Please, please get tickets to see the Rembrandt in America exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Art (affectionately known as the MIA). It is awe inspiriting, breath taking, and lovely. It’s the largest exhibition of Rembrandts in America. Ever! Get tickets in advance (we failed to–thank goodness for our friends who we went with). And hop up to the second floor, and you’re there! All 5 glorious rooms of it.
My mom’s been a docent at the MIA for over 25 years so I grew up thinking it was normal to spend your weekend at the MIA. We try to go as often as we can, and did frequent it when we lived on the Other Side of the River (aka Minneapolis).
Last year we took SuperBoy a few times, but this trip to see the exhibit was SweetPea’s inaugural visit. They both enjoyed it immensely, in their own special ways–her by sleeping through most of it, and him by asking Dada “who’s that guy?” to every portrait. (And wanting to “touch the sun” in the entrance as seen above.)
Here’s a quick & dirty guide to taking your children to a museum exhibit, and I’m not talking about the children’s museum:
1) Be aware.
The throngs of people with us, including our dear friends, a couple, with whom we went, are all taking in the art. In a silent way. In an adult way. Be aware that they are unaware that you are simultaneously concerned about Mount Vesuvius erupting (baby girl spitting up) and the Grand Canyon flooding (toddler boy diaper).
When baby girl in the sling decides she needs to suck on something NOW (and she refuses pacifiers), and you can’t wrangle your sling into the nursing position, be aware of how dirty your pinky is before you shove it gently into her mouth, massaging her gums, and touching that sweet spot on the roof of her mouth that she likes.
When toddler boy who is being held in Dada’s arms because we neglected to bring the Ergo (never, ever again), is pretty sleepy and tired and snoozy, be aware that he doesn’t snore loudly such that patrons can’t hear their audio guides.
2) Move quickly.
While you might want to read the entire placard that describes how Rembrandt suffered bankruptcy and heartache, you’d better keep moving or the baby girl asleep in your sling will awaken, rouse herself, rouse others, and promptly demand food. As you’re studying the differences between the one portrait of St. Bartholomew and the other, keep moving because the toddler boy dangling from his Dada’s shoulders is apt to block other people’s views, and make inquiries in a stage whisper like “what’s that knife?!” and “but I want it.”
3) Be grateful.
At the end of it, when nothing erupted and no one cried. When nothing got spilled on the paintings, and no one made a puddle on the floor. When no one shouted “look at his penis,” and no one demanded you maneuver your shirt to the nursing position. When your legs didn’t cave because of carrying 12 pounds in a sling for an hour and a half, and your husband’s back didn’t snap because of carrying a 30 pound boy. Be grateful that the MIA allows small children to be a part of this beautiful thing called art. Be grateful that it makes it possible for parents with little ones to still partake in the joy of art!
And then come home and eat sweet potato chips, kale chips, and a little Brasa shredded beef!