We navigated through the museum, past the nude sculptures, which surprisingly did not elicit any comments from the 5-year old, and found our exhibit. Three minutes into looking at paintings, we realized what a mistake it was to have the kids tag along for this one. Ella wanted to know how many of these we were going to look at, Samantha screamed wanting to get out of the stroller and when we did let her out she took off like she owned the place.
Still not a terrifically adept walker, she’d crash into people, fall down in front of people trying to study the artwork —you get the idea.I enjoy art museums, but I’m not really sure what the connection is between needing it to be relatively quiet while looking at art. Is it out of reverence for the masterpieces? Or is it like when you’re looking for an address in the car and you have to turn the radio down so you can concentrate? Anyway, quiet we were not, dirty looks were a plenty, and so I booked it out of the exhibit hall with the kids to leave Brian and other viewers in peace with their landscapes. After Brian had his fill, I did return with Ella, who promised to be well-behaved. I gave her the task of counting the number of windmills she saw in the paintings, which kept her occupied—if only I had thought of that before.
So although it was a nice idea, the museum defeated us. I didn't get to hit the Ansel Adams exhibit, so I'll have to go back childless for that. Instead, we headed to the National Building Museum where they have a children's play zone. (It never ceases to amaze me how Ella, who can play outside for hours on end, climb over every surface of our house, and not ever sit still in her seat, will endlessly complain about a little walking through the city.) It’s a very impressive building, and had lots of room for running.
And the play zone appropriately consisted of lots of things to build with—great for a 5-year old who likes to build things and an 18-month old who likes to knock things down.
After returning home, Ella was the first to notice a flower delivery at our front door. Tulips from my Valentine. A Dutch gem that he loves to give, and I love to receive.
“Tulips for two lips” is our pact.
And to top off the day, my parents watched the kids so we could go out to dinner. Although this would have been an opportunity to carry out the day's theme, the cuisine was instead Mexican, and he paid.
Which made me think, "going dutch" is just not applicable in a marriage. Whether it's paying for dinner, doing the laundry, bringing home the bacon, mowing the lawn--every "man" for himself is not an option. It's a partnership in every way, shape and form.
So I declare that in this house, "going dutch" means Brian taking Jana to Holland. Maybe next Valentine's Day.
2 comments:
I don't know what it is about art museums that brings out the worst in my children, but it certainly happens. I took them to the portrait gallery this summer and got in trouble by security guards three times. I definitely think children should be exposed to art, but it is just kind of hard to pull off sometimes. Better luck next time. Sounds like the rest of your Valentine's day was fun!
If you are interested in going back to the art gallery to see the Pompeii exhibit before it ends in March, let me know. I'd love to go with you. And I promise not to whine!
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