Sunday, July 13, 2003
Reason #1 Why I Love NYC -- Angela's Diner
Yesterday morning we woke up at 7:00, a little late for around here. We were very tired because for the past couple of weeks we've been working on getting Jonah, aged 4, potty trained at night. Mixed success. Quite often, he'll appear in our bedroom at 2:00 am rubbing his eyes and announcing "I'm wet. Moan." Clothes have to be changed, and a towel put over the wet spot on the bed until morning.
Anyhow, we were beat, beat, beat, so we all headed downstairs to Angela's Diner. I just pulled my hair back in a pony tail, and threw on some clothes. No shower or make up needed. The diner is right around the corner from our apartment on 187th Street. We're bed to booth in five minutes.
Our waiter has been there a long time. In the New York tradition, we don't know each others' names, but we always say hi. He's bald with a thick curvy mustache, a depressed Hercules Poirot. And he knows exactly what we're going to order -- "two-fried-eggs-on-a-roll-bacon-cheese-two-times-and-silver-dollar-pancakes-for-the-boy."
The kids did a good job in the diner. Jonah is finally able to sit and eat his meal without running around or crawling under the table. And Ian was too hungry to run about and just shoved little bits of Jonah's food in his mouth for 20 minutes. We were all able to eat our food and finish one cup of coffee. Didn't make it through the free refill, but that's okay.
Yesterday morning we woke up at 7:00, a little late for around here. We were very tired because for the past couple of weeks we've been working on getting Jonah, aged 4, potty trained at night. Mixed success. Quite often, he'll appear in our bedroom at 2:00 am rubbing his eyes and announcing "I'm wet. Moan." Clothes have to be changed, and a towel put over the wet spot on the bed until morning.
Anyhow, we were beat, beat, beat, so we all headed downstairs to Angela's Diner. I just pulled my hair back in a pony tail, and threw on some clothes. No shower or make up needed. The diner is right around the corner from our apartment on 187th Street. We're bed to booth in five minutes.
Our waiter has been there a long time. In the New York tradition, we don't know each others' names, but we always say hi. He's bald with a thick curvy mustache, a depressed Hercules Poirot. And he knows exactly what we're going to order -- "two-fried-eggs-on-a-roll-bacon-cheese-two-times-and-silver-dollar-pancakes-for-the-boy."
The kids did a good job in the diner. Jonah is finally able to sit and eat his meal without running around or crawling under the table. And Ian was too hungry to run about and just shoved little bits of Jonah's food in his mouth for 20 minutes. We were all able to eat our food and finish one cup of coffee. Didn't make it through the free refill, but that's okay.
