Movie success

My kids are not normal.  Seriously.

For instance, until very recently (yesterday) they viewed going to the movie theater as a punishment.

It all started a couple of years ago when we took them to see Tangled, their very first full-length feature in a theater.

Actually, let me back up a little bit.  I did technically take David to Pride & Prejudice, but he was only six months old and he slept through the whole thing.  (The longest nap of his entire babyhood!)  So it doesn't count.

Anyway, we were never big on movies at home with our toddlers. David was sensitive to any intensity, violence, or external conflict.  And he seemed to prefer the simple plots of Blue's Clues and or the lack of plot in Elmo's World.  So we were happy to oblige.  He was fed a steady diet of Dora throughout toddlerhood, and, as a preschooler, he graduated to Diego.   Even by elementary school, he was still perfectly content to watch episode after episode of Busytown Mysteries or The Backyardigans. The result was a kid who attended in 23-minute bursts, not 90-minute sittings--which we had learned from a few painful failed attempts at watching an actual movie together as a family on the couch.  (David still considers Up to be a violation of his Eight Amendment rights.)

Naturally, things with Mary followed suit.  And before we knew it, we had two kids addicted to Nick Jr. who'd never set foot in a movie theater.

We'd heard tales of parents taking their young children to movies on dreary Saturday afternoons, and we longed for such an occasion with our own kids.  It seemed like such a normal thing to do together.

Finally, the perfect movie presented itself:  Tangled.  Mobs of Mary's friends were seeing it as their first movie in a theater, and their trustworthy parents were giving it the thumbs up.  I wanted Mary to see it too!  And I also became very conscious that David had never seen a movie in a theater--and it was time to put an end to that.

So we set off together on a dreary Saturday afternoon.  Greg and I were giddy with excitement.  I even took a picture of this momentous occasion.

It was great!  Sure, we failed to warn our kids about the previews--so they kept thinking the movie was starting when it wasn't.  And it didn't help that their 23-minute attention spans were up by the time the flick even started.  Also, David insisted on talking really loudly (another thing we forgot to prep him for).  But we sneaked in candy and Mary dozed a little and David laughed a little and we all seemed quite happy.  It was a success!

Except that it wasn't.

Despite the fact that no one complained once about the experience or let escape nary a whine afterwards, Tangled became twisted in their minds as some kind of inexplicably horrifying event.  A few weeks later we offered to take them to another movie, and they mysteriously declined.  (Hadn't they had a grand time?)  Then David began telling us at random moments (in the car, at dinnertime, before bed) that he didn't like seeing movies.  And then every time we drove by the movie theater, Mary would announce, "I never ever EVER want to go there again.  NEVER!"  (What had happened?!)  When we inquired about Tangled, neither child had any memory of seeing it.  (Had it been that traumatic??)  So we dropped the whole movie thing.

A few months later Greg was deep in schoolwork, and I was going crazy on Saturdays with the kids.  So I dreamed up a real treat--one Saturday afternoon we would go see a movie!  I shared my brilliant idea with the kids.

They declined.  With passion.

"No!  NO!! NOOOOOO!  Don't take us to a movie!"

I offered to show them trailers online to their delight. They loved watching pieces of movies on the computer, so I suggested we go see a WHOLE movie at the theater.

"No!"

"Please?  Pretty please?  Mommy's going crazy and needs to get out of the house--will you please please go see a movie just this once??!"

"No way!"  And they ran away screaming.

I was in shock.  I was ready and willing to drop twenty bucks on an outing with them.  Were they really that spoiled?  Traumatized?  Abnormal?

I dragged them from their hiding places.

"Okay.  Here's the deal.  Would you rather go see a fun movie and I'll even buy you popcorn.  OR would you rather stay home and be bored and do nothing?"

"Stay home!" said Mary.

"Definitely!" added David.

"And be bored?" I clarified.

"Be bored!  Be bored!  We want to be bored!"

My jaw was on the ground.  Needless to say, I did not take them to a movie that afternoon.

