You and Me in a Car: The Reviews are In

I'’ve visited at least 50 children’s museums over the last 25 years, probably more. And now I have to see them all again. With Amelia.  

If you follow this blog, you know that Amelia and I took a road trip last week. Just two girls in a car with a map. (and let’s be real – there were also snacks, a lot of DVD’s, markers, paper, Kleenex, books, toys in various stages of incomplete and broken - you get the idea.)  

We visited four North Carolina children’s museums. We’ve been visiting museums together since Amelia was a baby, but this time was different. First, she is EXACTLY the right age for a children’s museum. At 6 and ½, she's playful and full of imagination, she has the confidence and coordination to climb and independently explore, she’s unafraid of looking silly, and she can read signs by herself. She also knows what she likes. 

Visiting four museums back to back lends itself to comparison and pattern recognition—so naturally, Amelia wrote some reviews. That thing about kids always telling the truth? It makes them excellent critics. 

So, here are Amelia’s reviews of our Fab Four, followed by my observations. If you’re wondering about the peach ratings, well, it’s summertime in the South!  Five peaches is the best.

 

Stop 1: Winston-Salem Children’s Museum

Isn't everything better with a water slide?

To be fair, there wasn't a gift shop, and I'm not sure what the bathroom problem was

A museum for all sizes!

The beanstalk climber, complete with surround staircase

My observations: This was my first visit to Winston-Salem, and I’ll definitely return. I loved  Kaleidoscape, an outdoor swinging, climb-through, oversized crocheted art installation. It was gorgeous, and like nothing I’d seen before. Amelia climbed through it a few times and then deemed it too “hot and scratchy” to make her top three list.  I also loved the Enchanted Forest, a neighborhood of dramatic play environments each inspired by a different story. Amelia recognized most of them and played in all of them. These “Story Rooms” got a mention in her review. The exhibits all had a spirit of imagination and creative storytelling to them, and this museum is on the brink of merging with a children’s theatre, so watch for even more of this.

Kaleidoscape

More of Kaleidoscape. Check the museum's website for much better photos.

waiting for the donuts

The Enchanted Forest. We think - or  imagined -  the lighting changed from day to night while we were there.

 

Stop 2: Greensboro Children’s Museum

 

She's right. This one had a particularly unwelcoming bathroom

 

 

 

No giftshop, bad bathroom, and oddly I only remember pretend food.  Hmmm.

Agreed.

The garden.

My observations: Amelia got it right. Not the best we’ve seen, but we had fun there. Mostly because of the staff, who built forts out of big blue blocks with Amelia for an unexpectedly long period of time. I’ve seen these blocks in LOTS of museums lately and really never cared much about them until staff brought them to life here. Another standout in Greensboro is the Edible Schoolyard, an onsite farm-to-table cooking program complete with an extensive garden and  demonstration kitchen. Again, Amelia found the garden a little too hot. Did I mention that it’s summer in the South?

There's someone inside there, really earning her paycheck!

Putting on a show

Master of the balance beam

The big big car thing with a slide was actually a plane

Just a fraction of that gorgeous garden

Stop 3: Marbles

still with the big big big slide!

The clear winner! If only the mac and cheese were unseasoned...

Awww. And I love that she abbreviates "children's museum"

This is the undersea room, adjacent to a yellow submarine. And then a pirate ship, excellent for diving.

My observations: In the interests of full disclosure, I must admit that I know this museum very well. Twenty years ago I worked with the founders to open Exploris, and that experience remains one of my favorite projects. Exploris rebranded itself as Marbles several years ago, but much of Exploris is still there, and visiting is like going to see an old friend who is growing and thriving. The building is beautiful, the exhibits playful, and the spirit of reinvention and experimentation is palpable. I agree with Amelia – the only bad things she could think of were the pepper on her macaroni and cheese, and someone stepped on her foot while she was playing sock hockey. But come on, she was playing sock hockey!

She ran in, not to emerge for FIVE hours!

 

diving off the plank

under the sea

waiting - literally - for money to fall from the sky

sock hockey

the winning race car

Stop 4: Kidzu

 

all about the art room

in the temporary space, there isn't a gift shop or food...unless you count the ENTIRE MALL outside!

leave 'em wanting more!

