Children Are a Drag

Amazing how much energy children have until you finally go somewhere YOU want to go. Then the wind dies beneath their wings, and they are a draaaaag. This is a picture of my friend and I celebrating Mother’s Day at Storm King Art Center, a fantastic park of rolling hills and giant sculptures. Here we are, Secil and me, at the end of a hot day, each of us dragging our respective fifth grader past a red Alexander Calder. At certain points of our walk, our ten-year-olds have been cartwheeling and flipping alongside Andy Goldsworthy’s stone wall, flinging themselves down grassy slopes, hopping on and off Richard Serra’s steel plate and traipsing along its edge like it was a balance beam. And in between sculptures, they whine how their little spring chicken behinds are—say it with me—tiiiiiirrred.