Option 2- go to the Natural History museum and obsess over big bones while your mother sticks a fork in her eye. Come home. Eat cake.
Birthday boy, Emory chose option 2. I already had my fifth birthday unfortunately, so apparently, it’s not my choice.
Do you want a cake like this? Or that? (This= a nice basic birthday cake. That= cake with dinosaurs, a volcano, palm trees, the Jurassic works)
Of course, he chose That.
Seriously though, check it out….am I awesome or what? A dinosaur cake complete with an active- freakin active, bubbling, steaming volcano. Man alive this mamma knows how to
However, to chin up and enjoy the wonders of natural history museum with a herd of children in tow was, to say the very least, slightly more difficult. The infatuation with dinosaurs is not one I share. Why oh why would we be interested in a pile of reconstructed bones of creatures that, if alive today, would be lounging on top of the food chain and utilizing people for garnish?
Furthermore, those long, deranged, ridiculous dino names which Emory makes me pronounce at least twice a day…what is with that? Can’t the paleontologists just follow my lead here? I have my own, four, dirt covered treasures “Addie”, Stella”, Emory”, and “Arleigh”- what’s so tough about using real stinking names people? Mine are just as dirty, carnivorous, and at times, loud, and ugly. I never felt the need to describe them with an 18 letter, hoity toity name like Pachycephalosaurus. C’mon now! Even the herbivores deserve better.
So, he chose his best friend, August, to come along. Poor August. I don’t know if even August likes dinosaurs, but he, like the rest of us, schlepped to the museum in the name of dino-mite birthday fun.
Actually, I think his mother made him go. (Sigh.)
God love ya August.
For a Sunday, there were a whole lot of people at the museum. By people, I mean losers. I can’t understand why anyone finds this stuff interesting when there is a perfectly great waffle stand just down the hill and a fantastic European market with a fabulous café just a block away. I just don’t get into dinosaurs the same way I don’t get into racquetball or methamphetamine. Not on that bus. But, it’s not my birthday is it?
Still, there should be a scientific expiration for how long you are allowed to peruse through a museum and admire old bones, dung, lizards, and stomach vomit, among other things. Based on my scientific experience and a feeling as if Jurassic Park was coming back to haunt us all, I recommended this expiration time limit of approximately 30 to 45 seconds. Sadly, the dino herd felt 4 hours was more appropriate.
**Side note- Please, please know,
she chooses what she wears, she dresses herself, we look the other way....
While examining all the natural history, I couldn't help but to come up with my own ideas to name the next dinosaurs to be discovered. The good names haven't all been taken, yet. Here are a few suggestions...
Do-we-hafta-seeda-dinasurus, Lets-get-this-overwith-optus, Hurry-up-taraptor, Can-we-gohome-now-acepahle, Are-we-done-yet-ardsi, Seriously-morebones-atactal, Id-rather-be cleaning-the toiletal.
Perhaps I'm just bitter. Perhaps it's that I some days feel like a dinosaur, cranky and bad breath included?
Prehistoric room after prehistoric room, I think I figured it out. I learned why I wasn't faking the smile and pretending that Barney and his buddies weren't so bad after all.
My lil velociraptor, did you forget that we share a birthday? (By the way, velociraptor couldn’t be more appropriate here, as “veloci” refers, roughly to something that means ‘mess you up and wreck your world in the time it takes you to blink’. This seems to intricately describe night time potty training and the endured whining over peas at mealtime. “Raptor” translates to thief. Hang in there- I‘m getting to the thief part.)
Did you forget Emory, dear birthday boy, that I endured 3 days of unending labor without drugs only to find out that you were going to forever crash my party? You stole my birthday you lil thief!
Don’t get those protective scales in a bunch, swat your tail, stomp your feet, or even feel bad though.
I have options too. Even if I didn’t come out of the Cretaceous period, I came first honey.
As I see it, here are the options.
Option 1 - celebrate (our) real birthday on the real date, at home. Do errands, laundry, clean, shuttle sticky children, vacuum, etc. Make the family dinner, then bake my cake and eat it too.
Option 2- Hire a babysitter, enjoy dinner out with a couple of fabulous friends, and party as if I was T-rex sucking down a Triceratops.
Yes. Of course, I choose option 2.
I wish you a dinoriffic day, little guy cause I hope to, for once in five years, enjoy my birthday as well.
Really, big guy. We all, wish you a dino-mite birthday!