Museum Kids!: A Victorious Sequel

My TWO museum kids. Even the Dictator is shocked.

About two years ago, I had posted about my darling children's trip to the Cranbrook Science Institute and the Dictator's utter aversion to museums (she also doesn't like zoos). I had concluded, somewhat prematurely, that most families are granted at least one "museum kid" and one non-"museum kid," and that our Dictator was doomed to eternal hatred of all things museum-y, probably due to the fact that there is little in any given museum over which she has been given all-encompassing control...and she really likes all-encompassing control. We had resigned ourselves to a future of museum-avoidance or, if we were very brave, museum induced whining. Because we're pessimistic fatalists like that.

So it was with great trepidation that we ventured out to the DIA this weekend with both the Dictator and the Anarchist in tow. The Dictator had already adamantly stated her preference for attending the newly reopened  Michigan Science Center, as she "just adores the solar system" and is "really really into planets" (the way most girls her age are "really really into Justin Beiber.") And when the Dictator's preferences aren't met, things get ugly fast. But we're working on making the Dictator into not-a-brat, so we decided to make her go to the DIA anyway (the Anarchist's selection...the Anarchist likes contemporary art because it reminds her of anarchy). Each Morton child carried with her a notebook and multi-colored pen for sketching, in the hopes that having a specific project would render the children more pleasant, and thusly way less annoying. Each child also carried a small FurReal kitten, because what is an art museum without small, battery operated animals?

We spent about two hours within the walls of that venerable institution of the arts, and emerged a new family, an impossible family, a family with--gasp!--two museum kids.

Aren't we fantastic? Am I not the world's
best, most sophisticated parent?

Seriously. I felt like one of those obnoxious artsy parents that looks all superior and parades their super-artsy children around museums. Their children make irritatingly precocious commentary on mid-century modernism, or Mayan bloodletting bowls or whatever, and those parents kind of glance over at you like, "Did you catch that? Did you hear my brilliant offspring? Aren't we fantastic? Am I not the world's best, most sophisticated parent?" And then in the next instant (when you accidentally make eye contact), they look at you as if to say, "What? Don't all children do this? It's no big deal. If you think it's a big deal, you're clearly not cultured enough." And then you punch them in their smug, artsy faces, right in front of a display of medieval reliquaries. Yup. I was one of those. It was awesome.

The Dictator attempted to look as sophisticated as possible as she sketched at least one work of art from every gallery. It was obsessive, it was difficult for certain impatient members of my family (me) to endure, and it was delightfully obnoxious. Little old ladies oohed and aahed over her serious demeanor as she sketched nudes without the least bit of modesty. The guide in the Diego Rivera Room assumed she cared and spent 10 minutes explaining a mural to her (a gesture which the Dictator did not appreciate). And when the Dictator said she liked the "Alpha Grandma" (Alpha Gamma) painting because of the colors and "because it's abstract" the middle-aged museum goers around us didn't know whether to laugh or be amazed (I glared at them until they made the correct choice and put their amazed faces on).

The Dictator sketches "Alpha Grandma"

The finished "Alpha Grandma" sketch on the right. 

Not to be outdone, the Anarchist pronounced the room of realist paintings "really real looking," read a variety of plaques (thanks, ridiculous curriculum requirements...you may make my child into a stressed-out robot, but at least she's an impressive, highly-literate, stressed-out robot), and declared herself a "famous artist already" who was going to "go home right now and make art to hang in this museum."

Both of my children loved the food court the best of all, but we won't talk about that because that will immediately lower our sophistication level...and I've just discovered how nice it is to feel sophisticated. Please don't make me part with that yet.

So let's focus on what's important here. Aren't my children brilliant? Isn't it wonderful that I now am the proud owner of two museum children? Aren't you impressed that both of my children sketched nudes without being even remotely phased by the experience? Gloat, gloat, gloat. Although, honestly, if you think it's that big of a deal, you're clearly not cultured enough. And here's the very best part:. this is the internet, and you can't reach me, so you totally can't punch my smug face in front of the medieval reliquary exhibit.

The Dictator sketches a nude without batting an eyelash.
Her comfort with topless ladies is obviously because she's super cultured.
(And not because sometimes her mom is just too darned lazy to get fully dressed)

The Anarchist's sketches. Note the adorable puppy.
Also note her lady with prominent boobies (top right).

I'm going to let you think that this is art-inspired interpretive dancing,
and not dancing that they learned from an episode of Littlest Pet Shop.