But I did realize I had the ultimate weapon at my disposal for whiny Saturday afternoons.  And I used it.

"Mom, I bored."

"I can take you to a movie."

"No way!"

"Well, go find something to do, or I'll take you to a movie."

"Okay!!"

And the child scampers off never to be heard from until dinnertime.

OR

"If you don't clean your room, I'm going to take you to a movie."

"No, don't do that!"

"Then go clean your room."

"But, Mom!!"

"Hmmm.  Let me check and see what is playing."

"Okay, okay!  I'll clean my room."

And the child cleans his or her room.

I even extended it beyond Saturday afternoons.  If whining and bickering should ensue from the backseat of the car--

"Hey!  If you don't stop it NOW, I'm going to take you to a movie!  RIGHT NOW!!"

Silence.

The only problem was that we couldn't take our kids to a movie.  Well, we could.  But we couldn't take them and have it not be a punishment.  When I drove by the movie theater on slushy Saturday afternoons or buggy, humid summer evenings, I watched longingly the smiling families skipping through the parking lot, hand in hand.  And I would wonder, yet again, why we couldn't be a normal family.

That's why yesterday was so remarkable.  It was a dreary, fatherless Saturday afternoon.  Bracing myself for vehement rejection, I announced we were going to a movie.  David and Mary shrugged, said okay, and put on their shoes.

My jaw hit the ground.

Now, to be fair, we'd been working up to this moment for over a year, having dragged them to the occasional movie.  Like the time we scooped them up in their pajamas and took them kicking and screaming to see The Muppets because Greg and I wanted to see it, and it simply seemed ridiculous to arrange for and pay a babysitter so we could go see a kids movie.  Or the time we took them to Arthur Christmas and David, after reaching the 23-minute attention span threshold, anxiously asked me every four minutes when the movie would be over.  And then there was the time my mom and I took the kids to see Big Miracle, and Mary slept through the entire thing, which didn't stop her from announcing at the end of the movie--when the audience is feeling warm and fuzzy because of said big miracle--in her loudest voice, "I HATED THAT MOVIE!!"

We also implemented a mandatory Sunday night movie so our kids could learn to follow a ninety-minute plot.  (Sure, some parents use Sunday to teach their kids Bible stories; we teach our kids how to watch movies.  Sigh.)

So the groundwork had been laid, and I was happy to reap the rewards:  a delightful afternoon with my kids.    They even held my hand and skipped in the parking lot.  I didn't complain when they insisted on popcorn.



P.S.  In case you're wondering, we saw Mirror, Mirror.  It was weird.  (But so are my kids.)  Julia Roberts was great, Lily Collins's eyebrows were too; the plot was patchy, the costumes fabulous (breath-taking!), the dialogue awkward, and the dwarfs awesome.  And it will always have a happy little place in my heart.

For your stalking pleasure

I added a people page.  Take a peek.  (I know some pretty awesome people who happen to blog.)

Psst, Mom (also known as Aunt Evie), for your convenience, I think I collected the blogs of all of my George and Nellie cousins.  (Cousins, let me know if I'm missing one!)

One too many

David:  "I do one cartwheel per day in the classroom."

David's piano recital

Hooray for David!  His piano recital was on Monday.  And he rocked it!

(Please ignore the fact that he looks like he'd been crying in that picture.  He was still decompressing from a stressful day at school.  David was quite excited about the recital, especially since there was going to be cookies afterwards, as he had reminded us hourly for the past week.)

David took a 10-week beginning piano class at a local arts studio.  It's been wonderful.  The teacher is a music therapist.  So it was perfectly natural for her to include lots of movement and physicality, with an emphasis on connecting their whole bodies with music.  She is also very comfortable with wiggles.  So it was perfect for David!  He was free to be expressive and enthusiastic.

