Ecotarium

Kenda the polar bear

The Ecotarium, an indoor/outdoor and science/nature museum that we stumbled upon  last winter when Matthew was only nine months old. It's close by and we met some friends there for story hour, where we were served hot cocoa and read a book about wild animals. 



After the story hour Matthew and his friends played inside of a wooden boat in the Discovery Room, which was full of books, puzzles, and puppets.

After we left the Discovery Room we walked outside along a paved nature trail that lead us past a working train reminiscent of an 1860’s steam engine, and to a Polar Bear named Kenda. Charmed by what would soon become one of many afternoons at the Ecotarium, that night I ordered a museum membership online.

“When I was a kid it was called the New England Science Center,” Bob tells me sounding one hundred and fifty years old, “All I remember is that they had an antelope called Kirk’s Dik Dik.” To this day he snickers at the memory.

Seven months since finding our new favorite museum Matthew tugs me by the hand down an unpaved trail that leads to an exhibit of river otters. The river otters appear to be missing but Matthew amuses himself by watching the toy ball float around the water. “Ball?”

“Come on let’s go look at the pumpkins,” I suggest to him and we hike back to the paved area where hundreds of painted pumpkins and Jack O lanterns line the pavement paths, on display for Halloween.

“Ooohh,” Matt points in appreciation, not at one of the pumpkins but to the bright green dinosaur tracks on the cement that lead inside the museum, he is now just noticing for the first time. Every couple of steps he stops to bend down and admire one. Once we are inside Matthew heads straight for the elevator to bring him to his favorite part of the museum.

Soon we are standing in a darkly lit room with once alive animals posed rigidly behind glass enclosures. The exhibit is called The African Communities. The Kirk’s Dik Dik among others diligently teach us that over-population, can cause competition for food, water and space.

Next we stroll back outside down a paved path, passing a couple of skunks, a Red Fox, and a few different types of birds in cages. Matthew runs ahead or lags behind the whole way. When we reach Kenda, she is sitting outside of her cave looking out at us.

 “Doggie!” Matthew points her out to me.

The Olive Story

Matthew climbs up onto Bob’s lap in the dinning room chair beside mine and starts eating the olives I had set aside from my Greek salad.

“He likes olives,” I observe as Matthew finishes about eight olives in less than eight seconds. Then Matthew opens his mouth and the chewed olives fall out of his mouth and onto their laps.

“He doesn’t like olives,” I state the obvious. Bob looks at the dinning room chair covered in olives and sighs that that having kids is hard work. Wait until the day Matt runs into the house with muddy boots for the first time, look forward to the blog that will be named “Bob’s Trip To The Cardiologist.”

Spit up olives aside, Bob isn’t the only one who thinks this parenting business is hard work. I read the parent magazine and books but what they fail to mention is that sometimes it is such hard work to play with your child. Matthew has this jungle toy that spins three balls. It's his favorite toy and only  if two balls are spinning on opposite sides of each other and the third ball is completely out of his sight.


“You know him so well,” Bob marvels after I explain the rules of the jungle toy to him after proclaiming that Matthew hates it.

It’s all trial and error. I once thought he liked olives.

Loch Mess Monster

 






















By the time Matthew finishes filling his bucket with dirt it will be his bedtime. He and I are playing in one of the many patches of dirt in our backyard and only a quarter of the dirt from his shovel actually makes it into the bucket at a time.

It is time to for dinner and Matthew and I haven’t finished building our mud castle yet but there is a new recipe for sweet potato biscuits that I want to try, so to keep him occupied inside I take out some markers and construction paper for him to scribble on.

“Matthew Robert!” Bob’s sudden uproar and use of middle name interrupts my thoughts of whether a knife will suffice for a square biscuit cutter, “ Look what you did to the couch!” Matthew runs towards me from the living room into the kitchen bawling and throwing looks of betrayal over his shoulder towards his normally even keeled father.

There are orange and red scribbles on the cushions in the next room. Bob gets out  cleaning solution and paper towels while Matthew  goes to his bedroom to play with his toys. A little while later Matt comes back out of his room and stands as close to Bob as he can manage, watching him spot clean the cushions back to their normal color.

“Hi?” Matthew finally grins up at him. Are we still friends?
“Hi Matthew,” Bob begrudgingly replies. I’m sorry I yelled at you.