Weekend in San Francisco 2: Why is this happening?

After the ballet we checked in to the hotel. The extremely new, extremely fancy hotel. So new it still smells new. Kind of like a new car. The lobby is very modern and understated, the hallways are all wood-paneled and quiet, and the room was big enough for two kids to play in happily. That's saying a lot when one of them is an extremely active boy who likes to run and jump. This hotel is so new and fancy that it has a touch-screen monitor that controls all kinds of things in the room: it raises the curtains, controls the lights, turns on the radio and sets the alarm, dials the lobby and the concierge, even has some kind of electronic do-not-disturb feature that replaces those little plastic things you hang from the door handle. My son and husband were in electronics heaven.

The windows were huge, with a good deep ledge next to them, useful for parking loose junk on, also good as a neutral zone for keeping kids running around like maniacs from getting too close while moving at high velocities. (I know they're not going to just burst through plate glass windows, but it always makes me nervous anyway.) Next to the ledge was a lovely chaise longue, placed parallel to it so you could recline and admire the view. So, what else? Maya sat down on it sideways, facing away from the ledge, leaned back, and immediately bumped her head on the ledge. She was fine, but I still thought, "What kind of idiot puts a sofa where somebody is going to bump their head like that?" and then I realized that no adult would ever have that happen. An adult is going to sit on it lengthwise and look out the window.

A big discussion then ensued about dinner. Ziad and Maya did not want to leave the room. The parents did. The parents had dinner reservations at a restaurant and were hungry to boot. The parents wanted to go out NOW. The parents finally prevailed. Ziad sat down on the chaise longue to put his shoes on. Ziad leaned back and bumped his head. Why did I let that happen? I have no idea. I didn't think it was a big deal, after all Maya had no problem when it happened to her. Ziad of course, was responding to pain in typical fashion, which is to say becoming furiously angry. I was just get ready to tell him not to make such a fuss when my husband sat down, felt the back of Ziad's head, and commented on the size of the bump there. It was really, really big. Ziad now flat out refused to even consider leaving the room any more, and didn't really want anyone trying to help him feel better.

I went out to look for an ice machine so we could put ice on the bump, but couldn't find one anywhere. We ended up holding some cold drinks from the minibar against it. (We put them back, unopened, later on.) He finally calmed down, and we actually had a nice walk over to the restaurant, and a pretty nice dinner, too. My husband even liked his food (I was surprised) and ate all the broccoli (a first).

The walk back was even better. We strolled around, ventured into Chinatown for a block or so (taking turns crying "Wow! Look at that!" every few feet as we saw exciting new items for sale in the store windows), cruised past Union Square (checking out the lobby of the St. Francis in passing), and generally took the long way home.