The Mid-Hudson Children's Museum

photo by Megan McQuade

The minute my kids get through the door of the Mid-Hudson Children's Museum, they scatter like dropped ball bearings. Crystal, who's two, is immediately drawn to one of those colorful, unbreakable computer stations designed especially for preschoolers; Billy, who's five, is awed by the thirty-two-foot T-Rex, and Joe, fourteen, just takes in everything around us with a cool, appraising eye-as a big brother, he considers himself an expert on what's good for the sibs. "Hey, look," he says, "it's a kiddie town!"

It is, at that-a room with a view of the Hudson hat's been made over into scaled down firehouse, store, doctor's office, school and theatre complete with costumes. Unlike the real things, however, these versions are designed to be indestructible and utterly safe. Here is where short folks can indulge those instinctive and usually inconvenient urges they're prone to: They can rummage and delve to their heart's content. The area is laid out so that kids can rove the room and stay visible. Whoever designed this had a good strong grip on toddler reality.
After a fire rescue and a spot of grocery shopping, we head up the wide staircase and find ourselves confronted with one of the new exhibits made possible by the museum's newer, larger location-a massive model of the human heart, courtesy of the Hudson Valley Children's Services Council. Grade-schoolers would probably absorb a good bit of the message about how blood and oxygen flow and combine; for my two youngest, it's a cool red-and-blue Habitrail. Nothing wrong with that. They romp; even Joe Cool sheds his sneakers and gives it a try. While they're noodling around, I decide to try my hand at playing ball in outer space. I find, unsurprisingly, that I'm as klutzy in virtual reality as I am in actual reality, but it's fun trying.

The kids are now checking out an exercise bike. Actually there are two, side by side; as a museum patron pedals one, a life-size skeleton keeps pace alongside. Billy, who's just getting fascinated by innards, is pleased and astounded.

The adjoining room is full of more goodies just begging to be tried. We all have a go at the horizontal climbing wall, part of an exhibit on the Shawangunks, and at enclosing ourselves in giant bubbles. The bubble device takes some finesse-even with a steady hand, it's hard to keep the shimmering soapskin from popping once it gets past your knees. "I wonder if it would work better on a damp day," speculates Joe. "Could be the lack of atmospheric moisture."

The room is crammed with exhibits that beg to be messed with. Crystal's enamored with the water play table, Joe with the models of Da Vinci inventions, and Billy with a gadget that keeps a beach ball aloft atop a stream of air. Beside it, a placard explains the physics involved; for someone newly turned five, the magic is enough. Most of what's here is like that-touchable and intriguing on several levels, all the way from wide-eyed wonder to savvy analysis. We stop briefly at a display of life-sized historical personalities. Press a button, and Governor Clinton will spout forth his views on the Constitutional Convention.

Amiable staffers practice a sort of benign neglect, absorbed in projects but happy to help us find, say, the right size whiffle ball to try out the centrifugal force demonstrator. The Museum seems to have settled into its new location, at the north end of Waryas Park, with a pleased sigh of comfort-surely the gracious and peaceable bustle of the waterfront, the boats and trains in the near distance, offer a more thought-provoking backdrop than the museum's previous home at the South Hills Mall ever could have. Then, too, there's the welcome absence of competition from toy stores packed with plastic doohickeys.

The MHCM offers playgroups, day camp programs and birthday parties, and special grandparents' days when experienced citizens accompanied by rugrats get in free. In a world overfull of razzmatazz, neon and marketing ploys, the museum stands out-cozy and cutting-edge at the same time, full of visual and sensory treats for everybody, anchored with a strong sense of history and place-you can build a replica of Robert Fulton's steamboat while admiring the mighty river she actually sailed in the background. If you've got (or can borrow) children and a little time on your hands, the $5 admission may turn out to be the best investment you've made in a while, a vast array of nifty and purposeful mind toys. They're open Tuesday through Sunday from 11 till 5; call 471-0589 for more information.
—Anne Pyburn