We threw out even the notion of a nap today in favor of fun.
Childhood fun for sure. Parenthood fun was questionable, but there is always the promise of vicarious enjoyment at least.
Turns out going to the Omaha Children's Museum on a chilly, snowy Sunday is a great idea, mainly because it was nearly empty.
We got there shortly after it opened and I was surprised when not one other coat covered a hook in the hang-up-your-coat area. Usually, I stuff ours into a corner on the floor because it's so packed.
Apparently, cold weather scares folks off.
Fine with us.
We spent three hours at this place filled with life-sized plastic cows, pigs, sheep and stalks of corn.
We ran around stuffing balls into tubes and jumping up and down before they fell on our heads from the giant receptacle in the middle.
We danced in a weird heat-imaging darkroom-type place to strange reggae music.
We spent at least an hour in the toddler-baby room where you have to (read: GET to) take your shoes off, and we threw pillows at each other, stretched out on gymnastics-type mats and then, finally, played with babies. We dressed them, fed them, swaddled them in blankets, and I got to hold them for a really long time. Oh, and Rye also burned one on the stove. He thought this was funny.
Dane and I do not think this is funny.
But I was still happy to play with dolls. Ah, the daughter I always wanted!
Seriously, though, we did our fair share of boy tiger-roaring, fire-truck driving and running frantically around. I'm not worried.
I had dressed Rye in two layers of pants to ward off the chill. But it was warm in the Children's Museum, all the more so because we had three hours straight.
Just the two of us.
Playing dolls and firefighters and farmers.
You can't beat a Sunday afternoon like that.