The younger girl, she's really talking now. She loves to point and identify. Modes of transportation are her current favorite pastime. We pass the Metro station and she yells Daddy's train!! We pass a school bus and she yells bussy!! We pass a Barwood taxi and she yells taxi!!
Would that life could be so straightforward.
Mama, sighs the older girl impatiently, tell my sister that's not REALLY a taxi.
"But it is, love. It is a taxi."
No, Mama. Her impatience is now directed to me. REAL taxis are not blue. REAL taxis are yellow.
Not so, here. E doesn't believe me that the blue car isn't fraudulent, but the biggest taxi fleet in our county is, in fact, not yellow.
When E was a little younger than L's age now and L was but a comparable kicker in my belly to her future-brother now, we took E for a long weekend to New York City. It's a city that M and I both love and know well. We thought it would be fun to have a bit of an adventure with E while we were still a family of three. I don't often acknowledge that there are perks to M's extensive work travel schedule, but one perk is his impressive collection of hotel rewards points. On that long weekend we booked a suite high in the air over Times Square, from which vantage we could look down on the lights and the thrumming city energy, and, of course, the taxis. E spent every indoor moment of that weekend with her nose pressed against the window, like this:
(Excuse the bad, old cell phone shot.) She was too young then to remember that trip directly, but she looks at photos often, and asks us to tell her stories. She believes she remembers the City.
Mama. REAL taxis are not blue. REAL taxis cannot be blue. L doesn't understand. We have to take her to New York City.
It's not like M has stopped traveling for work in the past two years. This is what hotel points are for, no?
We're going tonight.