Amelia in the art room

My observations: It’s not done yet. The museum is in a temporary location, raising money and awareness while planning for a permanent home. The exhibits are portable, and they are testing concepts. Amelia and I were both a little bit museum-weary by the time we arrived, but she still stayed happily in the art studio/maker space for over an hour. Maker spaces seem to be the latest rage in the museum world, and Kidzu had a clear explanation of the goal of this kind of experience right on the wall. Best endorsement? There was a coin-drop maze in the lobby, to raise money for the new museum, and Amelia put in her own money. The paper kind!

 

building a better boat

the maker space

plans for the future

a museum supporter!

There’s a lot more I could say about our road trip – Amelia had as much fun at the Holiday Inn’s swimming pool and buffet breakfast (“It’s better than Publix!”) as she did at any of the museums. It was all one big adventure for her, and a precious opportunity for us to have uninterrupted and unstructured time together. And as for the museums, seeing them through Amelia’s eyes reinforced for me the value of these places we build. She’s the target audience. Spending an hour chasing plastic donuts through the endless cycle of a pretend donut factory, or waiting for balls to drop from a giant piggy bank, or walking the plank of a pirate ship wearing diving gear may not be the behaviors the museum planners intended or expected, but that's the point. These are places that aren't complete without visitors and their imaginations. If the goal is to provide environments that facilitate learning through play, then kudos to all of us who build them – they’re working!

 

400 miles and 4 museums later, we're still smiling!

Where should we go next?

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Road Tripping

We’re going out of town for a few days, just the two of us. We’re throwing a suitcase in the car, some road music and a map. Two days, maybe three. Depends how much fun we’re having. Are you jealous yet? 
 

Did I mention that my husband is staying home?

That’s right, Amelia and I are taking Camp Mommy on the road. She’s aptly named this odyssey “You and Me in a Car.” We’re planning to visit four children’s museums in four cities, stay in a hotel with a pool, sing songs that I hope aren’t all from Frozen, and eat a lot of peaches. Beyond that, we’re winging it. 

And we can’t wait. Still jealous? Jeff says he isn’t, but I don’t believe him. 

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Traveling Lighter

I am writing this post on an airplane*, carrying a little less baggage than I had when I left.  

I’m on my way home from an annual conference of children’s museum professionals that I’ve attended most of the last 20 years. I love this conference—it’s always inspiring, informative, and these days it’s an indulgence to travel alone and leave bedtime, school buses and play dates behind. This year we heard from thought leaders in fields of creativity and innovation, studied and played in museums, participated in workshops and panel discussions. But the heart of the conference is after hours—late nights in the hotel bar, dissecting exhibits and careers and life over wine and through the laughter and tears of old friends and colleagues who intersect in various combinations often only once a year. 

This year, the conference theme was “Reimagining Children’s Museums.” And my own imagination almost kept me from participating. Two years ago, colleagues at this conference provided much-needed shoulders to (sometimes literally) cry on, and the confidence to leave a job that was all wrong for me. If you follow this blog, you’ll recognize a recurring theme of recovery from that period. Every few months, I’ve reflected on milestones that tell me I’m incrementally moving on, that the bruises to my ego and professional confidence are healing. But moving on means going back without reverting, and I’ve avoided that test. I haven’t seen many of my former colleagues, haven’t set foot back in that museum, and haven’t talked out loud about it very often.

I knew I’d see them this year, and I worried about how I’d feel. Even though two years have passed and I’ve built a successful consulting business and moved on professionally, I still worried that seeing them again would undo it all. 

My husband told me to live in the present. He also reminded me that sustaining a consulting business means networking, so get on the plane. And like he’s been so many times in our marriage, he was absolutely right.

In my imagination, everyone and everything I left behind stayed exactly where I left them, and through the lens of memory those that hurt the most became even more prominent. But in reality, there have been life changes and leadership changes, and time really does heal. I saw my former colleagues on the first night of the conference. There were a few awkward hugs, some small talk, and that was that. No deep conversations, no rehashing of anything, just updates on our kids and our lives. Even some smiles. Like former coworkers who run into one another do every day. 

Reimagining children’s museums, indeed.

*Full disclosure: I did write the first draft on the plane…and then took a few days to revise and post it. No flying today.

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Slacker

That’s me.  When I started this blog I said I wanted to slow down, record and reflect on the little steps when they happen before they blur together and get lost over time. Well, time is blurring. Since my last post Amelia has joined the swim team, lost another tooth (bringing the total to 3 with one more about to drop), went on another sleepover, read books to my parents, met an old friend from Spain, and learned to put cologne behind her knees. I blame my friend from Spain for that last one.   

