The Magic of Museums

On Monday I took the kids on an adventure.  We drove to Dallas and went to the Perot Museum.  I absolutely love taking my children to museums and this day was no different.  We all are on equal footing at a museum; all learning something new.  We carry a sense of wonder with us all day long on days like that.
My biggest takeaway from that museum was learning the difference between bison and buffalo.  I went to Haltom High School and proudly wore T-shirts emblazoned with buffaloes.  I stood on the sidelines during football games next to the buffalo mascot shouting "B-U-F-F-A-L-O!"  I know what a buffalo looks like; or so I thought.  I directed the kids to the buffalo at the museum and was just about to bust out a speech about buffaloes when I realized that the sign said bison.  I had to ask an employee.
"Excuse me, why does this say bison?  It's a buffalo."
Here's what I learned.
Bison live in North America.  Buffaloes live in Africa.


Notice the horns are different as well.  So when I was in high school, apparently I should have been leading the crowd in cheering "B-I-S-O-N!"  Kind of embarrassing.

Besides exploring and learning together, I also love that museums have no laundry to fold or dishes to wash.  My job is to be present as a tour guide.  There are few distractions and I can observe the kids interacting with others and learning.  I love that we weren't pressed for time like most people there.  Every parent/daycare escort seemed to be tugging on the children's hands:  "We've got to go see other stuff.  We want you to see everything and we've only got a little time left!"  Not my kids.  If they were interested in something, we stayed there until they became disinterested.

I especially enjoyed watching the kids play on the kid construction area; a replica of the Dallas skyline.  Paul chose to build towers by himself and stayed focused for 20 minutes doing that.  Claire decided to create a community.  She went to each child at the area and asked if they wanted to be on her "team."  She had them organized and gave them different roles of sorting and carrying blocks.  She was directing without being rudely bossy and she was super-excited about her team.  When we needed to move to a different exhibit she ran to inform each child of where we were going so they could follow us.  She was a motivational leader and great organizer and delegator.  Paul was focused on the task at hand and stuck with it until he was done.  I cannot wait to watch them grow up and develop their skills.

At lunchtime we ate outside in the shade.  We started feeding the pigeons our bread crusts and Paul was delighted that a little chickadee was able to nab a piece that he had thrown.  All throughout our lunch other children approached the birds stomping or waving their arms wildly.  My kids kept saying, "Why are they doing that?  They're being mean to the birds!"  I loved to see the compassion they had for animals that are often ignored or even disdained.

Museums are the places where I feel like the best mom I can be and where I am immeasurably proud of my children.  We should go more often.

Here's some photos of our adventure that day:

 The kids raced to see who could complete a dinosaur puzzle first.

Flying like a 3D bird.

 Paul's impression of an eagle.

Digging for fossils.

Craft time!

Racing a T-Rex

My life as a cussing tour guide

Before I had kids, I was a teacher.  As such, when Paul was born, I quit my career to teach my own children.  Claire was two at the time and arrived home from day care counting to 10.  Most parents would rejoice at that, but I nearly cried.  I was crushed that I wasn't able to teach her that fundamental skill.
Since then, my children's worlds grow every day.  Try as I might, it is impossible for me to teach them everything about the world as well as all the book knowledge they will need to succeed.

I often view myself as a tour guide in my children's lives.  Sometimes I take them places where I can explain what they are experiencing as they are experiencing it.  And sometimes they see something and I have to stop the tour bus to go back and explain it.

Lately, that has manifested itself in the area of foul language.  I really don't curse in front of the kids.  I like to think I'm creative enough to avoid it.  "Oh, Shhhhenanigans!"

Claire came home at the beginning of the year and asked me what cruss words were.  It took me a few minutes to realize she had combined curse words and cuss words.  Explaining what curse words were piqued her interest and she was asking me all sorts of questions:  "Is stupid a cuss word?  Is butt?  Is dumb?" Knowing that she wouldn't quit until she had one in her head to meet the formula, I shared the word "sh**" with her.  She then understood that these were words she hadn't been exposed to and wasn't supposed to say.  I told Adam about this exchange and he couldn't believe I actually shared a forbidden word with our daughter.  I'm not sure what he would have done had he been in the car at that moment.  He wasn't mad at me, just perplexed.

So over the course of this first grade year, I've had to navigate through the minefield of okay and not okay words.  Never before was I so aware of all the gray area in our language.  No, stupid is not a cuss word, but you shouldn't say it because it's not nice.  I think I've done a successful job of confusing Claire, and definitely Paul when he's been in earshot of these conversations.

Two weeks ago Claire was sharing with me, her tour guide, a fact she had learned at school that day.  "Mama, I know what the middle finger means now.  It means F---."  I nearly choked at her nonchalance, but she was just sharing knowledge with me, like she always does.  She didn't realize this was a forbidden word.

The curse word situation has escalated at the playground and classroom.  Other students, whom I love, who are good kids, are dropping F bombs on the playground or flipping each other off when the teacher's not looking.  I know this because Claire is like a news reporter.  Everything that happens in at school is recorded for repeat to me later.  I often check her facts and find them to be pretty near true and uneditorialized.

This situation sounds pretty out of control and horrifying, but I know each and every person involved, and I'm not horrified.  Claire has an excellent teacher who loves her students, including Claire.  She works just as hard as she can to meet each student's needs.  She really is awesome and I've got nothing but respect for her.  She has her class under control, but she cannot avoid ever turning around or hold each child's hand on the playground to make sure they are using appropriate language.

And for the kids, I know from asking questions, that this is not an angry thing.  This is about growing older and obtaining new knowledge.  This is about trying out new things to see if they work.  They are not angry at each other when they use the F word or when they flip each other off.  They are stretching their legs, learning independence, and figuring out what works for them.  This is about obtaining a new vocabulary word and trying it on for size.

And the kicker for me is that I can't raise my child in a bubble.  Even if I had the money to enroll her in an expensive private school, chances are, the kids there know these words too and the same thing would happen.

For me, the way I deal with this is with prayer, many deep breaths, and ears to listen.  As the kids gain new knowledge, it is my job as their tour guide and mother to help them understand the world around them.  Unfortunately I cannot travel everywhere with them, ready to cover their eyes and ears to the inappropriate.  I can be here to listen and offer some advice and a hug.