The best part was giving David the opportunity to see that practice works.  The first few weeks he really struggled with the coordination and dexterity in his fingers.  But we pushed through the discomfort, and I encouraged (okay, forced) him to practice...and, like magic, the practice worked!  By the third week of class, his fingers were comfortable, and he was able to breeze through the material.  He felt proud of himself, and he could see the effects of a little practice.  (Note:  When I say, a "little" practice, I mean it.  We're talking about 3 minutes 3 times a week.  Which, to be perfectly honest, is what I averaged  per week during my ten years of lessons.  Sorry, Mrs. Swan.)

I spent the remaining seven weeks trying to convince him that you don't play with a hand in your pocket.  David seems to think that whenever a hand is not in use, the perfect place for it is in his pocket.  (What is it with little boys and pockets??)  Watching him play is watching his right hand go in his pocket while his left hand plays a few notes, and then his left hand goes into his pocket while the right hand plays a few notes, and so on.

 "David, get your hand out of your pocket!  Leave it on the keys"  "But I don't need it right now."  "But you will in about 2 seconds, so just leave it where it needs to be!"

We made some progress.  Some.

On the final day of class, the children had a little recital.  As you will see, it was a brief, low-key affair (with cookies afterwards!!). It was just right.

David at his piano ...

The class performed a warm-up together.  Video HERE.  (Watch a few seconds to see just how wiggly David is.  It's kind of funny.)

Then it was time for their solos.  David performed "Lost Little Kitty," and he did a super job!!  (This is the kid who a few months ago couldn't even get his fingers to play one key at a time.)  Also, he did not put his hands in his pockets!!  Not once! This is a HUGE accomplishment!  Huge. HUGE.  Video HERE.  It is very sweet to me.  (And did I mention he didn't put his hands in his pockets?)

Ta-duh!

We're so proud of David!

As a finale, the class played a song together.  (One little boy couldn't make it, so the teacher filled in for him.)  I love watching this video because it is so David!  He flails and wiggles and grins and can't stand still--but he's totally into it and right on task.  (Plus, he only put his hand in his pocket once!)  Watch the finale HERE.

Then we ate cookies.

Optimism and pessimism

How you know you are optimistic about becoming pregnant:

1. You fall asleep at night brainstorming first name/middle name combinations.
2. You have an empty closet reserved for a baby's clothes.  ("Hey, who put their stuff in this closet???  Where will the baby's clothes go?!")
3. You purposely leave open spaces on your walls where you can hang pictures of the new baby.
4. When you buy a skirt and realize it's way too big, you keep it anyway because it will be perfect when you're pregnant.
5. Ditto with the pants.
6. You refuse to commit to anything that is nine months from now.
7. You neglect to stock up on "feminine care products" because you assume you won't need them.  This leads to a minor crisis every month.
8. You passed up the fabulous boots (which were on sale!) because of the high heel.  You don't have great balance when you're pregnant, so you figure you wouldn't be able to wear them for a long time.
9. You constantly calculate and recalculate how old you will be in nine months and what the age difference between this baby and your youngest child will be.
10. Your heart melts when your children pray for a baby.
11. You joke about never having any more kids.
12. You still have the old Exersaucer.

How you know you are pessimistic about having a baby:

1. You redo all the bedrooms; you leave no room anywhere for a crib.
2. You buy a brand new car; it is not a minivan.  
3. You buy "feminine care products" in bulk at Costco.
4. You also buy pregnancy tests in bulk.
5. You realize you have said a lot of insensitive things in your life.
6. You all too often take the phrase "after all we can do" in 2 Nephi 25:23 out of context and wonder at its meaning.  (Does it mean "after all your insurance will pay for"?   "After all that is medically possible"?  "After all that you can do with a thermometer and a few pills"?)
7. You never joke about never having any more kids.
8. You panic when your children pray for a baby.
9. You look forward to being a grandparent.  You figure a grandkid is the closest thing you're gonna get to another kid.
10. The numbers involved in calculating your age in nine months, as well as the age difference between your youngest child and a baby born in nine months, far exceed your mathematical abilities.
11. You start planning a big future vacation; it's not the baby-friendly kind.
12. You are rehanging all of your pictures; there will be no open spaces.

I might write about this more; I might not. 

P.S.  I feel like I should add:  I am at a special peaceful place in the middle.

