Rainy day

I took Lyla to the Children's Museum today. Her favorite activity was getting her hands bubbly at the bubble station....


...and then washing them off at the water station.


She was in the toddler zone, so I just kind of stood there and tried not to get in the way. Some parents at that place are way more hands-on than I am. They narrate their child's every move and insist that he try this or try that, no, do it this way, there you go, you did it! Then they tell him good job about nine or ten times because they think the little guy's self-esteem depends exclusively on their praise.

My parenting strategy is to pay attention just enough so that I don't lose Lyla. I believe Scout Finch referred to Atticus's style as "courteous detachment," and that's my Children's Museum goal.

By the way, I hate when overbearing moms turn Lyla into a sharing lesson for their bratty kids. Lyla just happens to toddle over, and suddenly it's "Give the little girl a ping-pong ball. It's her turn. I'm going to count to ten. Share with the little girl, or you don't get a Happy Meal later." So then I feel obligated to encourage Lyla to stand there until the sharing lesson is over, when what I really want to say is, "It's okay. Lyla doesn't give a shit about that ping-pong ball. Can we go now?"

Lyla's second-favorite activity was stealing my admission sticker. It's customary there to put stickers on babies' backs so they don't fiddle with them. I should've put mine on my back, too, because Lyla was always like, "Up, peez!" and then she'd rip it off my shirt, making it look like I'd sneaked in.

This is where she decided it belonged:


And when I said, "Where's Dada's sticker?" this is how she responded:


Her third-favorite activity was the drinking fountain. "Mo, peez!" It was a good time.