Museumland

I sometimes wonder how Rosemary categorizes museums in her mind. We go to a lot of them, art and otherwise, and there's such a huge variety in what's inside that I can't imagine what meaning the word actually has to her. They probably break down roughly into 2 kinds: the good kind where she can touch anything she wants, and the even better kind where I chase after her like a hilariously fretful maidservant and try to grab her before she slams herself into the wall underneath The Starry Night, which she recognized - by name! - from one of her books. Proud mama. (At least she didn't teeter into a Picasso masterpiece.)

She's generally a pretty clear speaker (for a 2 year old) but for some reason she says this particular word in a weird, jumbled way, adding at least one extra syllable to make something that sounds like "Museumland."

Last month we visited a new favorite spot, the Transit Museum, which is near our house. It falls in to the first category. It's an actual, unused subway station, filled with subway cars from ye old wicker seat days to recent ones. We went with our friends Leo and Dara, and had a fab time.

Until the moment a split-second after I took this picture:
...when Rosie did not mind the gap, as they say, and lost one of her galoshes down between train and platform into the tracks. She was never in any danger but she did look like Rumpelstiltskin. There were tears. But then a nice maintenance guy named Peter came and got it for her with the help of one of those long, pincher-arm tool things (what are those called, anyhow?). He assured us it happens all the time. All was well and it has now turned into the 1000 times retold tale of the day when, as Rosie tells it, "I lost a boot at the train museumland. It happened."

Another recent museum highlight: Urs Fischer's tongue at the New Museum. I shot half a video of it before the security guard asked me to stop. This youtube one is much better. Rosemary's discussion and dramatic recreation also shows how fast she can run in her beloved sleep sack (and features the polka dot bag I mentioned in the last entry).

The Lady is Two

Walking down the street, stylishly dragging her handbag on the ground. Practically all grown up.

Where We're At

A few quick moments from the past few days:

Rosemary was sitting in her room last night, holding her copy of Peter Rabbit. I asked if she wanted me to read it to her and she declined, saying, "I know...Once upon a time, bunnies." And then shut it.

We are having a lot of tea parties (the apolitical, old fashioned kind). I don't know how this happened, since we are coffee drinkers and really not overly polite or fancy about it anyhow. She has also taken to carrying around a polka dot cosmetics bag that holds an array of tiny stuffed animals, tea cups, and wallets. Although she will carry around around any container that has a handle and can act as a handbag. Meantime our best guy friends are playing guitars (and imaginary banjoes), fighting fires, and organizing farm animals. Take what you will from this. We haven't yet hit the fairy princess stage but I can't imagine it is far away.

Today, as we were walking down the street in the midst of a VERY wet, VERY windy storm: "Excuse me, Mommy, but it is too rainy!"

Less polite, the other night: "We need menus!" She said this - loudly - in a restaurant where we had spent an inordinately long time waiting for the waitress to acknowledge us. It was hard to admonish her when she was completely right.

Mobo arrives

The past couple of days Rosemary has been talking quite a bit about someone named Mobo. This Mobo is a mostly girl, but sometimes a boy. Other details about her are hazy but she has been spending a lot of time with us. This morning she mentioned Mobo and we asked where she was, and Rosie said (starting off in a jolly, loud voice), "MOBO WAITING, MOBO WAITING, MOBO WAITING, MOBO...[suddenly very quiet]...waits." Yipes. Today we had our toddler posse over for a fun afternoon, and when the door shut as everyone left, Rosemary turned to me and said, "Just Rosie and Mommy...and Mobo." Later on she said Mobo had left and was on her way over to our friend Leo's house.

In a similar vein, during yesterday's lunch Rosie said she wanted some sodo, and when I asked her what sodo was she got very cagey: "Um...sodo is a kind of...like...oh no, I don't need sodo...I don't like sodo."

I bet Mobo loves her some sodo.