The best laid plans

Last week Greg and I reached that milestone of a decade of marriage.  We celebrated...sort of.

With the help of three wonderful friends, I coordinated a whole day of school pick-ups and play dates so that Greg and I could escape to Chicago for the day.  The drive alone (three hours each way without whining and the sounds of Pokemon videos coming for the backseat) had me giddy.  Also, we planned to go to the temple together.  TOGETHER.  That is like the ultimate treat.  And it seemed an appropriate way to celebrate ten years of marriage.

Then David got sick.  But he got better.  Phew!

Then Mary got sick.  And she did not get better.  Boo!

Oh well.  But there were touches of celebration last week...

Greg arranged to have the piano tuned.  I think of the piano as my 10-year anniversary gift.  We actually got it a month  before our ninth anniversary.  But, somehow, it has become in my mind a mark of 10 years.  For me it represents real life and adulthood and stability, some measure of which we have reached after 10 years.  It also shows that my husband loves me (because isn't there something terribly romantic about a husband buying a piano for his wife?)  So having the piano tuned last week was fitting.

Also, on the day of, Greg brought me tulips and Dr. Pepper.

Then, on Friday (the day we'd arranged to spend in Chicago), my heart was still aching for the peace and quiet of the temple, even though Mary wasn't well enough to be passed off to other moms.  (Seriously, I think I am getting addicted to the temple.  I think this may say less about the temple than the amount of chaos and disquiet and messiness in my life!  I am desperate to escape!)  So we tossed an improving Mary into the car, picked David up at school, and drove to Chicago after all.  (Who says kids have to be sick on the couch?  They can be sick in the car...and in a hotel...right?)

So it was a quick, terribly unromantic trip of truck stop meals, separate temple sessions, and cramped double beds.  (Also, we had to rush home right away Saturday for a previously scheduled and very important play date of David's with his BFF.)  And then we spent Saturday afternoon and evening at separate church meetings (it was stake conference weekend), and then we juggled the kids in church on Sunday morning through the marathon that is a multi-congregational, stake conference meeting.

We celebrated our ten-year-anniversary with a whirlwind of sick kids, car time, separate church meetings, outpourings of the Spirit, general grouchiness, arguments, much-needed naps, heartfelt conversations, cereal-for-dinner, inspiration, the BFF, tears of happiness, tears of sadness, reflection, exhaustion, procrastination, and did I mention those cramped double beds?

Somehow it was perfectly appropriate.  We have hopes of escaping to Chicago alone for a day, a night, and a day sometime this year.  (Do you know I have NEVER BEEN TO THE ART INSTITUTE???!!)  I also feel very grateful for the celebration of our 8-year-anniversary.  Yet, to mark 10 years, the imperfect--the very very imperfect--was perfect.



P.S.  Actually, the very best anniversary present was a perfectly normal, unremarkable, average, run of the mill, rather pleasant (pleasant!), tantrum-free Family Home Evening last night.  We did it!!  Finally! (And it only took 10 years!)

Greg is a good example

Greg

1. does the dishes everyday
2. mows the lawn
3. goes home teaching every month
4. takes care of throw-up (like Mary's last night)
5. backs up my hard drive regularly
6. irons his own clothes
7. washes the cars regularly
8. laughs at our kids with me
9. vacuums the downstairs
10. shepherds some Boy Scouts
11. puts the toys away as needed
12. pays the kids their allowance
13. reads to us from the Book of Mormon
14. packs David's lunch
15. feeds the kids their breakfast
16. might save you from a nuclear power plant disaster one day
17. helps dress the kids on Sunday morning
18. mails packages
19. takes out the garbage
20. changes the vacuum cleaner bag
21. coaches David's soccer team
22. records our favorite tv shows
23. likes to travel
24. eats my cooking 
25. attends parent-teacher conferences
26. takes the kids on bike rides
27. built a sandbox for Mary
28. respects my need to be bossy

I could go on.  For a long time.  Pretty much forever.  But I think you get the point.

