On our last (beautiful) day in New York, Brandon, James and I walked.
Just like those pioneer children.
Being struck with a fit of insanity, our first stop was City Hall, where we battled a crowd of over a million elated (and hammered) Giants fans to catch a glimpse of the victorious Super Bowl champs in the ticker-tape parade.
We never did catch that glimpse, but the people watching was superb and James was entranced by the confetti falling from the buildings.
Turns out, drunk sports fans are very protective of babies.
A group of shirtless frat boys formed a barrier around James to protect him from the masses.
Heroes covered in blue and red paint.
And just when you thought all the Occupiers had packed up their tents and found showers, we ran into this guy:
Still scratching my head over that one.
Next stop: the Village.
James simply had to stroll down Bleeker.
We ducked into John's for lunch.
Good pizza, but can we please just have a moment of silence for Grimaldi's in Brooklyn?
I don't think I'll ever get over the loss of that place.
Little did I know, pizza crust is the key to my child's happiness.
He is most definitely my son.
After downing an entire pizza, naturally our next stop was Magnolia Bakery for cupcakes.
And then Pinkberry.
Because you can't have cake without ice cream.
Or something like that.
Constant junk food consumption requires constant exercise, thus we walked up to FIT to check out the free fashion exhibit.
One day I would like to wear a dress worth thousands of dollars.
Though my yoga pants make me feel equally luxurious...