Family Outing
As we're watching Animal Planet's "Extreme Couples" this morning . . .
Henry: You know what I've had enough of?
Momma Mia: What?
Henry: Insect larva.
MM: Oh yea? Like in general, or today?
Henry: Thinks . . Thinks . . . then emphatically: In general. I mean, I've had way enough of insect larva. I'm done with insect larva.
Monday, I took the children to aquarium. It was amazing! All I had to do was work the map, make sure they didn't scatter when I wasn't looking and assure them I know EVERYTHING EVER ABOUT EVERY SINGLE SEA CREATURE IN EXISTENCE. I totally got that man. If I don't know, I can just make it up, right? They'll never know.
Honestly though, you have no idea what cute is until you've taken small children to see the dolphins. Let's just ignore the fact that I was so excited I about peed my pants, kay? We were sitting waiting for the show and each time a dolphin would break the surface even a little bit -- flash of fin, splash of tail -- they both would stand up and go, "DAAWWWFFIN! DAWWFIN! LooOOWWWK MEEYAH!" As if I wasn't focused on that pool with every single iota of my being. There was no way I was missing one single dawfin moment.
Caroline crawled into my lap early on claiming she could see better. By "see better" I think she means, "you're hair has much more interesting things to play with then just sitting her screaming about dawfins. I mean, we have a membership here. I see dawfins all the time." She giggled each time I went, "LooOOK CaroLINE! DOLPHIN! Oh, DolPHIN!" squeezing her and pointing. She would roll her eyes as if to say, "Yea, of course. We're at the dawfin SHOW." Meeyah is sooo cool.
After a bit, Henry started scooting closer, and closer. Closer. Then he put his hand on my leg. Then he put his head on my shoulder. Then he put his arm under my arm. Then at the next Dawfin sighting moment, amongst our hootin' and hollarin' (I had to explain what "hollar" meant to Caroline) he made his move, sliding under my arm to nestle into my left side. It was like going on a movie date when you're in middle school: you know he's going to make the yawning-arm-across-the-back move and you want him to hurry up and do it, but you can't jinx it, so you wait and anticipate. Once Henry felt comfy enough to snuggle up to me, I really wasn't too concerned about the dawfins. "LooOOK. There's a HENRY! And he's right here! Oh WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT HUG?!?!"
And all this was before the show even started. Then there was the dolphins and their trainers, the annoying dude mc-ing, then lizards, and sharks, and jelly fish, and pushy crowds, and puffer fish, and eels, and penguins, and sea otters and baby beluga whales and OMG WHERE THE HELL DID HENRY GO? I found him in about 2.3 seconds, we talked (I had to pull out the mommy voice), and soon he was the bestest little-sister wranglin', museum going dude I could ask for. Caroline fell asleep in my lap on the ride home. It was a big day for us all.
As we walked through the museum campus, Caroline stopping to examine flowers, birds, and the occasional shiny piece of garbage I realized something. I walk slower now. My pace has grown accustomed to the legs of small ones, to the need to stop and explore each and every outdoor adventure. As I try to answer all the questions -- what's moss? why doesn't sand compact? what's that thing in your nose? -- I do my best not to rush them. To be patient and kind, leading them towards our destination while allowing for other paths and ideas take us where they may. I don't do anything. We do everything. Want to sit down and look at the clouds and talk to me about chickens and dinosaurs? Sure, I'd love to. Because of them, I take life a little slower. I look around more, trying to find the simplest way to explain the right answers, not satisfied with the easy response. I think about my manners and my mommy. I look forward to lunch more. It's as if, even when there isn't a small hand clutched in mine and a wee one pointing out the wonders of the world, I can feel their hearts anyways. And I want to be worthy of their love.
Henry: You know what I've had enough of?
Momma Mia: What?
Henry: Insect larva.
MM: Oh yea? Like in general, or today?
Henry: Thinks . . Thinks . . . then emphatically: In general. I mean, I've had way enough of insect larva. I'm done with insect larva.
Monday, I took the children to aquarium. It was amazing! All I had to do was work the map, make sure they didn't scatter when I wasn't looking and assure them I know EVERYTHING EVER ABOUT EVERY SINGLE SEA CREATURE IN EXISTENCE. I totally got that man. If I don't know, I can just make it up, right? They'll never know.
Honestly though, you have no idea what cute is until you've taken small children to see the dolphins. Let's just ignore the fact that I was so excited I about peed my pants, kay? We were sitting waiting for the show and each time a dolphin would break the surface even a little bit -- flash of fin, splash of tail -- they both would stand up and go, "DAAWWWFFIN! DAWWFIN! LooOOWWWK MEEYAH!" As if I wasn't focused on that pool with every single iota of my being. There was no way I was missing one single dawfin moment.
Caroline crawled into my lap early on claiming she could see better. By "see better" I think she means, "you're hair has much more interesting things to play with then just sitting her screaming about dawfins. I mean, we have a membership here. I see dawfins all the time." She giggled each time I went, "LooOOK CaroLINE! DOLPHIN! Oh, DolPHIN!" squeezing her and pointing. She would roll her eyes as if to say, "Yea, of course. We're at the dawfin SHOW." Meeyah is sooo cool.
After a bit, Henry started scooting closer, and closer. Closer. Then he put his hand on my leg. Then he put his head on my shoulder. Then he put his arm under my arm. Then at the next Dawfin sighting moment, amongst our hootin' and hollarin' (I had to explain what "hollar" meant to Caroline) he made his move, sliding under my arm to nestle into my left side. It was like going on a movie date when you're in middle school: you know he's going to make the yawning-arm-across-the-back move and you want him to hurry up and do it, but you can't jinx it, so you wait and anticipate. Once Henry felt comfy enough to snuggle up to me, I really wasn't too concerned about the dawfins. "LooOOK. There's a HENRY! And he's right here! Oh WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT HUG?!?!"
And all this was before the show even started. Then there was the dolphins and their trainers, the annoying dude mc-ing, then lizards, and sharks, and jelly fish, and pushy crowds, and puffer fish, and eels, and penguins, and sea otters and baby beluga whales and OMG WHERE THE HELL DID HENRY GO? I found him in about 2.3 seconds, we talked (I had to pull out the mommy voice), and soon he was the bestest little-sister wranglin', museum going dude I could ask for. Caroline fell asleep in my lap on the ride home. It was a big day for us all.
As we walked through the museum campus, Caroline stopping to examine flowers, birds, and the occasional shiny piece of garbage I realized something. I walk slower now. My pace has grown accustomed to the legs of small ones, to the need to stop and explore each and every outdoor adventure. As I try to answer all the questions -- what's moss? why doesn't sand compact? what's that thing in your nose? -- I do my best not to rush them. To be patient and kind, leading them towards our destination while allowing for other paths and ideas take us where they may. I don't do anything. We do everything. Want to sit down and look at the clouds and talk to me about chickens and dinosaurs? Sure, I'd love to. Because of them, I take life a little slower. I look around more, trying to find the simplest way to explain the right answers, not satisfied with the easy response. I think about my manners and my mommy. I look forward to lunch more. It's as if, even when there isn't a small hand clutched in mine and a wee one pointing out the wonders of the world, I can feel their hearts anyways. And I want to be worthy of their love.
posted by Mia @ Wednesday, June 14, 2006
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