Trifecta

Well, what would you say if I told you that arriving to my own daughter's party late was not the worst thing that happened in the last 72 hours. I could be expansive and right you a short play about the last 72 hours, but I am currently gagging from the vomit I just cleaned up from the crib and poor V, who awoke 1.5 hours after bedtime covered in thick vomit. It looked like someone had splattered his baby food jar all over him. Well, Sunday was a real doozy. We planned to meet F's Italian relatives on the 2/3 platform at 34 St to go to the Brooklyn Museum. That would have been dandy if I had checked the damn MTA website. No 2/3 service on the weekend. After taking the same train that we took downtown UP and back, we proceeded to ride the colors of the rainbow to arrive, one hour and 40 minutes, yes the time that you can drive to another city in, to the exhibit. While it was lovely, you have to remember that each line change involves finding an elevator or hauling a humungous double stroller, babies in tow, up and down steps. Suffice it to say that we spent well over three hours on the train yesterday. This am, when I got to work I thought it strange to not have my daily love note on my desk, by where F leaves the pump. Guess what? I ran up to M's classroom thinking maybe he had left it there in a rush. At home? Nope, he took it to work! I spent another 1.5 hours on the train today to go retrieve this fucking artifact on 11th AVENUE and 25th St. No more mishaps. No more bullshit. BASTA. Off to watch a silly movie.