Another Saturday, another ill-timed, unplanned adventure. And if anyone’s keeping score, that makes three weeks in row now.
After days—days--of whining over this last week about where we were going this Saturday, Ben and I caved to pressure and casually mentioned that we might go somewhere fun. Like the train museum. Or the duck pond. Not really committing to either and quietly hoping for neither.
But, kids.
They have selectively brilliant memories that recorded our head-nods toward a day trip so we were committed to go somewhere unless we were up for more whining, coupled with crying and wailing—which we weren’t. So after spending the morning running errands and leveraging this magical trip for some serious “let’s hurry up and get our jobs done” energy from the kids, we rolled out at 1:15 pm.
For the record, I’m not at all opposed to family time. Or day trips. I just happen to loathe day trips during nap times and in weather over 90 degrees with sun so bright I can’t get any good pictures. And it was pushing 95 when we rolled out.
Sweet.
Six tired, hot kids wandering around a large, uncontained space for hours. What’s not to love? But we went anyway. And I pep-talked myself all the way there about the perks of having great, free things to do so close to home.
Stay-cations are cool. Stay-cations are cool. Stay-cations are cool.
And as it turns out, Stay-cations are super cool. Even when you’re roasting.
I can’t believe that in the six years we’ve lived here, I’ve never been up to Union Station before. This Italian renaissance style building is absolutely beautiful with gorgeous brick facades, vibrant mosaics and some incredible old trains that make even the non-enthusiasts swoon.
The main lobby has all of the grandeur you’d expect from a major east coast train station: soaring ceilings, original red and white slate floor and leaded-glass windows. But Ogden’s station also boasts a charming western feel with the lush Edward Lanning murals depicting the building of the Transcontinental Railroad and hand-painted veining on the support beams. Beautiful.
I was perfectly content to stay inside in the air conditioned loveliness of the lobby. But after ten minutes and a few thousand pictures, the magic had worn off for Ben and the kids.
Apparently.
The station actually houses three separate museums for trains, cars and firearms along with a great collection of retired trains outside. The train museum inside was wonderful with all of the great artifacts and memorabilia that you’d expect. But the kids’ favorite part was the model train cases that lined most of the rooms in the exhibit. This particular case showed trains coming and going from the back (west) side of the station with historic 25th Street heading east towards the mountains.
And this picture …
I can’t decided if I love or hate this shot of the boys on a little maintenance car. The shot was horribly blown out and ‘noisy’ from the high shutter speed. I tried to see if I could salvage it with a sepia tint … maybe? I’m not sure if it looks cool-purposely-distressed-vintage-y or just crappy. Hmmm.
While we were trying to round up the kids to head over to the car museum next door, I noticed this little beauty.
Swoon.
The paper and printing snob in me (especially the vintage paper and printing snob and me) fell in LOVE. And displayed in front of old brick? I adore you Mr. Lovely Antique Typewriter that probably prints beautiful, uneven type on yellowed telegram paper. After my fifth or sixth identical picture of this beauty, I realized the We’re Leaving Nows and Let’s GOs coming from Peterson were directed at me.
Whatever.
I think I may just have to frame this picture for my workstation.
Once outside, we headed around the north side of the museum towards an old steam locomotive and passenger cars. Right away I noticed that all the good little children who eat their vegetables and get treats in their Christmas stockings were thoughtfully heeding the PLAY SAFELY sign and climbing up into the cab one-by-one.
Where’s my kid?
Yup.
That’s Cameron standing on top of the boiler after climbing up the front of the engine, scuttling across blistering hot metal and hopping over three steam domes a good 30+ feet in the air. But the weird thing was realizing how I felt watching him. Part of me wanted to shout up at him to, “Please … for the love … PLAY SAFELY.” And yet another part of me loved seeing him up there … loved seeing how effortlessly he jumped around … loved seeing the joy he had in climbing and exploring off the beaten path … loved how he always goes high, goes big and never settles for less than spectacular.
