And Then There Was Lunch

For some reason, small children such as mine eat lunch at school around 11:00 am these days. Although I have tried to readjust their schedules this summer, they get up and eat breakfast so early that they usually can only wait until 11:30 at the absolute latest for lunch.

By the time we had reached the Phillips on Friday, the kiddies were already teetering on the brink of starvation, and still I force fed them the culture before I would feed them lunch. All of this time on the beach has made them think that I always have peeled carrots and sliced watermelon with me. I thought that since I was not carrying the cooler, it would be clear to them that I had no snacks available, but apparently they thought I might have produce in my pockets.

In hopes of salvaging their normally happy-go-lucky personas, Erin and I ducked into the nearest place (well, the nearest place that had beer) we could find for lunch. Since DC is abandoned in August, we weren’t too concerned that we’d be disturbing anyone and our waiter was very nice and even produced a children’s menu (which we hadn’t asked for since we didn’t think they had one). We got one order of chicken, one grilled cheese sandwich, one hot dog, two orange juices, and a water. A perfect kiddie lunch trifecta, no?

No.

Lauren: My chicken tastes like wine. (When did she have wine? I have no idea.)

Marty: My grilled cheese is too crunchy. (By crunchy he must have meant perfectly toasted)

Aislinn: My hot dog is burned. (I think by burned she meant grilled to perfection)

Lauren: My orange juice tastes like it has orange peel in it. (Freshly squeezed)

Aislinn: Lauren keeps drinking my water. (I think they’ll give us more if you share)

Marty: That orange juice is too orange juicy. (Uncle)

Erin and I both agreed that we would have happily eaten any of the lunches sitting in front of the kiddies – the food looked that good.

Fortunately they all ate enough French fries (and we had enough Bud Light) to restore good humor to the group. Since Erin spends all of her days attempting to be patient with children who are plucking her every last nerve, if the kiddies hadn’t bounced back she probably would have disappeared into the American History museum, hightailed it out the back door, and run home or to the nearest taproom.

Luckily, for the rest of the day, they were the kind of kids that I like to have around. Marty even took a nap in the shabby uncomfortable umbrella stroller and no one complained about having to walk past Erin’s apartment and all the way into the zoo to get a snow cone.

More Fun in DC

Of course there are many other fun things to do in Washington besides visit the museums, but we don’t need to do any of those, because the kiddies would be happy to ride the Metro nonstop for 2 days. Actually, they wouldn’t want to ride it nonstop, they would like to switch trains and ride escalators and repeatedly use their farecards. Honestly, they would likely prefer a complete tour of the Metro system to another trip to the circus.

Fortunately for them, Auntie Erin lives near Woodley Park, which has a really long steep escalator, and even better was the stop at Dupont Circle which has an even longer, steeper escalator. I was attempting to delay Marty’s refusal to walk (a new development where he will declare himself too tired and squat down in the middle of the sidewalk, grocery store, public restroom, wherever we are, and then if I don’t pick him up he will lie down in that location until I am so disgusted I attempt to snatch him up before the cooties from the floor start crawling all over him. Since I do not want to develop a mighty hump, I have started to let him lie there and attempt to out wait him, a strategy that causes passersby to look at me with disdain, but eventually he does get up and come after me. Hopefully eventually he’ll stop lying down in the public walkways. For now I feel that I am providing a public service to all those people who like to think they have superior parenting skills…Where was I?) by pushing him in a faded, weathered, shabby $10 umbrella stroller that is rather uncooperative when it comes time to fold it up. So when we got to the Woodley Park station, we decided to take the elevator.

Five hours later, here’s what happened. When we returned home to the Woodley Park metro around 4:15, Marty was walking and I was completely sick of wrestling with the umbrella stroller, so we headed to the escalator, but on the way I noticed 2 police officers and a fire man standing by the elevator that had a “Out of Order” sign on it. Since I am so funny, I said to my sister, “Maybe people are trapped in there.” When we got to the street and saw 4 firetrucks, assorted police cars and an ambulance, I realized that I am not only hilarious but psychic.

I have not really let myself imagine what would have happened if we’d been the five people stuck on the elevator. I think it is fair to say that the kiddies would have sworn off elevators, the Metro, indoor areas, nighttime, and quite possibly my company if they had gone through an ordeal like that.

I will attribute our luck to the American History museum (not the crappy stroller). If the American History museum hadn’t been mostly shut down, we would not have made a quick run through the Natural History museum to look at the dinosaurs and might have made it home more quickly and found ourselves trapped. Clearly the planned renovation of the American History museum is already helping visitors to the big city.

Two Days in Our Nation's Capital

Although the kiddies may not now appreciate it, they have an auntie who lives right across the street from the National Zoo. Whereas some families might plan an entire vacation around a visit to the zoo, it is so old hat to the kiddies that in the two times we stopped by the zoo this weekend, once to go to the bathroom and once to buy snow cones, they had no real interest in seeing the animals. They were much more intrigued by the elevator and luxurious accommodations provided in their aunt's studio apartment. However, we did not arrange this trip to visit the zoo, we were going with Auntie Erin to see The Luncheon of the Boating Party at the Phillips and the muppets at the Museum of American History.

