We took Noah to a movie on Saturday.
I'm going to sit back for a second while you absorb that sentence. And then I'll file my nails while I wait for the cries of horror and WHY WHY WHY WHAT WERE YOU THINKING to die down.
Ready? Okay. So we were going a little stir-crazy, what with the construction and the floors and all. Add all the steaming hot idiocy coursing through our veins, and you've got two adult morons who suddenly decide that a movie will take up a nice chunk of time, and OF COURSE our toddler will sit through a movie! He'll sit and stare at the television for nine hours straight! Not that we ever LET him sit and stare at the television for nine hours straight, HAR HAR AHEM, but please: he'll totally sit through a 90-minute movie.
A couple flaws in our plan:
1) We forgot to check the running time and ended up seeing a 110-minute movie.
2) We only packed enough juice to get us through the previews.
We saw Ratatouille. We went to a 10:45 show, figuring that was most likely to be mostly kids and families, and it would be over before we hit The Great Wall of Nap.
So listen, Ratatouille is hilarious. It's smart. Witty. And the animation will simply blow your mind.
The problem is that all of this is BULLSHIT to someone who thinks Dora the Explorer is pretty much the pinnacle of animated fare. Noah was all, "What's with this existential purpose-in-life crap? Where's your damn backpack? That right there is your problem."
Honestly, Noah really did pretty well, considering. He sat patiently and stared at the screen in complete bafflement for awhile, then allowed us to placate his growing restlessness with dozens of chocolate cookies. If the movie had been about 30 minutes shorter, I think we could have done it. We could have made it! The end credits were within our grasp! But then what we thought was the final montage gave way to another 20 minutes of denouement and Noah just plain melted down.
Jason hustled him outside while I watched the ending. It was nice. I could get as teary and blubbery over it as I wanted to. (And I can get teary and blubbery if the music for the Please Silence Your Cell Phones message gets a little too swelly and inspirational, so actual happy endings to movies just about kill me dead.)
In conclusion: we are dumb. And we're already laughing at every commercial for Ratatouille like, "Oh my hell, remember the time we took Noah to that? Remember how young and naive we were? Oh, the hubris of clueless, first-time parents. Ha. Thank God for the eventual wisdom of Tuesday."
Floor guys are here. I think maybe we'll try a playground today.