We have a file here called “stuff to do” — a list to which to turn when it is rainy and the kids and I are desperate to get out of the house.

So the other day I thought I’d try the Hennepin History Museum, which says it has a gallery of keepsakes from childhood past — where today’s kids are encouraged to “touch the artifacts.” (To be fair, I don’t see that on their site. I do see it at this Twin Cities Mom.com site, and my husband is the one who compiled the list for us, so am guessing he might have pulled it from something like this.)

Do not, as I did, interpret this to mean that there might be a small selection of, say, hand-crafted wooden toys to actually play with.

No, artifacts, I was quickly reminded, are those things that are so rickety that only a museum can guard them from the rigors of everyday life. Such as, you know, looking at them cross-eyed. And that “touch” likely means to a museum curator, “to graze lightly with one’s fingertips.” Not, as in any self-respecting five- or two-year-old’s interpretation, to “grab, twist, beat, grind,” or otherwise see what this baby can do.

I should hasten to add that no artifacts were in any way harmed by our excursion.

But let me tell you — “they don’t make ‘em like they did back then…” completely false. Hand-crafted wood and metal buggies have their day, and just like everything else, wear out. Big time. “Hey look at this…Oh, never mind, no, honey, don’t touch this.”

Here’s another thing I’d forgottten about museums — the dim lighting only serves to accentuate the rainy day vibe. And then there was this wierd 1950s film playing about the scientific discoveries of how emotions work. Needless to say we were the only ones there, and we didn’t stay all that long.

But we also made the mistake of wandering into the MIA, one block south, just around 4:00, when the place was set to close at 5:00 and, toward the back, they were setting up some white tablecloth reception for that night. Nobody came right out and said that this was not exactly prime time for a visiting two-year-old to wander around. But looks say a lot.

Incidentally, next to the elevator is a sign that reads, “Children’s Gallery, Floor 1.” Huh? Surely they can’t mean the sad little family room with a smattering of six books and one pint-size bench? When I asked at the information desk, the woman at first had no idea what I was talking about, and then just motioned me toward the sad little room.

We turned and headed back for the main entrance. “Miss,” I heard behind me as I pulled my umbrella out of my bag. I turned. “You’ll have to tuck your umbrella back in your bag. They’re pretty strict about that in the galleries.”

“Oh,” I said, fake brightly. “We’re not going into the galleries.”

The one saving grace is that the whole excursion was free. It should have cost us $7 (Hennepin History Museum admission for one adult and two kids). But my infamous stupid malfunctioning debit card (I called ahead to make sure they take them, as I didn’t have time to drag the kids to the bank to withdraw cash in a teller line), well, malfunctioned. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. So she just waved us up. Also, she did not come up to see what destruction was being wrought when my toddler shrieked at her brother at the top of her lungs. Which is about 96 decibels, or equal to a subway train at 200 feet.

So thank you, kind docent. I’ll come back one day, sans children, with admission + donation.

In the meantime, I’ll do you the favor of spreading the word.

For the five-and-under crowd, museum excursions are exciting for all the wrong reasons.

And don’t believe the signs.

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