TEN!

Rush and Tate have been asking to go to the children's museum for -literally- years.  We often pass it on the way home from church so they have many opportunities to be reminded that it exists.  We finally went last week. 

On a scale of one to a million, with a million being a trip to Hawaii and one being drinking the potion of milk and cat food that Tate brewed this morning, I rank a visit to the children's museum right below whatever number cleaning the bathroom is.  It would rank over cleaning the bathroom, except cleaning is free and the children's museum costs a fortune.  If all children, even one-year-olds, are full price, shouldn't there be a discounted rate for adults?  I have to pay full price for my ticket to watch my children in a crowded space and stand around yawning?

The very best part of the day, the part that has already entered the Williams Family Vernacular, happened before we even entered the building.  I didn't check the hours, because why wouldn't it be open by 9 AM?  We arrived at nine, only to discover it opened at 10.  I was ranting about the time and trying to figure out what we would do for an hour when I hear a little Holly voice from her car seat say, "Ten.  Ten.  TEN!"  That last "TEN" needs to be in some crazy font like Wingdings to get across how funny it was.

If I was a child I would want to spend all my time in the mini-city, most kids do, and I would daydream about having my own elaborate play restaurant and vet's office.  Rush, the aspiring chef, was right at home in the restaurant.

Even though I do all the real grocery shopping, there is a strange allure to the mini-HEB.  Who wouldn't want to pick out cans of borracho beans little bouquets of flowers? My kids love the actual grocery store, so we spent a substantial amount of time fake shopping and checking people out.

There's really no excuse for living in Houston and not knowing Spanish.  Almost everything is labeled in both languages, so I should theoretically be able to start paying attention and pick up some vocabulary.  A Spanish speaking friend told us to get a book of Spanish verbs, learn a verb a day, then just start talking to people.  I spent a good portion of my time meditating on that while the kids shopped, studying the Spanish words for 'lemon' and 'drinkable yogurt'.  The meaning of "5 items or fewer, please" didn't sink in enough for me to realize it applied to us, or really any other kid in the place.  Tate emptied the contents of the bulk bins into his basket.  

Then we moved on to the rest of the place.  There's a certain aspect of science, the part that makes Big Hero 6 is just about my least favorite animated movie, that just doesn't click with me.  Give me volcanoes, space, physics, the Beaufort scale...but I just zoned out through most of the museum.  Flashbacks to lab days in high school science classes.

I'm glad it takes all kinds of people, because if it were up to me alone:

We wouldn't have air conditioning or electricity or whatever it is we get from thermal conductivity.  So thank you scientists of the world.  And please stop cloning animals; it is creepy.

Rush and Tate absolutely loved the place; it was probably one of the top days of their whole summer.  I really think Trent would love to go there with them, preferably on the night when admission is free. He would be so happy building little flying machines to send into wind tunnels and sending boats down the trenches.  Maybe I'll go with them and find a way to love it, too.