And so I tossed out a quick Get Down From There Now and Let’s Be Nice To The Trains for the benefit of all the parents looking around to see if someone was going to get the naughty kid down, and suppressed a smile at how proud I am of this kid. Seeing up there was one of those little Mom reminders that my missions is not to try and fight that part of my son, but to help him channel and harness that energy and drive to be a force for good. And man is this kid going to be a force to be reckoned with ….
After Cam hopped down, I heard the sweat sound of Seanry Speak shouting at me to see an excited three year old who had conquered the biggest thing in his world.
This picture was almost adorable. Unfortunately from the time we started walking around outside, this woman became my nemesis.
She and her pink shirt and black sunglasses made it into half of the shots I took of the kids. Argh. All of the shots that I was looking forward to? Nope. Pink Shirt Lady is there. And she saw me—I know she saw me standing there--patiently holding my camera waiting for her to step to the side while she blithely ignored me. Never mind that every other person there understood the unspoken Hey Your Trying To Take Pictures Of Your Kids? Let Me Move rule. Nope. Pink Shirt Lady stood her let-me-block-all-of-your-shots ground. Lame.
Okay. Rant over.
As the bigger kids climbed and explored and played, I noticed that Ash was getting antsy. Really, really antsy. And I realized that she was ready to get out and explore, too … even if I wasn’t. And so I took a deep breathe and chased after her as she charged up ladders and played on unforgiving metal platforms.
She was fearless.
And I find myself looking at these pictures of her now with a strange mix of motherly worry and absolute pride in the way she rushes ahead and gets right in there with the big kids. She, Cam and Kade are kindred spirits in that way. As their mother it makes me so happy … and it also make me want to buy Band-Aids. Lots and lots of Band-Aids.
Sheesh. She’s growing up. All of them are.
I supposed that why I love these pictures of Dylan. It’s not necessarily that they’re great shots of him, but rather that he seems so much older. Even in weird mid-sentence shots, wearing the only-with-long-pants-socks that I told him not to wear, he’s becoming more of a young man and less of a kid.
Seeing him sitting here on the coupling rods of this engine is so perfect to me in a hold on we’re wading deep into analogy land. It reminds me how much Dylan is a child of two worlds and how much trains have become the link between them. And watching Dyl smile and thrill being so close to something he love makes me happy and grateful for everything he is and how far he has come. With arms folded and a smile, I see my confident son, completely at peace with who he is and his place in the world and our family.
Which brings me to another, slightly off topic thought …
I’ve been on a picture taking spree the last few months. I find that I’m shooting a couple hundred images a week in my quest to become a better amateur photographer and develop ideas for my little business. The only downside is that I’m going through at least $10 in batteries a week. At this rate I’m thinking about giving up photography and taking up smoking to save money.
But even with all the pictures I take, I’m sometimes surprised by the images that appear after a download; images that I remember shooting, but turn out completely different that what I expected.
Like this picture of Kade.
I was shooting completely blind into the sun and I was trying to get a picture of the outside with just a silhouette of someone—anyone—in the cab. The picture turned out crazy dark with a funky colored sky and no silhouette, but the more I played with it, the more Kadester appeared. And for that reason, I love it. I love that I can tell that he’s laughing even though his mouth is covered by the rail. I love that he’s leaning over to yell Hi Mom down to me and tell me this is the coolest train in the whole universe. I love that his happiness reminds me that standing outside in 98 degree weather during nap time is always worth it.
And I love finding my kids in pictures and seeing parts of them that I sometimes miss in our everyday routine. One of those “forest for the trees” sort of things I suppose.
Like this picture of Savannah.
Even though she was grumpy about having to leave, I am drawn to this picture and the surprise I felt in seeing a ten or twelve year old stare back at me where my six year old was standing. She is such a beautiful mix of a thoroughly silly little girl and wise old soul. I see glimpses into her spirit when she says prayers each night and expresses love and compassion and concern far beyond her years.
Or this picture of Sean.
He’s a little bit taller and the hair has grown longer, but he looks wonderfully the same to me. In my mind he has been three for the last three years: loud, rough and tumble … and yet eager to snuggle and be held. And maybe it’s because the other kids seem to be changing so much lately, but Sean’s sameness is so comforting to me. I know it will change—overnight probably—but seeing my sweet little Creepy smile back at me from this pixelled out, weirdly cropped thanks-to-Pink-Shirt-Lady-picture feels great ….