He works hard, takes care of us, and serves the Lord.

I am glad I married Greg.  It is very nice to be married to him.  Those are massive understatements.

I hope that Mary will marry someone like her dad.  I hope that David will be like his dad.

Tornado drill

David reported that it was a very exciting day at school.  They had a tornado drill.  His class's safety place is in the girls bathroom.

"And, Mom, it is ALL toilets!!!"

10

Ten years ago Greg and I drove together to the temple up on the hill above the Bay.   We stopped at a gas station on the way, and he bought me a Dr. Pepper.  The tulips were blooming on the temple grounds, and you could see all the way to San Francisco.  Inside, we were surrounded by loved ones, many of whom had traveled great distances.  My former mission president performed the ceremony.  We were married...Forever.  And we were happy.  It was a perfect wedding day.

But, somehow, today--with two sick kids in bed, a sticky kitchen floor, and a husband off visiting a nursing home with the Boy Scouts--

today is even better.

Finale (We can do hard things?)

This is the finale of my recital posts.  Little did I know one little recital was going to be so NOT LITTLE.  It definitely warrants three posts.  (It probably warrants three hundred posts.)

Okay, so here's the deal.  We registered Mary for dance through our little town's rec department.  It was dirt cheap.  Even after shoes and tights and (pricey!) costumes, it was still very very affordable. So affordable, in fact, that we went ahead and signed Mary up for both ballet and tap (and she wanted to do both).  No big deal. Low price would naturally mean low key, right?

No, no.  Not at all, my friends.  The teacher, Miss Diane, is very experienced (as both a professional dancer and instructor) and very no-nonsense.  The goal is not to create warm fuzzies or nurture some innate love of movement.  It's to put on a fabulous production.  The students begin working on their dance for the recital on day one.  Except for one time, parents are not allowed to watch.  Ever.  Hair up, tights on:  The little girls in Mary's classes were expected to listen, follow directions, and learn.  From practicing brush steps, to measuring for costumes, to perfecting second position, to memorizing a final pose--this was serious business.

If I knew then what I know now, I would not have signed her up.  But I'm so glad I didn't know then what I know now...because I'm so, so pleased  we did it!

I'll tell you why.  First, let me show you some pictures...

This is Mary rushing off to the recital.  We were running late, of course.  (As usual, I completely underestimated how long it takes to do hair and makeup.  She was a good sport and stayed calm even as I was not.)

I adore this picture.  Look at that sweet girl.

My favorite moment was when I sneaked backstage to make sure she was in the right place.  She saw me and immediately wrapped her arms tightly around my neck.  I think it was the "realest" hug she's ever given me.  Mary is emotionally demonstrative--but the emotion she is showing is usually covering up the emotion she's really feeling, or refusing to feel.  It's not often that I get a glimpse right to her core.  This hug said, "I am nervous and a little scared and I need your reassurance, but I am also okay and I am strong and I will do this and you do not need to worry about me."  I felt both her vulnerability and her strength.  I also knew that she knew that I loved her.  And she loved me too.  (If it takes a tutu and an audience of hundreds to have a moment like that...well, I'll take it!)

The recital--appropriately themed Fright Nite, having been scheduled for Friday the 13th--consisted of 20 numbers with over 150 dancers!  This thing was big!  The show opened with the advanced jazz group.  And next up was Mary's ballet class.  The littlest ballerinas are always a crowd-pleaser.  (And you only have one year, maybe two when your kid can be in the littlest group.  So cute!)  I was swooning when I spotted Mary on that big stage in front of all those people.

She was confident and serious, and her performance was perfect!  (She's come a long way, baby.)  I was so proud of her for doing something hard.  I thought I was going to levitate or lose consciousness or sprout tears--that's how proud I was.  I was clearly not emotionally prepared.

