We are hitting the ground running today. The human female, her sister, and her mother have gone over to pick up the sister’s daughter’s four oldest children. Apparently we are all going to the Children’s Museum.
I’ll let that sink in. Four kids. Under ten. In a van. In a museum. With a million other kids.
I don’t “do” kids.
Still, there might be opportunities for mischief. Small children are very suggestible, and a Children’s Museum sounds like something that would have a lot of moving parts. Or breakables. Breakables are good.
Ugh. The humans are playing some inane automobile game as we progress along the motorway. “I went on a camping trip, and I took an apple.” “I went on a camping trip, and I took an apple and a banana.” “I went on a camping trip, and I took an apple, a banana, and a cat…” I see how this works. Each person adds something beginning with the next letter of the alphabet. It is going to be dogs, eggs, fish, and so on. Whoever can’t remember the entire burgeoning list is “out.” There’s a fine balance between trying to remember each item and trying to think up things that everyone else will have difficulty recalling.
Time these children learned just how ridiculous their mother tongue is. It is my turn now. My contribution for G is “gnat.” It will be my turn again when it comes to “K”, and then it will be “knapsack.” They can also look forward to “pneumatic drill” and “ziggurat.”
Here we are at long last. While the human female’s sister drives off to park the car, we are supposed to keep the small, squirmy people from running into traffic, falling off the climbables, eating all the lunch, or driving everyone insane by banging all the bangables so thoughtfully worked into the museum’s exterior decor.
Secretly, I suspect the sister is not coming back.
I was wrong. We are reunited and herded through admission. Great Frigga’s Hairpins! This place is ENORMOUS! The main room is three stories tall and houses an enormous construction of ramps, ropes, crawl-ways, ladders, stairs, nets, what looks like a pirate ship, and yes, that is a flying bathtub.
Everything is designed with safety in mind–there is no way for a tot to fall through gratings or webbings. Sigyn, on the other hand, is definitely small enough to be at risk. Explore with caution, my love!
The noise level is about twenty Midgardian decibels above excruciating.
The view from up top is even more amazing. Everywhere you look, something has been hung up or glued on or lit up.
A person could easily lose a tyke or two in here. Perhaps that is the purpose… Presumably the Lost and Found is full of unclaimed waifs whose parents are now rejoicing in having a spare bedroom and more (and less sticky) space in the Volvo.
One whole wall is taken up by this amazing contraption. It’s a series of clear tubes full of blowing air. One can change the path of the air by means of a system of fan boxes and baffles. At a couple of points, there are little ports where one can stuff in silk scarves. The scarves whip around, shoot out one of spouts in in the top, and float
to be caught and sent round again.
Sigyn desperately wants to go for a ride in this thing. Dearest, I beg you not to! If you got stuck in one of those hairpin turns, I’d have no choice but to blast the thing to smithereens to free you, and I suspect that might frighten the populace.
Let us see what—or who— else is here. Surely there is something safer. See! You can make friends with this… giraffe-oid creature. You like giraffes!
Just don’t mention his horrific facial scars. He’s probably self-conscious about them.
Another wall is one huge sheet of metal, with a hundred or so magnetic gears stuck on. Let’s put some together, Sigyn, turn the crank, and see if we can get them all moving at once! Green for me, red for you.
Speaking of getting things moving, let’s round up the nephews and niecelings (Are there four? We started with four…) and go see what’s on the second floor.