So there I was, in our Hampton Inn room on Friday night, presenting Rashid with my masterfully researched LIRR plan like I was unveiling the crown jewels. “Babylon Station, 30-minute drive, 1 hour 13 minutes to Penn Station!” I announced, probably gesturing dramatically with whatever I had in my hands at the moment.
He just nodded and kept eating (we managed to get some drive-thru from a fast food nearby). Smart man – he’s learned that when I get into planning mode, resistance is futile.
MoMA
Saturday morning arrived with that perfect “let’s conquer Manhattan” energy. We drove to Babylon Station like seasoned commuters, caught our train with zero drama, and emerged from Penn Station feeling absolutely invincible.
MoMA was chef’s kiss perfection. Having a membership has its privileges – we sailed past the tourist lines straight into cultural bliss. The Jack Whitten exhibition on the 6th floor? Extraordinary. This man was creating textural masterpieces that made my design-loving heart sing.
Then we made the mistake of going to the 5th floor.
Sweet mother of Picasso, the CROWDS. Hordes of people clustering around single pieces like they’d discovered the Holy Grail. I’m standing there thinking, “I’ve seen Dalí’s house-museum in Figueres, Picasso’s fortress studio in Antibes, wandered the Louvre like I owned it…” This tourist chaos was making my cultured soul physically uncomfortable.
So we escaped to the 2nd floor Hilma af Klint watercolors. Magnifying glasses, intimate viewing, civilized appreciation. Much better.
The Family Lunch
We met Simone and her friend Sam at this lovely French restaurant about 10 minutes from MoMA. Vegetarian cuisine, birthday celebration vibes, and that perfect moment when you realize your daughter is turning into this amazing young woman who picks interesting friends and navigates Manhattan like a pro.
Twenty-two years old (well, June 9th), and here she is having sophisticated lunches in the city. When did that happen?
The Weather Gods Laughed
Here’s where my story takes a turn toward absolute comedy.
I’d given Simone my umbrella because I’m a thoughtful mother. Then, as we started our 30-minute walk to Pier 83 for the harbor cruise, Manhattan decided to unleash what can only be described as biblical rainfall.
Picture this: two middle-aged adults suddenly seeking shelter in the first open door we could find. Which happened to be… a gay men’s adult store.
The staff was absolutely delightful and helpful, directing us to a nearby pharmacy where we could find proper rain gear. So off we went, completely soaked, to purchase car detailing towels (for hair drying – genius level problem solving), transparent ponchos, and a large umbrella.
Rashid looked like a wet poodle. I looked like what I can only describe as a “transparent burrito.” And I was LAUGHING the entire time because honestly, what else can you do when Manhattan weather decides to test your sense of humor?
The Harbor Cruise Redemption
But here’s the magical part – we arrived at Pier 83 as the only passengers seated in these gorgeous Circle Line Premier burgundy leather seats. The entire boat, essentially to ourselves, sailing around Manhattan in our post-rain glory.
The skyline was spectacular. The Statue of Liberty obligingly posed for photos. The Manhattan Bridge stretched across the water like a steel poem. And just as we disembarked? The sun emerged like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
Our clothes dried naturally as we walked the 35 minutes back to Penn Station, ears buzzing from the city energy, Valentino camera bag performing flawlessly, and that canvas bag from Newport carrying everything from MoMA prints to emergency detailing towels.
The Exhaustion Victory
By the time we collapsed onto the LIRR train back to Babylon, I was completely done. Rashid kept poking me every time I dozed off (protective husband mode), we shared terrible Penn Station tea, and I apparently sleep-talked a request for “caprese salad with gelato on top” – which I have zero memory of saying.
When we finally made it back to the hotel, my body had one very clear message: “BED. That’s all I want!”
Rashid went off to find solo Chick-fil-A dinner while I became one with the hotel pillows.
But the takeaway?
Sometimes the best adventures are the ones where everything goes slightly wrong in the most entertaining way possible. Manhattan tested our optimism, our fashion choices, and our emergency shopping skills.
We passed every test with flying colors and transparent ponchos.
Next time though, I’m keeping my own umbrella.
All Around The World 