After a slew of promises to listen to me and do what I say, I loaded my nephews in the car and headed off to The Works for some daytime kid-centered fun, their parents gleefully waiving us goodbye. Ethan, 5 and Jack, 2 are the kinds of boys who, when given the opportunity want to do everything, all at the same time. Tiny TBA seemed at first to be a prescription for either pure entertainment for my small charges or complete sensory overload disaster. The Works had transformed into a kid wonderland filled with hands-on art projects like painting a real car (“hey don’t paint your brother’s hair” oh shit, too late, as Jack’s hair became orange) to collage, drawing on old Super 8 film stock and of course, dance music.
Jack was enthralled by the Super 8 projector and spent seemingly hours watching the decorated film travel through the projector. When I gently tried to move him to another activity, he protested by lying face down on the ground in willful disregard to my requests. Ethan and I made colleges, Jack destroyed some of the decorations, they pleaded for sugar, we watched the other families navigating the thumping music and hipster parent carnival atmosphere. They didn’t like the loud music much, so we hung out with the projector, watching the endless loop of film and banging on the guts of a destroyed piano. By the time I could tear them away, they were already asking what we were going to do next weekend. After dropping them back at home, I took I long nap.