I took Owen and River to see “Where The Wild Things Are”, crossing my fingers that maybe it wasn’t as “adult” as people had claimed.

I was wrong.

The twins have never made it through more than a half hour of a movie in a movie theater. Ever. Sometimes they get scared but mostly they get bored and annoyed. I still have no idea how Ratatouille ends. Please do not spoil this for me.

The twins weren’t really spooked by the wild things themselves. It’s not like they were okay with the movie up until that moment. Rather, they were emotionally agitated from the beginning, the scenes before the damn wild things ever showed up—Max getting picked on, Max screaming and fighting with his mother, running away. I believe by the time Max took a super scary boat ride in the middle of the night and nearly capsized and drowned before arriving on the magical island of wild things, they had had enough.

I know this because I have very important nanny intuition.

I also know this because when Max arrived on that island and started climbing the rocks, Owen put two hands over his ears, shut his eyes and screamed at the top of his lungs, his little voice echoing around the movie theater, I AM SICK OF THIS NOW.

We promptly got up and left.

I will attempt to go back and revisit this film without children in tow as I rather enjoyed the first bit of it. Owen and River? Not so much.

However, the photo booth in the movie theatre lobby?

Two. Thumbs. Up.