Art-N-About

On our first day of summer vacay we took a field trip to an art museum. It wasn't until we arrived for our personal tour by my docent friend at The Kimball Art Museum that I realized it was maybe just a tad ambitious to take a two year old on a guided tour of the permanent collection gallery. On the drive there my six year old also made it clear that this was not his number one field trip venue as he said, "Looking at paintings is not my favorite, it is your favorite, Mom." I couldn't really argue with that, but I also couldn't turn down a personalized free tour directed to young children. I must say I felt quite a bit better as I witnessed her having to pry her own 6 year old off her legs after the first tour and cram him into our friends mini-van so that she could begin our tour. This wasn't my 6 year old and 2 year olds first time in an art museum. That being said we've had mixed experiences. Ranging from an embarrassing display at The Modern where we were essentially kicked out, to a fun filled afternoon during the Bellini exhibit at The Kimball during their Family Festival. Parents, as you know,  it can go either way. Art museums are not the only place that the pendulum swings on behavioral bliss to tantrum turmoil with a toddler in tow. So sometimes we take the plunge and hope for the best. 

We landed on the best side of things this time around. Even as we started with a wardrobe compromise that resulted in an eclectic pairing that would have been less noteworthy had I just allowed Z his initial selection. For some reason I thought perhaps on a cultural outing we could for-go the basketball shorts for one afternoon. So Z then decided that he should get to chose to wear his cowboy hat. Far be it from me to squelch his artistic expression. Besides, it proved prop worthy during his theatrics at the statue out back the Kimball. That is until he began pontificating the art. His sized up assessment was, "Mom, this statue is a woman." 
"Oh, how do you know?" I don't know why I prompted, I knew perfectly well why, I guess I just wanted to know how his critical thinking was coming along!?
"Because it has breasts." Right you are son. His critical thinking is coming along fine. And...now why don't we head inside for the tour. During which, I was pleasantly surprised that my six year old stayed intent with the group and chose a Caravaggio as his favorite piece. We Fritz's love our rebels. 

The Cardsharps. Caravaggio. 1595. The Kimball Art Museum, Permanent Collection.

My two year old made it through the gallery without any of his screeching sounds that we are attempting to remove from his "I'm displeased" repertoire. I don't know when he transitioned from a normal cry to this high pitch ear hell, but I'm praying eradication is possible. He even sat serenely on the ground and doodled on a paper while I listened to a fascinating history of the French painter Elisabeth Louise Vigee Le Brun, the only female artist on exhibit in the permanent collection at The Kimball.

Self-portrait. Elisabeth Louise Vigee Le Brun. 1781

After we exited the gallery we went over to the gift shop to browse and were pleasantly surprised with the hard to find off-line and year-waiting-period at the library "Elephant & Piggie" books by Mo Willems. A pre-school educator friend of mine has children that hoard these books in her classroom. The pictures are silly, and the stories simple enough for my Kindergartner graduate to read by himself. He read through a couple and I let him choose one to bring home. He chose "Happy Pig Day!"

   

Not only did we think the book was fun but the idea of a pig having his own special day resonated as just last Fall, my then five year old declared one morning in October,  "We already had Mothers Day and Fathers Day. Today should be Kids Day!" And so it began. While he was at school I painted a banner (very quickly, please don't judge my talent by this.) And put out Oreo's with sprinkles over-top. Ta-da, Kids Day! 

Our final stop on our art circuit is a must with children. The large sculpture outside The Modern in Fort Worth. It is genius and if I had the funds? I would commission one for a playground in every major city. You enter the center of the sculpture and it creates an echo chamber. My kids happily stomp, run, shout, jump, dance, and laugh in pure joy. 
FYI: If you do choose to play the video of them dancing, then I might suggest turning the sound way down or off. You will miss their dubstep beat, but you will also dodge the amplified version of the two year old screech.

Something about the interior of the statue even transforms adults into a trance of child-like wonder. Instead of turning pretentious crusty looks on these exploring little souls they usually join in clapping, stomping, and jumping. It is a sculpture that is an instant smile maker. As are "friend fries" from In-N-Out to end our Art-N-About field trip. 

Hells Bells, a cowboy!?

