You should totally never call the city "Frisco," by the way, unless you're a tool. But Yerba Buena was a hit, of course, with all its green space and pigeons to chase and awesome murals and painted tiles:
The Modern Art Museum, unfortunately, was so not a hit with the under-five set that Willow had a hysterical tantrum after a total of about eight minutes--a record? Back to Yerba Buena! I gave Willow a meaningful lecture then, the subject of which was the fact that since she was one, her dad and I have visited every children's museum, hands-on museum, zoo, and dinosaur resting place within a four-hour drive of wherever we've been, without complaint. Unreasonable, then, that the single time we'd like them to accompany us to an "adult" museum, she has a fit? Will did not agree. It turns out that I don't have kids who are as eager to engage in intellectual and cultural pursuits as I am, happily wandering the modern art museum, sketchbook and crayons in hand, or sitting, rapt, at the opera, weeping at all the right parts, re-enacting the death scenes later with the dress-up clothes. Off to Crissy Field.
Crissy Field rocks real hard.
This brings us to the second 24 hours of knitting--stop looking at how I messed up the color change!
Next up, beaches! Beaches! Beaches!