Did ya hear the one about the girl who fell into an open manhole into the sewer, because she was texting? It really happened.
Last week, we went into NYC to meet a friend who was in town visiting. The kids and I drove in quite uneventfully. In spite of the fact that it was late afternoon at the beginning of rush hour, we had absolutely no traffic. We were walking through Times Square, towards Toys R Us, which is a must-stop for the kids anytime we are in town. I'm not sure what the appeal is, because I never buy anything for them, but if you are visiting, it's definitely worth a stop to see the Lego displays.
I was holding Kyle's hand in one hand, and texting with the other hand, letting my friend know that we had made it, as we walked on the median down the middle of Times Square. And then. . . .
Well, let's just say that I'm glad that there wasn't an open manhole that day. There was about a four-inch curb, which I walked right off of and did a firm face plant. I landed right on the heels of my hands, badly scraping one of them. My knees felt scraped through my jeans as well.
"Are you okay?" my children asked me. "Are you all right?" the strangers who witnessed the spectacle asked.
"I'm fine," I replied, crawling out of the main footpath. I examined my hand, which was not only scraped, but bleeding, and fished out a bandaid from my purse.
Once we got to Toys R Us, I washed up in the bathroom and rebandaged my hand.
A week later, I'm still nursing my wounds. My hand has scabbed over, and I did indeed scrape and bruise my knees. But you know what? It was worth it.
We had a great dinner at Tony DiNapoli's (and most importantly to Amanda -- for the first time ever we ordered dessert).
I got to see an old friend, and our kids got to meet, which was especially poignant to me, since the reason we came together is over our kids. Almost eleven years ago, we started an email group when our big kids were just babies to help us get through those first few months of scheduling feedings, sleep training and more. Eleven years later, the eleven of us moms are still in touch.