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IS MOMMY ALWAYS RIGHT?

So we’re minding a couple of extra kids on this beautiful Sunday  (cause were nice like that),  and are in search of an activity that will capture the attention of this sophisticated crew:

a leg casted 4 year old girlie,

a 7 years old sports fan,

a 9 year old “know-it all”,

a  grumpy “I’d rather sit on my couch” dad,

and yours truly .

At first, when I come up with the grand plan of visiting the Brooklyn Flea Market, I get a lot of resistance from the children (“I don’t wanna go to the flea market……. what’s a flea market?), and the adult (“Isn’t it too hot to be outdoors, looking at junk?)” but I insist  in my insisting voice that it will be great fun. So we all pile into the car and head to Williamsburg, to the Brooklyn Flea market.

Walking down the street towards the market , we encounter a woman playing charming  old circus tunes on an xylophone, and strategically painted “toes” on the sidewalk, simulating feet jutting out from under the cement. So far so good.  We are three minutes into our excursion and no one is complaining that they are bored.

I hate to say, “I told you so” but we get to the Brooklyn Flea Market and we are all completely mesmerized by the scene. There are vendors booths, selling all kinds of wares, from second-hand clothes, to artisanal leather goods, to historic knick-knacks and artifacts, to retro and vintage toys and memorabilia, to handmade jewelry, to antique furniture. The kids run into the first booth and start rummaging through the goods.IMG_5422 Earlier I had mentioned to the kids that as an incentive for not whining, I would buy each of them a “memento” from the flea market. D picks up a small leather encased pouch and asks if he can have it. I examine the contents and sure enough, it houses a swiss-army knife.   (“You can’t have that, D. But you said we could pick anything we wanted. Yes, so  pick something else. But I really really want this ……”). Of course I can’t hear him anymore because suddenly a beautiful lavender caftan is calling me, in Arabic (it’s native tongue). Two (draped in lavender) glances in the mirror later, and the caftan is purchased. Score for Team Mom.

The kids are scavenging each booth with such intensity, like flea market pros, pointing out all their interesting finds. IMG_5513 Grumpy husband is overcome with nostalgia seeing toys he remembers playing with as a child. T models retro shades. D sees a life-sized Statue of Liberty replica. S stares at a sweet baby doll dressed in lace, sitting innocently on a rocking chair. (Come to think of it, she’s not so sweet looking. She’s kind of reminiscent of “Chuckie”).

D is enthralled with a mini matchbox set, a vintage baseball poster, and a pokeman. T finds a dreidel-person, an etch-a-sketch, and a mini cabbage patch doll.

Hubby waxes poetic about the wooden puppy he says he owned many years ago. S parks herself on the floor and rummages thru Curious George bins.  

Hours and oodles of fun later, we finally settle on mustache rings for T, a retro race car for S and a sports poster for D.  We leave giddy with our new experience,  and the kids already asking when can we do this again.

YES,  MOMMY IS ALWAYS RIGHT!