Budapest is absolutely beautiful - the trees are all starting to flower.
Inky, slightly zombiefied boarded a little blue schoolbus at 7:50 this morning, accompanying Cousin Sarah to the American School, a gorgeous facility that makes the middle school I'm so taken with in the East Village look like the set of Welcome Back Kotter.
Milo continues to sprawl in the middle of the bed that was given to me and Greg. He will sleep til noon if we let him.
Greg thinks we should go to the Museum of Military History. I think we should go to the Museum of Commerce and Catering. It may be time to divide and conquer.
Yesterday was my 42nd birthday. We went to a wonderful bathhouse that has heated outdoor pools, one of which has a sort of whirlpool vortex, strong enough to endanger one's stretched-out bikini bottoms as one goes through the spin cycle with several field trips' worth of jacked-up, pimpled teenagers. Milo achieved his dream of playing chess in the bathhouse, just like an old Hungarian man.
Thusfar the children have found nothing they're interested in eating, even the wonderful chocolate sacher torte my sister-in-law purchased for my birthday. They objected to the apricot jam, which was what made it good.