I was also not prepared in other ways.  I forgot the extra safety pins (a must, since the girls are literally pinned into their costumes), as well as makeup for touch-ups.  I also broke a cardinal rule and did not bring extra tights.  (No fear:  I scrounged up two safety pins.  Hooray for Nars blush and Lancome lipstick for going the whole distance, no touch ups required!  And Mary did not get a run in her tights.  Phew!)  After I successfully managed the costume change, Mary gave me a few more of those wonderful hugs. I knew I had earned her trust:  I hadn't burned her with the curling iron; I'd used lots of pins to keep her bow in, just as Miss Diane had advised; I finally learned how to put her spider tutu on the right way and cross the straps in back just so.  This was all way out of my comfort zone.  But I didn't utterly fail my daughter!  Woo hoo!  Not failing feels good.

So does spying your lovely little girl backstage.

(What is it about dancers backstage?  That Degas guy was onto something.)

Her second performance was perfect.  The best she's ever done.  (Even under all that pressure!)

Ta-duh!

So, dance class was not a warm and fuzzy experience.  It was work.  She was learning a dance, not to dance.  Also, the recital was a big pain in the rear--with hair and costumes and dress rehearsals and the performance itself, which was almost 3 hours long!  But it was worth it.

Mary got to be part of something big and special...

She was mature enough (and has the right personality) to listen to her teacher, follow instructions, learn, and practice practice practice.  It wasn't easy.  (It also wasn't painful or especially hard--she's only 4, folks, and no matter how big the stage, this was still rec department dance.)  But it pushed her just a little, stretched her just enough.  It was hard...enough.  So that she felt such a sense of accomplishment.  She could see all the elements and practice come together in a big, special performance.  (With the whole community!  We love being a part of our community.  Our town is just the right size.)

She did something hard.  I didn't shield her from it.  (Isn't there a part of you that wants to "protect" your child from anything hard or challenging or potentially disappointing?)  She stood on stage in front of hundreds of people and remembered her dance steps.  And she did it twice.

We are so proud of her. We committed her to something difficult, and she did it.  With grace and maturity.

We love this girl!  I am hyper-aware of the things my kids CAN'T do, trust me.  It was nice to have an evening to celebrate something Mary can do.

And how about a shout out to her brother?  Who sat through a three hour dance recital!  (He actually really enjoyed it--but it was still a test of endurance.  He did originally have a nice button-up shirt on, but that was gone by the third dance.  In his defense, it was a bit stuffy.)  David was proud of Mary too.  He had been worried about being embarrassed for her (like last time), but this time there was nothing to worry about (except "When is this thing going to end?!?").  Thank you, David, for being a supportive big brother, even when it's hard.

So there you have it.  I feel like I have been formally initiated as a mother of a daughter.  (Really, I feel like this was more of a rite of passage for me than for Mary.)  And I'm grateful for that.

It's time to start being comfortable having a daughter.  (Especially since I have a pretty fabulous one, if I do say so myself.)  I don't have any sisters.  I was raised by a down-to-earth, no-fuss mother, who was raised by a pragmatic, even less-fuss mother.  Hair bows and eyeliner and big productions of any sort are out of my comfort zone.  My discomfort is so severe that I harbor the irrational fear that if I curl Mary's hair once, the next thing you know, she'll be starring on Toddlers and Tiaras.

Which is why, had I known the amount of sequins involved in these dance classes, I would not have mailed in the check.  But, you know what, if sequins and safety pins allow my daughter to experience a sense of accomplishment, and give us an opportunity to grow closer as mother and daughter, then I'm okay with it.  (In moderation, of course...don't expect to see her on TLC anytime soon.)

Love you, Bear.

P.S.  Thus the dance chapter in Mary's life closes, at least for quite a while.  She wants to do gymnastics this summer. And next school year she'll be in school full-day, so we're going to cut out evening activities.  Another reason I'm glad we did it this year--while we could.

Rehearsal videos

I did not record Mary's performances at the recital.  (It's okay just to sit back and enjoy, right?...without experiencing life through your camera screen.)  But I did capture a little bit of the Thursday night rehearsal.  Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) my camera battery was out of juice.  I did manage to squeeze out a few pictures and two short clips of each dance she was in.