But I blame myself for not writing about any of it. Or the many more milestones I’ve already forgotten. Somehow, there are only about 30 days left of kindergarten, and the scared little girl who got on the school bus that sunny day in August just told me all about oviparous animals and why a butterfly’s chrysalis hangs from a branch and I am floored. Increasingly, I’m her ride to a birthday party or a playdate, but no longer her companion. I still get a kiss at drop off and pick up, but even Amelia knows this time is fleeting – she told me last week that when she is a teenager she’s pretty sure I will embarrass her.   

I’m pretty sure I will too. But I will be there, and I will still kiss her at drop off and pick up, and I promise to write about it. And someday I hope she’ll thank me. 

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Shoo!

When I was single and aspired to be Carrie Bradshaw, I bought shoes anytime I faced life transitions. A breakup, a move, an argument...I had a closet full of stress-induced footwear. 

Now that Parenting in the Suburbs has replaced Sex and the City, there are way more transitions than shoes. And we’re on the brink of a big one.

Amelia just told me to “Shoo!” 

That's right, complete with dismissive hand gestures. She's having a sleepover, and after a day of asking what time it is and how much longer she has to wait, her friend has arrived and my company is no longer needed.

Sometimes she wants to be alone.

This isn’t the first time. Amelia has taken to running to her room after school, closing the door and telling me not to follow her—until she calls me, hungry for a snack. She proudly walks herself to and from neighbors’ houses for playdates, boldly rides her bike beyond our predetermined boundaries, and I’ve noticed lots of whispering and secrets between Amelia and her friends when adults are around. Last week she was playing with our neighbors, and they took their dog for a walk. As they passed our house, Bentley saw his Girl so I took him out to join the walk. Amelia was mortified. She pulled me aside and whispered in my ear “GO HOME.” Ouch.

Reading to themselves

I know she still needs me, and this is all very normal stuff. But it’s happening just as I’ve settled into this mostly-at-home-mama stuff. Now that I’m available, she’d prefer I’m invisible. As I write this, Amelia and her sleepover friend are playing in the next room. I’ve been called to repair a game piece, inflate an air mattress, bring the dog and take the dog away, make dinner, and reach things on high shelves. I’m on call, but I’m not invited.

I’ve got a little time on my hands. It's a good thing, because I’m going to need to buy shoes.
  

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‘Tis the Season…Or ‘Tis It?

Well, I totally mishandled this whole Santa thing and now Amelia’s the class liar. 

I knew when she started public school that December would be rough. Even in a school that tries extra hard to “celebrate winter holidays” and “embrace the diversity of our community,” Santa Claus is a tough guy to put in a corner.  He’s everywhere – all over newspaper ads, the subject of the catchiest tunes on the radio, he’s standing outside the supermarket ringing a bell, posing for photos at the mall, decorating lawns and chimneys all over the neighborhood, and worked into the storyline of every television show Amelia watches. The big red-suited guy is here to stay.

Of course this was all true last year too. We drove by the same decorations on the way to preschool, and laughed when Amelia called Santa “that Christmas guy.” Because at her Jewish preschool, we knew that she was not making Santa hats or singing about good boys and girls getting toys. We knew that she would not feel left out, because at preschool she was not different. But this year there are only a smattering of Jewish students at Amelia’s school, and the season is chock full of Santa-appeal. And confusion.

Sharing our favorite lights with a buddy

So what to do? You can’t ignore Christmas, or deny all the fun and beauty that comes with it. We love holiday lights, so we drive around each year and check out our favorites, making special trips to a few over-the-top, set-to-music extravaganzas. Amelia’s friends are all anxiously awaiting Santa and the treasures he’ll bring. They talk about Santa on the bus, and compare notes on the whereabouts of their elves on shelves. We have no elf or tree, and we’ll probably eat Chinese food and go to the movies on Christmas. I’ve tried to convey that Christmas isn’t one of our holidays but it is beautiful and special for our friends who celebrate. And I thought we could leave it at that, at least for this year. 

But then there's Santa. We were watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on television last week – maybe we shouldn’t have watched but it’s fun and I loved it as a kid and turned out relatively fine and still Jewish. Instead of watching the television I watched Amelia. Watched her little brow furrow as the reindeer and the elves talked about the big guy bringing toys to all the good little girls and boys. Listened as Amelia explained to me how she thinks the reindeer fly even without wings, due to the magic powers of the fairy dust that Santa sprinkles on them. All of a sudden, it hit me: she believes. Just like she believes in the tooth fairy and the Disney princesses, she believes in Santa. And she’s good yet she knows he’s not coming.

