I don’t know when the phrase “staycation” moved into the lexicon, but my partner and I started about three years to go on a semi-annual weekend away in New York City (where we live) while trusted people stayed with our beloved little (ok not so little anymore) baby. 

It was a vacation without travel hassles and delays, without time lost getting somewhere and we live in a one of the greatest cities.  Also, we could be a cab ride away from our son or our fathers (who are widowers) should anything happen.  What I really mean is that we would always be a cab ride away from any emergency room in Manhattan because I always imagine the worst.  The old joke about a jewish mother’s calling a relative and saying, “worry! I will tell you later why,” captures my personality exactly.  I can go from a stubbed toe to nuclear holocaust in 5 seconds.  (If ,let’s say, Kim Dong Il stubs his toe and gets really mad, then he wants to lash out . . . . you see how this gets out of hand.)  But, I digress.

So we love staycations.  We also have vacations with our son.  Let me be more precise.  Prior to the Great Recession, we had staycations and vacations.  Today we had a parkation.  G-d bless the conservancies and public-private partnerships that keep our city parks and waterfronts habitable.  I would humbly ask for more sanitary rest rooms, and I am grateful that I have a son so I don’t often have to yell, “squat!! NOOOOOO sitting!!”