***

Early in the evening Mary's tap class was scheduled to rehearse "Ding Dong!  The Witch is Dead!"  (It was a dress rehearsal--but fortunately we didn't have to do hair and makeup.)

Mary was amazed to be under the bright lights on a big stage.  She was a little dazed, but she took the job of rehearsing very seriously.

Look at my little munchkin...

This was such a cute dance.  The choreography was adorable.  (And the munchkins even more so.)  I didn't have enough life in my battery to get the whole thing, which is too bad.  But CLICK HERE to see a short clip of Mary's tap class rehearsing "Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead!"


Then it was into her second costume and wait-wait-waiting until it was time for her ballet class to rehearse "The Incy Wincy Spider."

Finally, Mary was back on stage.

Look at that sweet class!  Mary takes the final pose very seriously (which is good, because so does her teacher). CLICK HERE to see Mary dance to "The Incy Wincy Spider."  Oh, be still, my heart.


P.S.  You might have seen Mary doing these dances before.  I posted videos of the day parents were allowed to come in to the class and see what the children had been working on.

Before and after

5:47 pm

9:38 pm

It was a long night.  (But a good one.)

Congratulations, Mary.  We're bursting with pride!

Shopping list

I went to the store.

On my list:

hair spray
hair gel
eyeliner
makeup remover towelettes
safety pins
flowers

Can you tell we have a dance recital tonight?

Kansas City Temple Open House

Your children see the temple from the outside.

It's not often that you have an opportunity to take them inside.

Which is why we drove to Kansas City, to fulfill Mary's plan.  (Last summer she insisted that we return when the temple was finished being built and take her inside.)  

The temple becomes a spiritual center, a holy place of refuge from the world.  It is a place to meditate on our eternal journey, make promises to serve God, and feel close to Him.  After the building is officially dedicated, the temple is reserved as a place set apart from the world for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who are striving to live the gospel of Jesus Christ and keep the commitments they have made to Him.  Church members wear white while inside to symbolize equality and purity.  With a few exceptions, the temple is a place for adults. 

Which is why an open house is so fantastic for kids.  After a temple is completed, but before it's dedicated, the building is open for public tours.  Everyone is welcome!  It's a wonderful opportunity to be all together as a family in the temple.  And it's nice to have the temple demystified a little for your kids.  (There's a good reason not everyone is invited inside a dedicated temple--it's hard for a place to be apart from the world if the whole world is there.  But it certainly has the effect of making it all mysterious.)  We attended a temple open house in Utah a couple of years ago.  But not even David could remember it.  So we figured we should make the effort to go to the one in Kansas City, especially since it (barely) overlapped with our spring break.

To make things even better (much much better) B and Le met us in Kansas City with their adorable kids. What a blessing that glad they came.  They are so much fun and easy to be with.  And everything is better with cousins.  (Also, it was incredibly reassuring to spend time with parents who have some of the same struggles with their kids that we do with ours.)  So good for the soul to be with them.  And just look at these cousins...

It was wonderful to be in the temple together.  Other temple open houses I have been to have been self-guided.  This time we had a guide who walked us through.  The good part about this was the celestial room.    Instead of briskly walking through, we were invited to pause for a few minutes, even take a seat.  Greg, David, Mary, and I all squeezed together on a sofa. The celestial room is a quiet, lovely place of meditation that symbolizes heaven, or, in Mormon words, living eternally with our families and God.  So it was marvelous to be there for a few moments with my family, husband, son, and daughter.  (Afterwards, David told us that was his favorite part because he felt warm inside.)

It is nice to have a place to escape the world.

It was nice to take my kids there.

Kansas City continued

We visited more than the church history sites.  Pictures and notes...



