FIRST TIME AT THE MET

Yesterday I took my niece to the Met for the first time (for her, obviously). Even thought by the time I got her, I was warned that she was a bit cranky and whatever undertaking I was going to embark on was going to be on my head, all in all the trip turned out to be a truly memorable experience.

First of all, she loves riding the subway. By the end of the ride, at least half the car becomes her friends, waiving and playing peekaboo, or she decides to give loud and screeching orations by picking herself up in her stroller. Unlike adults, she loves gazing at the tunnel through the windows and looking at colored ads in the cars.

At the museum, she charmed everyone from security guards and cloak room attendants to a middle-aged Italian tourist who ignored the humongous organ and decided to strike a conversation with my little American Gnome. She herself loved the huge entrance hall with it's domed ceiling so much that she did a little twirl there. We rode the escalator (wheeee), saw a whole bunch of different musical instruments (toy), saw a few pictures of what my family refers to "widow with child" (baby), and then there was a chorus of happy screeches from the balcony of musical instruments all the way down to the arms and armor collection (if you were ever at the Met and know the general layout, you can really appreciate this one). Plus there was one more picture dubbed "baby" ( little Spanish prince), to which I felt compelled to add "no, a little boy with horsey".

Then we went to the roof and enjoyed the magnificent view of Central Park, along with the shrubs surrounding the balcony (flower). After being informed that she can not touch the strange metal cylinders with the sand on top, she felt it her duty to inform everyone upon observing those things "Yabitch, fuh!" There was an ever increasing demand for milk in the Greek gallery (all the Russian speaking people can really appreciate this one); then we had to pass through the "Arts of Oceania" (or a bunch of ugly idols), at the sight of which poor child got scared and had to be picked up. In my opinion, by the way, this was the best critique on these so called "arts". At the very end the whole experience was a bit spoiled by the fact that scatterbrained aunt forgot her "sosa" (pacifier) in her stroller, so, by the time the aforementioned stroller was retrieved from the coat check and after the repeated demands for sosa, there was a full blown rebellion on my hands (use your imagination).

Every outing with our little Golden Delicious brings me such joy! Two minutes looking at her twirling are worth every single diaper I have ever changed ( and I did plenty of those)!