Disclaimer: I sincerely apologise for my children’s behaviour and the video in this post. If you choose to watch it, be it on your own head. Although I’m fairly certain many of you will thing “meh, been there” and all will be well.
I decided, what with it being Sunday and all, a day off was in order. I told the family we were having a Family Day whether they liked it or not, and obviously fashioned some kind of Shut Up And Don’t Even Think About Bitching look on my face, as that is exactly what happened. I needed a long, slow walk, perferably outdoors. The weather had other ideas, so the Melbourne Museum was the result.
(For which I am sincerely apologetic)
I got organised by asking Grumpy to get various children dressed, which involves, on two counts, him sitting at the table reading the paper and yelling “HURRY UP, GET DRESSED!!” and on the third and final count, reading the paper and saying to me “Yeah, ok, I am. Did you get his clothes for me?” as I am up to my elbows in peanut butter sandwiches.
That done, I am attached by a wild roast turkey, as it leaps out off the top shelf of the fridge, taking with it the plate it resting on with it. The turkey smears its deliciousness down the leg of my pants, leaving me wondering why I bothered dressing myself so long before we were to leave. The plate, which had only moments earlier been precariously balanced on an array of fridge Tupperware shattered itself all over the floor. What followed was that conversation I have where I rant at the kids about How Dad can’t frigging use the frigging Tupperware to put shit in and this is the very reason I am so adamant about shit being put in Tupperware before it is placed in the fridge, because I’m sick of cleaning up un-Tupperwared shit when it spills … etc … and wander off, muttering (loudly) the very same conversation to myself as I change into something less poultry flavoured.
Grumpy, to his credit, shuts up and cleans up.
I return to lunch making for the Day Out as Grumpy tries in vain to keep Chippie away from shattered plate bits.
“Daddy break that!” he informs me.
“Yes, I know,” I reply and attempt to shuffle him along. Move along people, nothing to see …
“Daddy is anoxious,” he tells me, in his cutesy little way of informing people they are obnoxious.
“Yes, I know,” I respond, and finally get it all finished and packed. We leave.
The dinosaurs is our first stop, accompanied by “can we eat now, I’m hungry”, followed by some animal spotting, some “You lot stay right here and I’ll go off and look for him, ring me if he turns up”, a bout of wandering around various exhibits on my own muttering “fuck me, how the hell am I gonna find him in this” and thinking of the best way to have Godzilla returned to us, knowing he is highly unlikely to hear any “Godzilla, please come to the animals exhibit” announcement, return, find him wandering around looking for us, discover the other three have disappeared, find them, head to tables for lunch, have the table we’re standing beside as it is vacated taken by another family with older, non-whinging children and wander down the other end towards the playground, eat, reprimand two older kids over fighting and being arseheads, have coffee, and wander back in.
I want to check out my favourite bits; the human body and the human mind.
This is the bit where I figure it is my time to stop and read every word, as I have to do in all the war bits and history bits everywhere else we go, and my family have wandered off and vanished by the time I’ve read the first ten words on the first Accompanying Information Sign.
Godzilla vanished again in the Mind section, and I lose my mind.
Off to the Human Body, where a Couch For Sitting is discovered and is utilised for jumping over and rolling under. Edges are starting to fray and I suggest it may be time to think about going.
This was the plan, until they discovered the bit on The Digestive System. They overlook all of it, the information, the graphics and the tactile and working bits … that is, until they reach the end of the digestive system and the Little Yellow Button that goes with it.
Such was their enjoyment, I had to shoot some video … this is taken after about 7 minutes of the same, during which time Chippie loudly informed all two floors of the Museum that “Euwww, Daddy FARTED!” … it is a minute and a half (long) (yes, after seven minutes of doing the same) and continued for another several minutes before they were physically dragged away.
(If you keep a close ear out, you will hear, behind me, a woman reading every single word of the digestive system and processes to her similarly aged child, whom I’m fairly sure had a got at chewing his own arm off so he could get away and wrestle my 3 year old to The Yellow Button … I also suspect her slightly raised, yet officious and “passing on vital information” voice was a pointed judgement on my alleged parenting abilities.)
And as said earlier – some of you will likely find this incredibly normal, boring and seen-it-done-in-my-own-house-too-often … 😀
That done, and the kids dragged far enough away that there was no incentive to run back, we head off to the Melbourne section of the museum, where they had a “ride” in the very early Luna Park scenic railway cars, Chippie got terribly excited about the model trains and insisted that we make them move, and refusing to accept that they wouldn’t, took some photos of the kids sititng with the Moon outside the old cinema, including the obligatory “pretending to pick the Moon’s nose” photo (which I swear I did not put them up to at all … it must have been someone else’s mum!), the other obligatory photo of Chippie sitting on the old style toilet, but missing the one where he sticks his head down it to see what it is (*sigh*) and then … ten minutes after we should probably have gone … them vanishing and being found in the beds located in the old house that is on display.
I blame the Japanese tourists. My kids have never touched the stuff on display, until today, after witnessing several tourists sitting and laying on the beds in order to get some holiday snaps.
At this point, I mentioned to Grumpy Pants the “We’re leaving ten minutes after we should have” conundrum, and he agreed. We should be out of here. And not just becuase we were worried security were going to show and ask us to leave, anyway.
He pretends to give a big smoochy kiss to an oversized bust of someone very important to Melbourne, I walk off loudly proclaiming things like “I’m telling your Mum when we get home” and the kids, this time, pretending not to know who I am at all.
They hyperactivity of all in the moments before we leave dwindles – thank fuck – before we get home, and our evening is somewhat subdued and restful.