No time for The Thinker

I’d like to show you some fabulous photos from the Rodin Museum, a favorite haunt of mine from when I was a student in Paris. Caroline and I brought the boys here on Wednesday, one of the first really nice days in almost a week. Here is what I have to share:

That’s right – I spent all of my time there at the sandbox.

The difference between traveling as an adult and traveling as an adult with young children isn’t that the unexpected happens. The difference is the consequences. Both boys were tired this morning, and by the time we shepherded them out the door (a process that never takes less than a half hour between backpack preparation, potty use, handwashing, sunblock application, and the assemblage of snacks) I was already hating the sound of my own voice as I threatened them with I don’t know what–no more treats perhaps (a rather hollow threat since they’d both eaten pastries for breakfast). When we arrived at the museum, there was a long line and even though I’d come prepared with dried fruit and Caroline’s willingness to play twenty questions, by the time we made it to the counter, I was peeling Teddy off my leg and out from under my skirt and hissing at Tommy to please, for the last time, lower his voice for goodness sake!

I don’t know if you can guess the rest of the narrative, but I’ll offer it in outline:

1. Sullen toddler does not enjoy his trip around the garden while big brother and au pair sketch inside museum.

2. Sandbox is only thing that makes sullen toddler happy.

3. When it is mother’s turn to go into museum, she can’t find her ticket and blames toddler with whom she was wrestling when she purchased it. Mother finds au pair and children just as the former is saying, “please don’t torture me Teddy” to toddler who is lying on the ground. Mother takes both children to sandbox, and lets au pair enjoy a turn around the garden.

4. It is now lunchtime. Mother decides to abandon the museum altogether without actually making it inside and take children to kid-friendly lunch place somewhere over toward the Eiffel Tower with “American-style sandwiches.”

5. Despite great joy at nearness of the Eiffel Tower and seemingly improved mood, toddler starts running away in front of Invalides, by one of the busiest traffic circles in Paris; is quickly caught by mother who moves faster than she knew she could.

6. Toddler cries, not understanding why his mother has suddenly turned into an unreasoning, raging, maniac.

7. Mother, now feeling at least ten years older, picks up toddler and starts walking toward lunch place which turns out to be some nine long blocks away. (Stroller is at home.)

8 Lunch place closed, permanently.

9. Lunch is found in Greek cafe on the Rue Cler with incredibly high prices and slow service.

10. Despite beauty of day, nearness of Eiffel Tower, and potential for ice cream purchase, everyone goes home to nap.

As a postscript to this sad narrative: at dinnertime, I discovered my museum ticket in the change purse of my wallet. Right where I put it.

Oh well. Without a few bad days, how would I appreciate the great ones?