The great thing about raising toddlers in a major metropolitan area is that there are plenty of entertainment / outing options. We have our pick of playgrounds, libraries, museums, and family-focused events, plus -- a nice bonus of the Boston area -- easy access to nature preserves, orchards, petting zoos, etc. The not so great thing is that these places are frequently quite crowded. It's like other families somehow think they have just as much right to take advantage of their surroundings as my family does. The nerve of them!
On Friday morning, I took the girls to the Somerville library, expecting to spend some nice, quiet time in the children's area, reading books, doing some puzzles, de-shelving some DVDs. We didn't get there in time for story hour, because the girls -- bless their hearts -- had slept in. They generally wake up at around 7:30, but on Friday morning they slept until -- wait for it -- almost nine-thirty. (They actually sleep late quite frequently on Fridays and Sundays -- my mornings to get up with them -- but, curiously, wake up early on Saturdays when it's my turn to sleep in. It drives Alastair bonkers. He's convinced I know some kind of secret Jedi toddler mind trick that I'm not letting him in on. Perhaps I do.)
Anyway, we got to the library just after storytime, which was fine -- I figured it would be less crowded that way. But as it turns out, an entire freakin' daycare had come to storytime, and stuck around for about half an hour afterward. There were seriously about 30 little kids and their handlers crammed into the picture book area, such that we couldn't even get in. Very annoying. And yet, I guess I can't really justify complaining about it. The library is a public place, kids in daycare need a change of scene, too, it's a free country, blah blah blah. Such a bummer to be annoyed without having reason to be indignant!
Fortunately, the girls were not fazed by this little inconvenience. They started asking to go in the elevator, which I was happy to oblige. We rode up to the third floor -- the mezzanine over the adult section -- and the girls took great delight in shouting "peekaboo!" to the people below while I tried in vain to hush them and the elevator took its sweet time coming back.
Funny: I assumed, since the girls were so insistent about going on the elevator, that Alastair must have taken them on it during another library visit. As it turns out, he hadn't. Which cracks me up. How did the girls even know there was an elevator there? It was down a hall and around the corner. I didn't even know it existed. And yet, the girls seemed to sense its presence and location instinctively. Elevator-seeking toddlers! (I wonder if this power could be harnessed to the benefit of humanity somehow?)
As for the other crowded weekend outing -- well, we walked right into it, eyes wide open. We should have known better. In fact, I'm surprised I even suggested this particular activity, given what a snob I can be when it comes to branded, corporate entertainment for the masses. But the girls didn't nap, and it was raining, and we were all feeling ansty and claustrophobic and so I suggested (gulp) we go to (in an embarrassed whisper) Chuck E. Cheese's.
Now, mind you, I had not set foot in a Chuck E. Cheese's since I was a kid, and the franchise was brand new, circa '84/'85. In my memory, Chuck E. Cheese's was a cavernous pizza joint with a ball pit and some air hockey tables, maybe a few skee-ball courts and a couple of lame, token-operated rides. Greasy food. Singing, animatronic characters. The place hadn't quite caught on yet, and I don't remember it ever being crowded. So I wasn't quite prepared for Chuck E. Cheese of Everett, MA on a rainy Sunday afternoon: wall to wall people, games and rides you had to walk sideways to fit between, and so much noise you could barely hear yourself thinking "what was I thinking?" (Though the most disturbing feature of the place, by far, was the salad bar. Both its contents and the fact that there was one at all.)
It actually wasn't a disaster, though. Clio held tight to my hand and led me around to various things she wanted to see -- her favorite was the train set in a glass case, and she also liked watching the basketball free-throw games. Elsa took a ride on a coin-op merry-go-round and in a mechanical car with a large, molded plastic Chuck E. Cheese in the passenger seat. Given the amount of stimulation and chaos, both girls were surprisingly calm. They loved the bad pizza. And, though Elsa at first shied away from the person walking around dressed up as Chuck E. Cheese, she later ventured a wave, and as we were leaving, she chattered to me very proudly about how she'd said "hi" to the mouse.
It was an interesting experience. Certainly a change from our usual scene. But I don't think we'll be going back any time soon. The brief, intimate conversation I had with Clio as we were waiting for our pizza pretty much sums it up:
Me: You ready for some pizza, Cli?
Clio: Yeah.
Me: What do you think, do you like this place?
Clio: No.
Me: Why don't you like it?
Clio: It's yucky.
Me: Yeah, it is kind of yucky, isn't it?
Clio: (Nodding, wide-eyed) Yeah.
