Air, space, boots, shortbread

This morning we took advantage of where we live, and the fact that we were up relatively early, and went into DC to the Air and Space Museum. It has all sorts of mind-boggling things like nuclear rockets and moon modules and astronaut suits, and, as with the Natural History Museum, every time we go Monkey understands a little more and learns something new. (Mabel, not so much just yet.)

The trip started inauspiciously with a bad-parenting attack from me: Monkey has been wearing his rain boots for weeks, basically ever since he started putting on his socks instead of making me do it. Until today I didn't care too much, but this morning I decided that I was sick of seeing his jeans tucked into his socks and, since it's sunny and lovely out, there was no reason for the boots.

I put my foot down and put the boots up, out of reach. Monkey pitched a fit. I realised I had backed myself into a corner, and he was never going to acquiesce to his perfectly reasonable shoes (either pair). B appeared on the horizon and I thought, oh good, a good cop to my bad, who can make the peace, probably by giving in and retrieving the damn boots. Unfortunately, B didn't realise that he had to be good cop for a change, and went the worse-cop route instead, first trying to force the shoes on and then stuffing socked Monkey into the car along with the unattached shoes.

I felt bad, because the boots were only hurting my aesthetic sensibilities and possibly Monkey's arches, and weren't really worth fighting over. Monkey felt bad because he was powerless and we'd just rubbed his nose in it. Mabel stepped in to lighten the mood with a rendition of Old Mac Donald, and soon we were all discussing just which animals mooed and ribbitted and quacked. When we found a parking space (go downtown early on a Sunday morning and you can practically park on the Mall, for free, it's wonderful) Monkey was bribed to put on his shoes with the lure of a simulator ride at the museum, and peace reigned. It was nice to see his ankles again, but I'm not sure if the price was too high. We'll see what happens next time we go out.

By the time we had exhausted the rockets and the simulators and a snack, it was almost naptime, and we headed back to the car. Mabel had wrapped up in her napkin the last bite of the shortbread square we had shared, and she caressed the gradually disintegrating confection as we drove:

You're a tiny wittle baby. You're all cwumbuwy [crumbly].
I have a onesie for you. You have to put on your onesie or you'll be cold. [Pulls the napkin more tightly around the shortbread.]
Now you're all cosy.
Here's my tiny wittle baby [...repeat to fade]

When we got home, all that was left of the tiny little baby and its onesie was a fine coating of crumbs in Mabel's lap and a small pile of shredded paper.