Saturday, June 16, 2007

Airplane museum

I took the kids to the College Park Aviation Museum today while Todd went to play music his friend Bob. I shouldn't have attempted it; Thea was in the worst mood all day, despite having a lot of fun last night with the kids of some friends who came over for dinner. I didn't think the kids had much in common before last night, but they all seemed to have a blast. This morning Thea even said with a big sigh, "I miss my friends," as if they should have spent the night.

Thea and Liam love the airplane museum. The first thing you see before going into the exhibit, though, is this animatronic Wilbur Wright. He scares the kids.



Liam almost crawled up my leg to get away from him, which is why the video is so jumpy.

Here are the kids shortly before Liam got a bloody nose from pulling a bar down on his head and Thea threw herself on the floor in a sobbing mess.



Liam was fine, by the way; moments after the blood had been wiped away for the first time, he was hiding under a plane and laughing hysterically while I pulled at his leg and tried to calm Thea. We all ended up leaving the museum in tears.

1 comment:

mom said...

Ah, the best laid plans of mice and moms. Huge hugs for everyone. Definitely time for a comfort break for all included. In those famous last words, "but it sounded like such a good idea at the time."

May I suggest "Hopkins Quiet Hour" which came from an idea a kiwi vet named John Hopkins had. John was in his 40s and was doing his post doc at Oklahoma State. On those long flights from LA to New Zealand, kids frequently became crabby. John used to extol the parenting of the Kiwis while slashing at Aussie parenting. He thought the Kiwi parents were saying, "Sweetums, mummie is on her last nerve. Let's have a quiet hour," and the child would go, "Oh, I wouldn't want mom to stress out. By all means I'll sit here, bored out of my skull..."

I suggested the Kiwi parents probably stopped by their doctor for airsick meds and the little New Zealand darlings were stoned out of their little New Zealand gourds; however, the next time my kids were restless, I said, "I'm calling Hopkins Quiet Hour" and believe it or not, two two-year-olds quieted down as if by magic. For reasons I've never understood, simply saying the words, "It is time for Hopkins Quiet Hour" actually worked.

John Hopkins was as totally out of synch with family life. He had never been married. He displayed no interest in dating either sex. He had the most outrageous ideas of child behavior tending towards the middle ages "they are small grown ups." His knowledge of women was minimal and, while he was always courteous, it quickly became obvious why he was a bachelor. When he made an effort to speak to children, the children tended to regard him the way they would have regarded a creature from outer space or perhaps a long toothed dinosaur - curious but very wary. Very wary. Quick to leave.

John would beam at the fast retreating little back and say the USA child has an obviously short attention span. I thought the child was wisely headed for hiding.

None the less, the very words "Hopkins Quiet Hour" have come kind of mojo on them that makes kids get quiet and still.