THE TITANIC AT UNION STATION

Notes on the Titanic exhibit at Union Station:


David's first grade class is obsessed with the Titanic.  It all started with a book his teacher happens to have in the classroom library about it.  David's best friend became fascinated with the ocean liner and its demise.  The fascination was contagious, spreading among the six-year-olds faster than a rotovirus.  The kids expanded their search for Titanic books to other libraries, and they silently swap those books during reading time.  Or they not-so-silently huddle together on the beanbags pouring over the books' diagrams and photographs, with someone reading the captions aloud for the benefit of all.  One kid (David's best friend) did his science fair project on how and why the Titanic sunk.  Another boy started a Titanic club.  These kids are pretty obsessed.  (It all started with a forgotten, overlooked book on the shelf.  The power of a book!)

So when I saw there was an exhibition on the Titanic in town, the Nice Mom part of me nagged relentlessly,"You have to take him! You have to take him!"  Nice Mom finally won out over I Don't Want to Be Bothered Mom.  That's when David and I headed downtown to Union Station, leaving Daddy and Mary behind to swim at the hotel.

The best way to describe the exhibit is "overpriced."  Way overpriced.  ($19.12--aren't they clever.)  I know that it's amazing that someone can go down to the Titanic wreckage at the bottom of the ocean at 6,000 psi and recover a boot that's been there for a hundred years.  But it's still just a boot under some glass at a museum.  It's hard for a six-year-old (or 34 a-year-old) to get really excited about it.  Also, I expected more diagrams and displays on the mechanics of the sinking--and I think David did too.  BUT there was a marvelous scale model of the Titanic (that impressed upon me how big this thing was), and there over sized stunning illuminated photographs, and we enjoyed the information about the different classes.  (It cost over $100,000 in today's money to travel first class on the Titanic; second class was so nice that those passengers thought they had mistakenly been given first class accommodations; David would have chosen third class because they got bunk beds.)  Also, we got "boarding passes" of specific individuals that make for a nice souvenirs that can be passed around the beanbags in David's classroom.

Best of all, I got to spend the evening out on the town with my little sweetheart.  He enjoyed doing something special--without his adoring/annoying little sister.  And I enjoyed the one-on-one time.  My heart went pitter-patter when we rode the Union Station escalators holding hands and when we discussed lifeboat designs over pizza and spaghetti.




NATIONAL WORLD WAR I MUSEUM

 

Notes on the World War I Museum:


In case you're wondering why the NATIONAL World War I Museum is in Kansas City:  Right after the war, the citizens of Kansas City set about building a memorial.  So it was a Kansas City thing.  Decades later, a museum was built underneath the memorial, and Congress passed legislation making it the National World War I Museum.  It does indeed seem like it should be in Washington D.C.  But it's nice that it's not.

I loved this museum!  It is well-designed.  Informative and accurate and engaging. Not too big, and not too small. It's an adult museum, but it's interesting for kids--without being gimicky.  There are a few life-size replicas of the trenches.  (What misery.)  The two short films are well-done.  The displays are easy to follow.  And there is a big interactive computer screened table top with activities and information that the kids loved.  Also, the volunteers were friendly, helpful, and plentiful.

I know I may be a little biased because of this strange fascination I have with World War I.  (What a strange time of transition--the tanks had wooden wheels for heaven's sake.  How was it not the end of the world?  The whole world completely turned upside-down and fell apart and then everyone died of the flu.  And yet it was really just the beginning.)  But I definitely recommend this museum.  So, you Mormons on your pilgrimages to Independence and Liberty, take a morning to drive downtown and visit this place.






BASS PRO SHOP OUTDOOR WORLD

Notes on Outdoor World:


Early on David found a brochure in the hotel lobby for Bass Pro Shop's Outdoor World.  He became obsessed, pouring over the brochure at every spare moment.  Since it was on our way home from the World War I Museum, we stopped there after lunch, thereby making David's dreams come true.

The dads took the kids inside to shoot guns, admire large fish, and climb in boats.  (Us moms went to Hobby Lobby to look at material.)  I'm not sure how anyone else felt, but David thought it was the best experience of his life.  He told me, "I love that place.  It was a dream come true."

I don't even know what to say.

As Uncle B pointed out to Greg, "I think you may have a gun enthusiast on your hands."

I don't even know what to say.

---

Then it was an afternoon of swimming, breakfast for dinner, and finally off to the temple.