Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Dear Dinosaur Museum You Win: A Play in One Act


Me: Hi. got your phone message. We were at the dinosaur museum but now we're back!

Him: cool. i was just guessing that you might have gone to a museum. was it fun? you haven't been there before, right, and i guess issy was fine going there again. sometimes, she likes the familiar.

Me: it was fun but oh my god was it hard work

Him: really?

Me: it was super busy with school trips, and she WOULDN'T hold my hand so i put her leash on, which she was unhappy about. We went through the t-rex exhibit twice. We stared at the blue whale for 20 minutes. we went up all four flights of the big staircase 4 separate times.

Him: ah, yes, the stairs. grrrr

Me: then she started getting fussy, so i said, hey, let's go to the cafe and have some lunch. so i bought a sandwich & we sat down (i had brought a PB&J for her) and when I offered her a sip of my bottled water, she screams I WANT A STRAW!!!!!!! at the top of her lungs. And then started screaming fire-truck-siren fashion, where she starts out low & builds to a loud wail. which echoed off all the victorian vaulted ceilings and the stone walls and terrazzo flooring.

Him: annoying.

Me: so i went to get her a straw. and then after lunch, i basically had to drag her towards the exit. on the way she decided to lay down in the middle of traffic and kick her legs on the floor. and then she tried to crawl underneath those old victorian display cabinets filled with dead birds. so i made her have a time out at the museum. and THEN i forced her to go to the bathroom before we got on the train (because of all the bottled water), and she had this crazed tantrum in the stall about not wanting to put her coat on. kicking and flailing. the works. I finally wrestled her coat on and got her outside, and she calmed down while we watched the ice skaters for a while, but she wanted to be carried all the way to the train. and all the way from the train to the bus (fortunately waiting at the curb!) then all the way from the bus until 4 doors before our house, when she didn't want to be carried, or to walk on her own, or to stand still or to be picked up, or to be set down. oh yeah, and there was this one part on the train where she started crawling OVER the back of the facing seats to get at the single seat by the door. Fortunately the carriage was empty.

phew.

and now she's in bed and I'm having a cup of coffee. I debated putting a shot of whiskey into it.

Him: i guess you're not going to take her again any time soon?

Me: yes, but with a different game plan

Him: I have to go now. talk to you later?

Me: Bye

Him: happy cocktail(s)

(image from the telegraph)

2 comments:

vivien said...

Um, so you're saying that it doesn't get easier as they get older? Oh, eff.

A Puppet Opera said...

Hi Viv,

No, it doesn't get any easier. Issy is 2 1/2 now and it's been a long couple of months, and it's getting longer! I was working recently with a woman who works with the White House as a hostage negotiator, and she said she thought age 3 was more difficult than the "Terrible Twos". Aaaarrrgh!

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