoHo. Instead, I sniffled and sneezed my way through Times Square - AGAIN - to help them frantically throw away their spending money on cheap t shirts and candy. Once that fun was had, I blew their minds. "Yes," I said, "I am perfectly okay with sitting in the hotel lobby for hours until the bus comes so you can text and play on your iPods." I settled them into the lobby, excused myself for fifteen minutes to clear out the nearest Duane Reade of all of its tissues and cold medicine, plus a quick stop at the only Dunkin' Donuts I had seen in three days, settled into a hotel lobby chair and died. When the bus arrived, I boarded and died again. I was resurrected about midday on Wednesday.

I'm so glad to have been able to take them to New York for an entire weekend. It is one of my favorite places on the planet. I'm equally glad to have transformed into writing the details of our special weekend. Sitting here in my toasty but well ventilated living room, with my sinuses clear and my day free of plans, I look back on the story that has just unfolded on my computer screen. And I wish to take back the fourteen times this weekend I have whined, "I am so bored."

I'm going to take a nap now.