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.
