Hello Dolly!
March 1st, 2009 by Jenni Betts Deming
My husband sprung the mini-vacation surprise on me mid-January, a few weeks before our first wedding anniversary. Shortly after showering him with praise for planning a fun getaway to St. Louis, my journalistic Mr. Hyde took over. I was already writing a travel piece in my head. But how could I gear our upcoming trip towards parents when we were practically newlyweds? Then it hit me.
Chris and I would become parents — or fake ones, anyway.
Before heading to Goodwill in search of the perfect addition to our twosome, my husband (who believes me raving mad for asking to tote a doll around on our anniversary trip), introduces me to Charlie, his childhood companion.
It’s love at first sight. Our baby is a Cabbage Patch Kid knock-off that, much to my surprise, has been living in our closet for the past year.
A few weeks later, with Charlie in tow, we set out for Saint Lou-ee. Upon arriving under the landmark arch on Sunday afternoon, it’s still too early for check-in at our bed and breakfast, so we wheel over to the City Museum. Although smaller than an amusement park, at $12 per person, City Museum is as good as (if not better than) a day at The Magically Overpriced Kingdom. The exterior grounds of the museum, also known as MonstroCity, consist of open-air metal tunnels connected to gutted airplanes, a decommissioned fire engine, and what looks like the top-tier of a castle — all ripe for climbing. It’s as if the Swiss Family Robinson clan shipwrecked onto an abandoned scrap metal yard.
We are beyond psyched.
Ten minutes into our giddy exploration, however, carrying baby Charlie starts to become taxing. My inventive husband solves the problem by twisting his Beatles hoodie into a makeshift baby sling. With Charlie now stuck to my stomach, we are back in business — or so I think. Moments later, a concerned visitor stops to tell me our child is about to tumble to the ground. I draw the line at scaring innocent museum-goers and we send our fake tyke back to the car — unattended. If I were still in middle school, this would be the point at which I totally fail my home economics class.
Sorry, Charlie.
After working up an adolescent-worthy sweat outdoors, we head to the Enchanted Caves, where a live organist plays ethereal tunes in the dark, steep space. I feel as if I’ve been transported to The Nightmare Before Christmas, but without all the skeletal stick-creatures. We then climb what seems like the stairway to Mt. Kilimanjaro before launching down a seven-story, spiraling slide. We later learn the amazing slide was once used as a shoe-chute. Down below, a secret room of dinosaur-shaped caves awaits in which a friendly City Museum employee asks if we are the couple with the retro Cabbage Patch doll. We confess to being the eccentric doll-people, amazed that in a matter of hours, we’ve gained a reputation.
Is this a good thing?
Nearly dead after two seven-story climbs, we leave the museum to check on Charlie and our bed and breakfast. I’m ready for restful adulthood again. Napoleon’s Retreat greets us with a warm, Victorian welcome. It’s just as a bed and breakfast should be — comfortable, elegant and chock-full of antiques. Charlie sleeps as soundly as we do.
The next morning, we venture to the famed Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis. Having visited a few European cathedrals during college, I was expecting beauty, but not on such scale. This church had more glitter than a Bratz doll. Sparkling mosaic tiles by the thousands tell the story of Christ, the Saints, and Catholicism in St. Louis. Not a spare inch of wall or ceiling has been forgotten in this palace-esque church. (Thankfully, Charlie chooses not to howl in this echo chamber. He’s so angelic.) For a mere $2 donation, we also tour the mosaic museum downstairs, which allows us to appreciate the stunning tile work to the fullest.
Later, we head to the expanse of museums, zoo, and green space known as Forest Park. At the free Missouri History Museum, we experience the 1904 World’s Fair and learn of pilot-extraordinaire Charles Lindbergh. There’s lots of kid-friendly activities here. Of equal interest is St. Louis Art Museum. This majestic museum has something for everyone, and helpful “Family Guide” pamphlets are a smart aid for parents of restless art-goers. Not having the willpower to make it to the Science Center (it’s best for kids 5 and up), we instead relax beside one of several lakes in Forest Park, watching hundreds of geese skate on the frozen water. Charlie is so thrilled he sits up all by himself for the first time. (Or, with the aid of a crutch-stick Chris forces under his arm. Nonetheless, we’re proud.)
As our whirlwind anniversary trip draws to a close, we end it with a warm bowl of soup and a sandwich at the fittingly-named St. Louis Bread Company. As Chris and I talk about our favorite bits of the last few days, I realize the best part of our adventure has not been a museum, meal, or mallard-watching at all.
St. Louis is great, but better still was spending a romantic, uninterrupted few days with my husband (and his childhood doll). No museum, no matter how fun or free, can top that.