The Phillips Collection

Although I am not in any sense of the word "knowledgeable" about art, I do love that painting because every one in it looks a little drunk, and it's nice to see that one of the Masters could appreciate and capture a good party. The painting itself did not disappoint. The help at the Phillips however, was snooty, to put it mildly. The weenie at the ticket counter immediately informed me that 2 tickets would be $24, even though the Phillips is free on weekdays. He was charging us for the special exhibit, without even asking if we wanted to see it. When I informed him that we didn't, he gave a huge sigh, roll of the eyes, and more than one dramatic gesture towards the jar where "Contributions are appreciated."

The rant in my head? "Look pally, you work at the ticket counter. These are not your paintings. If you had the means to purchase one or the talent to produce one or even the knowledge to stand in one of the rooms, chances are you would not be the ticket guy at the front desk. How about you lose the attitude and maybe after work head to the barber and have that doofus hair attended to."

What I said? "...."

We finally had to ask for directions to the Renoir, but on the way we got to see a Mondrian, a Monet, a Van Gogh, and a Degas, all artists that Aislinn has learned about in school. When I told her she could tell her art teacher all about them in the fall, she told me the art teacher wasn't coming back. Of course he's not.

Although the kiddies were reasonably quiet and did not make any gesture of any kind that would have remotely suggested that they were about to lunge for one of the paintings, all of the gallery workers kept giving them the hairy eyeball.

The rant in my head? "If children are not welcome here, they should be barred at the door. Since they are allowed in for free, I must assume that the Phillips family wants them to be included so maybe instead of waiting for them to do something to make you roll your eyes you could just shoot them a little smile. Not to mention the fact that Marty is doing everything within his power to keep from breaking into one of his patented stomping singalongs."

What I said? "...."

Eventually the kiddies couldn't stand one more minute of life in a hands-off building so we retrieved our shabby stroller from the coat check and left. I would recommend the Phillips because it is a collection in every fine meaning of the word and really quite stunning to see. However, I would advise that you anticipate a lot of attitude from the staff if you decide to stroll through with kiddies in tow.

The National Museum of American History

Throughout my tortured and tragic childhood, I was forced to visit the Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, Arlington Cemetary, not to mention all the museums of the Smithsonian, etc., etc., every spring and summer with whatever relatives were in town for a visit. My favorite museum was always American History, although every time I went there I was afraid I would get lost for good and have to go sleep one of the displays. I guess that now, 30 years later, the Smithsonian has decided to do something about the continued loss of tourists within the building so they are closing down for a year or more on Labor Day.

But before they decided to close they put up a Muppet display. We love Muppets, so after a quick (and much criticized) lunch at Dupont Circle we headed down to the mall. The Muppet display was in fact, a Muppet display, very little action or explanation, but the kiddies loved it anyway and were responding to the museum with a lot more enthusiasm than they had managed for the art gallery.

Almost everything else in the Museum is already closed, except for the one other thing we really wanted to see: Julia Child's kitchen. It is awesome. The walls are covered with peg board and all of her cooking tools are hung on hardware store hooks. That kitchen is all about the cooking (so if you are in DC in the next 3 weeks, go see it!).

My mother's new computer has arrived and the keyboard is much smaller and I have recently accidentally erased all but 2 letters of this post. When I attempted to recover it, I got half of it back, and now I am too frustrated and tired to continue. There is so much more to tell (after all, we continued on to Maryland after DC) so I promise I will return soon. Tune in tomorrow when I describe how we cheated death on the Woodley Park Metro elevator.

Apologies

At least once a day I find myself ordering one of the kiddies to "Look at your brother/sister and say you're sorry. No, say it like you mean it. So he/she can hear you. Either you can apologize or have a time out, it's up to you." So to all of my loyal readers here and abroad, please gaze intently at your screen as I say

"I'm sorry. I really mean it. I know I should update my blog particularly to ease the burden of our troops in Afghanistan, but somewhere between the travelling and the constant sunscreen applications and the glass of wine I crave each night with an ever increasing fervor, I have developed a little case of writer's block for myself."

I know that the kiddies are still as cute and funny as always, but I can't seem to put my finger on exactly what I could say about them. Tomorrow we are off again for the weekend, and since I do not have a lap top like most self-respecting bloggers, I will probably not be updating you again before Sunday.

Of course, after I force kiddie number 1 into the "sincere" apology, I always force the victim/kiddie number 2 into accepting the apology "Say that's okay to him/her. Tell him/her that you accept his/her apology. Either accept the apology or have a time out, it's up to you." So to all of my loyal readers here and abroad, please gaze intently at your screen and say "That's okay Shannon," whether you mean it or not. Either accept my apology or have a time out, it's up to you.