spaces
Over the past week I’ve developed a couple of theories about my husband and his relationship with hotel rooms. Allow me to share:
Theory #1 Ali enters a new hotel room and views it as a blank canvas. In his artist’s mind he thinks…“How can I make these 600 square feet my own? How can I leave my mark? What is the best way to fill this empty space so that it feels like home?”
Theory #2 Ali enters a hotel room and instantly thinks…“CHALLENGE: How many little nooks and crannies can I find to shove my water bottles, subway tickets, computers, cables, and socks, so as to magnify my wife’s irritation when she stumbles over my stuff?”
Instead of complaining I suppose I should appreciate my husband’s hidden talents. For example, his ability to reach new heights with his pajamas, belt, and robe.
**Edited to Add: I swear on my life that those are black pajamas hanging down from the top shelf. I am a terrible wife but I would never post a picture of my husband’s boxers on the Internet!**
Or his crazy knack of finding hidden spaces that I don’t notice until I have to aid him in an episode of “Search and Rescue: The Watch.”
It’s no secret I hate L.A. and I had no desire to come back. But having the luxury of throwing Ali’s stuff in his closet and closing the door?
Worth coming home to.
a lack of exercise
“Guess what Ali? I haven’t been to the gym all week and I feel okay with that!”
“How nice for you.”
Breakfast at Norma's at Le Parker Meridien.
Now if anyone else had said that to me I would have instantly assumed sarcasm. But since Ali is incapable of sarcasm, I correctly assumed complete disinterest instead.
But I knew you – my blog friends – would understand what a remarkable accomplishment this is for someone who normally spends a minimum of one hour in the gym, every single day.
Bouchon at the Time Warner Center. Divine.
Okay, so maybe part of me just doesn’t want to shell out a ridiculous gym fee, on top of the $$$ we are already paying for a 7 night stay in NYC. Le Parker Meridien? We are not impressed.
But the old me would have opened up Ali’s wallet anyway, especially after eating a handful of Maya’s french fries and then some of Ali’s Serendipity chocolate cake minutes later.
Serendipity = massively overrated. I swear, the sacrifices I makes for my child...
Although Dr. Oz would no doubt shake his head in dismay, I believe I’ve discovered a new formula for success: Mass amounts of sugar + fried foods + no gym = progress in my book.
my ridiculousness
On any given day, as I run from work to pick up Maya and then hit the grocery store and the dry cleaners…I feel overwhelmed.
But guess what? When I’m on vacation and I have nothing to do and I face a whole bunch of empty hours…I also feel overwhelmed.
The best part of NYC? Someone else does the driving. Oh and Maya? I don't like the running shoes/dress combination. Not one bit.
“I’m a bit nervous,” I told Ali yesterday morning.“How am I supposed to fill an entire day when I have no schedule? No plan?”
Ali just shook his head, mapped out a Starbucks on his iPhone, and took off to spend quality time with his laptop.
Cirque del Soleil's Zarkana at Radio City Music Hall...
After I eased my conscience by surreptitiously checking in on Maya at her first day of NYC summer camp (I’m not completely heartless – just very close) I decided to just start walking around the city completely agenda-less.
Dinner at Tao...
I discovered Chelsea Market, shopped at a new-to-me Anthropologie, and browsed a random farmer’s market. I walked to Union Square and spent an hour in a bookstore and then perused the biggest shoe store ever – DSW.
I battled the madness known as Eataly and ate lunch. By myself. I hit up Macy’s and Whole Foods and Central Park and then, before I knew it, it was time to meet Maya’s bus.
Dinner at Trattoria del Arte. It wasn't as good as we remembered...
And when all was said and done, and I’d walked more than 45 blocks and far too many avenues, I realized that I had one of the best days ever. So it was a good day, but I still felt guilty that it was a day filled with doing nothing I needed to do and everything I wanted to do.
Tell me, will there ever come a time where I don’t feel guilty about something?
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 