Last week my Facebook newsfeed blew up with links to Jen Hatmakers blog post "Worst End of School Mom Ever." I laughed with the worst of them, and felt more than a twinge of commradorie in the humoristic realities of the modern momma eking out my first Kindergartners final stretch. 

Why on that very morning before the infamous link circulated, his right strap on his Batman backpack unstitched, and was dragging on the ground. No matter, I just "hulked" it off with my bare hands, threads flapping in the breeze, and informed him that he had 6 days left to wear it across his body with one strap. 

About a week ago, his once a week purchase of school lunch switched to me hunting down change every other day. I'm sure the lunch lady in the cafeteria wants to strangle me. Recently my husband went and met Z for lunch for the first time this year. Afterwards the man entered our home with a glazed look of overload, walked directly to our bed, laid down and stared blankly at his iPhone for a good hour. I don't think he would ever recover from counting out $2.35 in quarters, dimes, and nickles as the noise level in the elementary school cafeteria climbed off the charts. If I owe any staff member an end of the year a gift, it's probably her. Maybe I should present her with her own brown bag, adult contents included. 

All-in-all we were still riding out the year in a fairly operative manner, considering. I can't really say we were "awesome" on day one. We made it to school with everything, except any kind of camera. As we walked Z inside we passed hoards of parents and children, cameras flashing, and pictures snapping. I sort of thought we should be walking on red carpet, but I didn't really twinge with any 'worst parent shame'. The thing was I didn't really care. I got a great smiley excited picture of him with my phone right before we left the house, which was why my phone was probably lying on the kitchen counter. I didn't really need photographic proof we had made it in one piece outside the brick building. 

Today was his Kindergarten graduation. We had made it. Or so I thought. Just last week I had laughed as Jen described her "fresh hell" of piece-mealing together a last minute Benjamin Franklin costume for Living History day. You'd think it would've prepared me for the moment my husband burst through the door this morning after dropping Z off. "Don't you answer your phone?!! His teacher is calling us. He's not supposed to be in khaki's and a polo, he is supposed to be a cowboy!" 

HELLS BELLS, a cowboy. Now why didn't I think of that? I have since scoured my email and we were somehow by-passed on that correspondence. And my son? Well I found out the "surprise" at graduation that he had been referring to all weekend. So take it from me parents, next time your Kindergartner tells you they have a surprise part in a performance? It might be wise to extract the info, pronto. Or else you will be surprised. You will be running around with hot rollers in your hair conjuring up the makings of a cowboy from the four corners of your home. All I can say is "praise" we weren't the chef, or the policeman. We would've been stranded up a creek. 

 

My husband felt as if his world had just warped into crazy town. He doesn't get the modern day parent protocol. He could barely even comprehend why we were holding a Kindergarten graduation in the first place. As we pulled up to the school, I was clutching the cowboy garb and ready to make a mad dash for the entrance. Suddenly I saw sun-dressed mothers in heels, and exclaimed in dismay, "Oh no, look at all the moms, I'm not wearing a dress, only platform shoes." He looked at me and said, "are you all kidding yourselves!? I don't even know who you are this morning." To which I rolled my eyes, made a mental note to never put this man on costume duty, and leaped from the car bee-lining it to the principal. She was already outside engaged in arguments with angry parents who hadn't got the memo for the pre-registration security process for admittance to the graduation. Whew, at least we dodged a bullet there, since I had somehow gained access to that elite form and submitted it. She looked at my apologetic anxiety heavy face and the cowboy garb. She unaffectedly reached out for the bundle and asked "What class?" Whew. We did it. We made it in time to outfit our cowboy for the adorable beyond words musical program of "What I Wanna Be, What I Wanna Be, What I Wanna Be When I'm Big Me."

I don't even care that a cowboy isn't my top choice for his chosen profession, I'm just so relieved he was given the part that we could scrap together today. You know, so his "surprise to us" wasn't ruined and all. We learned as he walked across the stage that his chosen profession is to be a Secret Agent. The weapon technology is supposedly top rate. How I love my amazingly imaginative 6 year old! 

After the program, we were ushered outside to enjoy a punch and cupcake reception. It was there that I was redeemed from the low man on the totem pole of the worst parent spectrum. Not that I'm keeping track. But my favorite quote was from a young Kindergartner girl from another class. As she sipped her lemonade, she loudly announced, "It tastes like a margarita!"

 

TWO-HEADED MONSTER