Crayons and canals

When my friend offered to drive me and the boys to The Crayola Factory, I jumped at the chance to keep the kids busy for an entire day. This week, we had to suffer the New Jersey Education Association convention a.k.a. the Your Kids Drive Us to Drink Boondoggle. Apparently, teachers gather from all over the Garden State in the name of professional development. This year, the 4 day convention was in .... wait for it ... Atlantic City. I’m thinking a few dates with a one-armed bandit and an evening with Daughtry was the backroom reality behind the alleged noble workshops such as the study of renewable energy sources and building solar car models. All I know is there was no school for either of my children for 2 days, and I would have agreed to go spelunking in a bat-infested cave rather than stay home with the both of them for 2 days in a row.

I feared that The Crayola Factory would be an enormous advertisement of all things Crayola. It was. Having said that, it was also room after room of creative, interactive fun-all for the low price of $10 for anyone over the age of 3. I will confess now in front of the world and Crayola Factory employees that I did not pay for Levi’s ticket though he turned 3 last month. Hey, it’s not my fault the NJEA chose to abandon our children a month after his birthday.

“Wait, what? He turned 3 last month, Deborah, and you didn’t post anything about your own child’s birthday? What kind of a mommy blogger are you?” Oh, go blow it out your pie hole. I never said I was a mommy blogger. I’m a blogger who happens to have kids, so I write about them from time to time. Besides, we’re skipping the all-singing, all-dancing birthday parties this year. It took me 5 years to come to terms with the fact that Asher prefers a small celebration with family to a rowdy party with unruly children screaming and whining and running around like howler monkeys on cocaine. And Levi is happy with a cake and candles. “Do you need to throw a birthday party to share with your readers how a mother feels about her baby turning 3 years old? Don’t you want to share with us how bittersweet it is to watch your children grow and become more independent? Don’t you mourn the loss of infancy and all those moments of sweet helplessness with your newborn baby?” You’re starting to annoy me, and I choose to ignore you.



After a few hours of dripping wax on paper, finger painting, writing on walls and various other Crayola-related activities, we went to the equally popular National Canal Museum upstairs: “the only museum in the country dedicated to telling the story of America’s historic towpath canals.” I kid you not, The National Canal Museum is worth an hour’s drive in a friend’s car that has no DVD player. I know, horrifying! Levi was not pleased to say the least. He can smell a highway ramp a mile away and looks forward to long trips in the car because our children can only watch DVDs on the highway...because the DVD player doesn’t work unless we’re on a highway, of course. Alas, it was not to be, and Levi was none too pleased. I’d endure his DVD withdrawal again and again for a day at The National Canal Museum.

It may not be every child’s dream destination, but it worked for our kids. Asher, in particular, could have stayed there for hours filling up a sack with bean bags to figure out how much weight pulled a model train up a mountain whose slope he could adjust with a wheel. Levi’s favourite station was the water table where kids can design a maze made up of individual tiles and redirect boats in the path of their choosing. They both liked moving the boat tiller and making the floor move as a boat would move in the river. And along the way, we all learned quite a bit about canals and Cannallers.


After a long day of crayons and canals and yet another tantrum from my nap-deprived, DVD-starved 3 year old, we got home in time to have pizza and set up the air mattress for Asher’s first sleep-over with the friend who took us on our tour of crayons and canals. His cousins have slept here, but this was a first time he invited a friend to spend the night. He has yet to sleep over at a friend’s house. Still, it counts. A first.

It’s true, there are no babies in this house. Asher’s learning so much this year about himself and the world, and Levi shed the last vestiges of baby with his full sentences and his big boy bed and his 3rd birthday. My babies are growing up, and I like it. So much for mourning infancy.