I was musing on this whole Sheesh The Kids Are Getting Big and Man They’re Pretty Cool vibe as we wondered over to the south end to look at a row of huge diesel and steam locomotives. And of course, TDHD didn’t miss the large, kid-magnet fountain and all of the nice people about to melt into the pavement. Savannah, in particular, started the I Want To Play In The Splooshie mantra and loudly. And by way of information, our town’s aquatic center has a large, outdoor splash pad that has fountains and the like that Savannah loves. For the life of her, however, she can not remember the name and started calling it The Splooshie. Consequently, anything watery-splashy-fountainy is therefore Splooshie.
Anyway, Ben and I deflected pleas to play in the Splooshie and steered the kids towards the trains. But our visit was short. Despite the Wow! and Cool! and Amazing! factor of seeing these engines up close, there was just something about the kids wandering in between rows and rows of giant trains with tons of people … and no line-of-sight … and a bad ratio of two parents vs. six kids who scatter like buckshot … and the fact that we had just about pushed tired, hot kids as far as we could.
On our way back to the car, TDHD started clamoring again to stop and play at the afore mentioned Splooshie. “Do we have towels,” Peterson asked me only half kidding. “Nope,” I replied. “Just a wadded up apron, dirty sweatshirt, old pair of shorts and a couple of shirts from the D.I. bag … just like last time.” Thankfully he smiled so that I didn’t have to whack him with my water bottle.
As soon as we reached the water, Ben leaned over and splashed Dylan and Cameron right in the face. It was awesome. Both the boys squealed like girls and started splashing Ben back in what could have been the greatest water fight ever. Could have been. The only problem was that seconds after the fun began, I noticed a huge swarm of killer wasps a few feet to Kade’s right. No joke. There were tons of them. Ben and I are usually not the freak-out-at-bees types, but this swarm was big and noisy and really mad about something, so we split. The kids were pretty bummed and truthfully, so was I since I had been secretly hoping to get a shot of yet another weekend of wet kids sitting on a truck seat lined with a wrinkled apron.
For the record, the apron is now staying in the truck. Forever.
On the way back to the parking lot I stupidly tried to get a quick shot of the gorgeous carving and tile work above one of the doorways … and it almost killed me.
I was trying to back up and scootch back and slide over to get just the right shot when the heal of my trusty Old Navy flip flop caught on a lip of sidewalk and sent me reeling. Thankfully, I recovered. But not before flailing like a crazy woman across the walkway and nearly crashing into a very nice dog that was tied up under a tree. Luckily, lots of people were around and everyone noticed.
By that point, ice cream sounded good. Really, really good. So I asked Ben to stop by the local drive thru with the cheap kids’ cones. As we sat there idling five cars back (and for the next twenty minutes), it occurred to me that ice cream in 100 degree heat may not have been an original idea.
By the time we got our cones, I could swear—swear—that it was hotter than it was when we got in line. Oh wait ….
And while money may not buy lasting happiness, $3.11 bought TDHD and their parents a cold little treat and quiet ride home.
When we got back to the house, the bottom three went down for naps, even though it was almost four o’clock. They were hot. They were tired. I was tired of them crying. And despite their protests to the contrary, all three of them went out hard within minutes. Peterson was kind and volunteered to make the Saturday afternoon grocery store run even though I know he would have loved a nap, too.
And so within minutes, I was stretched out on the couch in my blessedly air conditioned living room watching the Big Three drag out their trains and set up tracks on the counter. Toys in the kitchen is usually a no-go, but at that moment I didn’t mind.
For the next hour I watched them munch popcorn and push trains as they cheerfully chattered about their close-to-home adventure: which train was their favorite, the biggest, the coolest, the fastest. And though their train tracks looked nothing like the amazing models at the museum, my three played with a Thomas train with no front wheels, a Lady train with a missing cover and model city made of aluminum bowls and popcorn bags … as happy and content as can be.
Summer hot spot? Today ours was rediscover-your-hometown-and-play-trains-on-the-kitchen-counter.
Happy, happy summer.
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