The Fine Arts Museum, huh? Something Mom chose selfishly instead of the Kids Museum.

So, I was happy with the self-indulgent adventure.

But John wasn’t.  And I made things worse by making him pay attention to the paintings.

In the classics, he counted the beards.  In the modern art section, I pointed to different paintings and asked him what he saw.

At one Kandinsky, he said “1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 eyes”.  And a Picasso looked like “pizza” (as colorful as it was, I would have added “veggie”).

John also described some paintings as women, green hat, trees, brown, yellow, and so on.

At one of a river, he started singing “Row Row Row Your Boat”.

To help him with “quiet body” and “hands off the exhibits”, I made John carry two books and/or keep his hands in his pockets.

I let him be leader as much as possible.

He seemed drawn to the white marble nudes—so maybe a little sex education thrown in for free.

(We haven’t done much of “the talk” yet but when we do, we use proper terms.  His gazes tell me he is increasingly aware.)

We made it fine and dandy through the ever-changing lighted tunnel many times (with and without other people), the cafe and his first-ever panini-style grilled cheese.

We made adventures of all the escalators, even going up backwards while holding his books for motor-planning fun.

I even got lucky with a little bonus cuddling while we read together in the cafe.

Guess he was tired.

Please don’t feel alone if you fear taking your child into such a place.  It may work out just great.

If not this time, then the next time.

Peace be with us,

Gayle