For those without properly printed calendars, yesterday was my birthday. The one day out of the year when I’m allowed to unapologetically hibernate on the couch and ask my family to wait on me hand and foot. Seeing how I do this apologetically the other 364 days of the year, by the time December 28th rolls around, I’m kinda bored with the routine.
So, just as we do every year, we made the day more about our kids and headed out to the Children’s Museum of Play. It seemed like a great idea at the time, considering our kids are on winter break, but the problem with this kind of great idea is that everyone else within a three county radius shares it with you.
After an hour-long trek through driving snow we pulled into the lot and spun our way around acres of pavement. Row by row we searched for a place to park, constantly thwarted by the false hope only Smart Cars and Civics can provide. By the time we found an open space, one of only three left in the entire Rochester Metro area, the museum was barely distinguishable through the haze of the horizon. I waited, hoping the museum would send out a dogsled team or perhaps a Sherpa, but none came. Left to fight the snowfall, bitter wind, and slushy mush ourselves, we pioneered our way to the entrance and gained a whole new appreciation for New World explorers.
Inside, the kids lost their minds. There was so much to do, so many exhibits, but far too many children. Even the boring exhibits that usually go months without human contact were being mobbed by feral children enjoying a day out of their cages. As Kamryn would wait patiently for her turn to play with something, the child in front of her would be busy coughing and sneezing and hacking on every square inch of surface while touching everything with snot-laden fingers.
It would have been a more enjoyable visit had there just been a few thousand less children running amok, but we tried to make the most of it because the kids seemed to be enjoying a rousing game of “Who can harvest the most bacteria the fastest.”
Being annual members, we’ll definitely be back to the museum, we’ll just make sure it isn’t during holiday break. I’ve never used so much hand sanitizer in my life.
I was half tempted to eat it.
Even amongst the chaos, we did manage to have a blast touring one particular exhibit. Dolls. You’d think I’d be bored out of my mind browsing glass cases containing hundreds of antique dolls but I found them fascinating. Not the normal ones that looked as you might expect a doll to look, but rather the freakish variations that people actually handed to their children in the late 1800′s and early 1900′s without any consideration for the impending insomnia and therapy such a gift could bring.
I think our 3-year old daughter summed it up best when she said, “Dad, come here. This doll is freaking me out.”
As we perused these showcases, I couldn’t help but wonder how dolls maintained popularity throughout the years if this is what they looked like. I know that if I was handed one of these dolls, I’d never want another. I’d probably have buried it in the backyard and laid awake hoping that it stayed there.
What about you? Would you be stoked if someone handed you one of these things? Or would you impale it with a metal stake just to be safe?