The time change screwed us. “Go west young man,” my ass. If we travel to the east coast, they’re cool. West coast, up at 330am. It’s a delightful time to start your day. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, so we play inside suitcases, unplug every lamp, and try to kill ourselves by jumping off the bed.
At the ass crack of dawn we venture out to breakfast and I become immediately terrified. This is not my first time in San Francisco but I’d somehow forgotten exactly how steep the hills are. I feel like I’m about to to do an Olympic Super G with a stroller. We have to lean them almost all the way back to keep our balance going down and going up feels safer but my legs are shaking a bit, so maybe not that safe.
We find a sweet little French cafe that nearly can’t fit us but I’m determined to get a fruit tart so I can’t care about things like physics. The bug’s eggs taste funny (they don’t) and mouse will only eat out of Derek’s hand so we’re off to a great start. There’s another family with much older kids and I sense them inwardly laughing at our efforts to eat and keep the kids from destroying this place. As they’re leaving they ask us if we’re from Madison. Apparently they were on the plane with me yesterday and it turns out they’re our neighbors. Is there a less trite way to say, “small world?”
We make our way to the piers so we’re can gawk at the boats, sea lions, and other tourists. Derek and I keep arguing about letting the kids loose. I’m of the opinion that children should be able to explore and run, Derek’s of the opinion that they shouldn’t be playing with dead clams or eating soiled napkins. He’s so uptight.
We decide we’re over the chaos and the piers are getting crowded so we stop for caffeine and snacks before heading out. We immediately cause a scene because our 16m old shoves food into his gob with such gusto that he doesn’t bother chewing or swallowing and sourdough defeated him. As Derek is pounding his back to dislodge the baseball size hunk of bread I’m trying to reassure the bystanders that this is not uncommon. Mouse’s relationship with food is intense. #same
We walked to the Presidio and it was a glorious day to walk along the water. After mouse fell asleep bug kept asking to go back to the hotel. We took that as normal 3yr old complaining until I realized the kid needed to poop. He’s quite particular and none of the bathrooms thus far met his lofty criteria. It took a lot of cajoling and a promise of ice cream but Derek eventually convinced him to take a three-day-in-the-making poop at Starbucks. Take that public bathroom!
We took a much harried walk to a park I’d read about with a great view of the Golden Gate Bridge. I decided to forgo my paper map for an app. San Francisco’s not a terribly well marked city and apparently without being able to move the map around and pretend I just walked into it ala fantasy kids shows I’m kind of a disaster. Damn technology. (I just figured out how to lock google maps in place.) We did get to the Yoda fountain and all the boys were thrilled. The park was beautiful and just what the kids needed. Mouse was ecstatic about going down the slides even though he ended up sideways and upside down every time and bug, well he just likes sand.
After one of the biggest and most life-giving burritos I’ve ever had we discover that California is one of the few states that doesn’t exempt taxis from carseat laws. We will either have a 90 min walk back to the hotel or we’re braving public transit. The high likelihood of the kids falling asleep in strollers makes the decision for us and we’re off to find a bus. After 26 stops and 26, “Is this our hotel?”s we basically fall off the bus in a flurry of strollers, bags, and babies.
We’re done. We’re refusing to parent any longer. We put on the Octonauts and get some peace before bedtime.
Travels with Larson and Co 