No wonder her brow was furrowed. The injustice!

So I told her. I wanted her to know she isn’t being left out. I said, “Amelia, you know Santa isn’t real, right?” Oh, crap. I knew even as I said it that this was just too big a secret for a kindergartener to keep. So I tried to cover, with explanations of how Santa is such a nice idea and a good character, like in a story, that kids who celebrate Christmas believe in. The more I yammered the deeper I dug my own hole. Finally she said, “So Santa is just the daddies in a costume?” Right, I said, and the most important message – don’t ruin it for the kids who celebrate Christmas. Let them believe in Santa.

Except of course she couldn’t do that. The next day, when the whole naughty and nice and lists of toys conversation came up over snack, she spilled the beans. And it seems Santa has ardent defenders in kindergarten, because the other kids were quick to call my girl a liar. And I’m sure there were more colorful names for me from their parents once Amelia’s classmates were tucked into bed and the dancing sugarplums started. I’m still surprised I haven’t gotten any phone calls.

So to all the believers: I’m sorry. I do love the Santa idea. It’s just a little bit all-consuming and I haven’t figured out how to let Amelia enjoy it but keep it in perspective and avoid disappointment and confusion. So I told the truth and made her a liar.

I’m sorry. Is it New Year’s yet?

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Upgrading the Heart(h)

For years, we’ve talked about upgrading our kitchen. I have a pinterest board bursting with marble countertops and gleaming cooktops. We’ve replaced tired appliances one at a time as they’ve died, but we had yet to take the full leap. Until today.

Let’s look back about ten years ago. I was living with a roommate in a tiny apartment outside Boston, MA. Some friends of ours with a much better apartment were moving, and we wanted their place. Like all good Boston real estate, so did at least three other people. And it was up to a mysterious board with undefined criteria to make the decision. So for a few days, we waited with fingers crossed. And as a just-in-case consolation prize, I bought a fancy shower curtain for the old apartment. One I knew we wouldn’t need in the new apartment. Within hours of bringing that non-returnable shower curtain into the old apartment, we learned we’d gotten the new one.

That pesky burner

Last week, the finicky front burner on our stove became especially finicky and I finally got frustrated enough to look into replacing it. Sure enough, for about $20 on Amazon you can buy a replacement coil that will probably fit and hopefully work. So I ordered one. Within an hour, the email came from Sears: All cooktops, ranges and wall ovens are 50% off!  Plus, bring all the assorted points and coupons you’ve ever accumulated from the other stuff you’ve bought with us! Come one, come all!  Come, Baron family!

It had to be a sign. I went to Sears, and three days later I’m spending the afternoon with contractors watching dust fly and sparkly new appliances replace all the remaining old ones.  Because Sears is no fool - once you’re in the store and there’s a big sale on stuff you’ll eventually buy anyway, you’re not just buying a cooktop.

Before - you can't do a stove and not the oven, right?

During

Amelia and my mother, hard at work

So this is exciting, but it’s also a little bit scary.  Growing up, my mother was always in the kitchen. She loved to cook, but I think she also just loved the kitchen. It was her domain. My mother hung out in there, irrelevant of mealtimes. She kept everything in the kitchen: notecards, permission slips, medical records, medication, a bag of bicentennial coins, broken toys, presents, wrapping paper, stamps, office supplies, phone books, lost pieces of everything, a needle and thread, magazines, and much more. Oh – and also food. It was chaotic, crowded, and she was in charge. Efficiency, jokes, big decisions, surprises, meals, homework help and banana bread were served in equal portions from that tiny kitchen. It was bustling, familiar, and open 24 hours.

The kitchen is the heartbeat of our house too. It’s not quite as crowded or chaotic as I remember from childhood, but it’s definitely the hub of activity.  It can’t be too fancy, because we live there. We spill glitter and carve pumpkins and paint in there. Amelia learned to crack an egg over the old stove. The old kitchen was comfortable, broken in. But also broken. So why am I suddenly feeling nostalgic about a finicky burner? Things change, and in the grand scheme of things, new appliances are not that big a change. Right?

Just to make sure, I made banana bread as soon as the contractors left. And Amelia and I made Halloween cookies after school. And there are meatballs simmering on the stove. Smells familiar.

Welcome home, new kitchen!

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