It's been a rough couple days adjusting from the itinerant lifestyle that ended last Friday night (I have NEVER been so happy to see the City of Campbell sign). We ended up going to San Francisco the very next day (45 minutes? Psh. That's nuthin'.) so Zach and Addie could attend the Yo Gabba Gabba concert while my mom, Louie, and I gorged ourselves on sushi in Japan Center. We made the mistake of staying in the city too long thinking we could enjoy Union Square and some holiday shopping, which ended up with us getting caught in a downpour, me having to nurse Louie in a shoe store, and all of us waiting thirty minutes just to get our car out of the valet parking garage. I started to experience Road-Trip-PTSD when the kids began to cry and whine while we were trapped downtown in what was essentially a parking lot filled with angry SUV's and pushy pedestrians. We made it home though, and vowed not to get in the car unless absolutely necessary for the next few weeks.
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So of course I break that pact today and pack the kids up to visit the Children's Discovery Museum. I was determined to get out the apathetic funk I've been feeling, and we hadn't been there in awhile. I scored a close parking spot and made sure to feed the meter so we had plenty of time to play. Yes! Pro-active and responsible!
I always feel so awkward in public spaces for children. Parks and museums especially, since all the adults are forced to be in close proximity with one another but do our darndest to pretend the other doesn't exist. Of course not everyone is stand-offish. There are many different types of parents out there...
The most enthusiastic and hands-on parents, usually fathers armed with expensive cameras, are the ones who normally work full-time jobs and took the day off to spend time with their kid. They have boundless energy that's channeled into chasing their child around, crawling with them through the tunnels, proudly exclaiming over their amazing ball-throwing abilities, and hovering over every activity with a huge grin on their face. It's really very sweet. I think Grandma's and babysitters come next in the pyramid of happy, active participants.
Next are the moms who have obviously been to the museum 4,382 times, because this is one of the few enclosed spaces to play in when it's cold outside and you don't want to drag screaming children out of mall stores. They usually have an older kid running around while a baby sits in their lap or hangs in a Baby Bjorn. They look really tired. I think I fall into this category now.
Then there are those who look bored shitless and super resentful of the fact that they are sitting here watching their kid finger-paint rather then leading a team-meeting in a boardroom. They check their phones a lot and offer a wan smile when their child shows them their masterpiece.
genius!
However, it really depends on the individual when it comes to adult conversation. I think most parents prefer to avoid interaction with each other. We prefer our children's play-time to be like one-night stands: no names, no future plans, no meaningful personal information exchanged. The most that's usually offered is a query into the age of your child, and then a nod and smile, like, "okay, that's all I'm going to ask you now." I can't really blame anyone though. We're all tired, and it can be mind-numbing saying the same thing over and over every time your toddler slobbers on another kid's toy. Plus, having children doesn't change one's personality and suddenly transforn you into an extrovert.
Yet everywhere I go, I get bored enough to try and work up a conversation with another adult. This is usually a mistake. I end up sounding incredibly awkward and dorky, and after several failed attempts at starting friendly banter, I tend to give up and join the little people at the miniature kitchen table to nom on plastic fruit.
Here are some gems I offered up today:
To a friendly-looking mother in the bubble-making exhibit:
"I guess this means I don't have to give my kid a bath now, right?" (She turns toward me and gives a half-hearted smile while revealing that she is on her cell-phone. She ushers her son away.)
****
To a man who must have been at least six and a half feet tall with hair all the way down his back, wearing a scary trench coat:
"Wow, I thought I had hard time chasing my daugher around the tunnels and crawl-spaces...hahaha...you must barely fit through them! hahaha."
"No, I fit through them okay." (obviously perturbed at my joke about his height which I'm sure has been commented on his entire life.)
He was very tall.
****
To a harried-looking father who is trying to keep his daughter from getting paint all over herself in the art-studio as I point to the butterfly habitat:
"Looks like one of em' didn't make it, huh? Like, it's dead! hahaha!"
To which he glances at the habitat and then back to me, and shrugs, "Yeah, I guess so."
It was very dead.
And so it goes...
****
I still felt pretty triumphant about our outing, regardless of my social skills, until we were on the freeway halfway home and I noticed the traffic ticket flapping against the windshield. GAAARRRRRRRHULKSMASH. I couldn't believe it. There was still fifteen minutes left on the meter when we left the parking space. It must have been a mistake! When we got home, I opened the envelope and read that I was parked on a red curb. Um, no, I wasn't. Unless a red curb constitutes six inches of scraped off red paint at the very edge of the parking spot. Which had a working meter. In between two other parked cars. Whatever, California, I thought you were more laid back than that asshole, Washington, but that's obviously not the case. I've now racked up $600 in traffic tickets within a week. Let's see what happens tomorrow...maybe I'll be in a car accident! Maybe I'll get my 84th hospital bill from a private company saying I owe $300 for pain medication administered to me after Louie's birth! Just kidding on the car accident...that's not very funny.
It's a good thing I have zen-master friends I can talk to when shit like this happens. After I kicked the car tire as hard as I could (not smart), I called a woman who very calmly talked me away from the edge of a cliff. I now have a homework assignment: find a baby-sitter to give Zach and I a break every so often, and call two friends. I think I can handle that. Breathe in, breathe out. Moving on with my day.
I hope no more traffic violations (of both the car/parent variety) are involved.
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