Confessions of a slime-resistant parent

Good morning! Today is Saturday, August 1, 2026. You’re reading The Charlotte Ledger, an e-newsletter with local business-y news and insights for Charlotte, N.C.

Need to subscribe — or upgrade your Ledger e-newsletter subscription? Details here.

by Carroll Walton

Hidden in the depths of a bedroom cabinet, behind a tooth fairy pillow and a stash of upcoming birthday cards, are vials of gooey ingredients to make slime. 

Out of reach (and mind) of three sons — aged 10 and 8-year-old twins — this parent learned the hard way how messy slime can be. Brightly-colored evidence still clings to a bedroom rug, downstairs carpet and one upholstered chair. 

So why keep the slime kit? You never know when you might need something to brighten somebody’s day. 

But now, rather than facing the messy consequences of do-it-yourself sliming, the Sloomoo Institute is here. It’s a museum for slime, where the “i” and “e” are replaced by “oo’”s, and it opened at the Metropolitan in midtown this month. Charlotte is one of nine cities with a Sloomoo now, joining New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Houston, Boston, Philadelphia and, coming later this year, Washington, D.C. 

Inside the 7,500 sq. ft. space at 1100 Metropolitan Ave. F160, where West Elm used to be, is a celebration of the ooey and gooey. As my oldest, Wade, summed up: “It’s bins of slime.”  

My borderline sarcastic and ever tactile tween spent more than two hours touching, kneading, stretching, elbowing, sniffing and squishing the slime in every five-gallon vat throughout the museum. It beckoned him with vibrant colors, multiple textures (from cloud cream to jelly) and scents, ranging from Froot Loops to fresh baked bread.

Wade, with his twin brothers Johnny and Wes in tow, smeared slime on a wall in the name of art, squished it in rhythm to piped-in music and wiggled their toes in it — after disinfecting their feet with wipes first, of course, on the instruction of a zealous employee. 

And Wade, a little more daring than his brothers, stood in poncho and hood to be splashed by blue goo. The museum charges extra for the experience, which was like something circa Nickelodeon's “You Can’t Do That On Television” show from the 1980s.

Johnny didn’t love the wait to see Wade slimed, but he got a second wind with a chance to slingshot a ball of slime at his twin brother, Wes. And about the time Wade had hosed and dried his feet and put his Crocs back on, we ran into two mothers and daughters who were friends of ours from church.

The eight of us adults and children lingered, hands wrist deep in bright pink, watermelon-smelling, bubble-popping slime. We chatted for much longer than is usually afforded by antsy children trying to untangle their mothers from conversations at a grocery store, library lobby or pool deck. That effect was just what Sloomoo co-founder Karen Robinovitz had predicted, she said during a preview of the museum. 

“This is really about digging in,” Robinovitz said. “The idea around the vats is that people can gather around with friends, family, make new friends and talk about ‘What does the smell remind you of?’ ‘What does this feel like for you?’”

Slime is a great way to get lost in your senses and out of your own head. That’s how Robinovitz remembers being reintroduced to slime as an adult. She was living in New York in 2018, mourning the death of her husband from mental health issues and her teenage cousin in a high school shooting. A friend, Melissa de la Cruz; her husband, Mike Johnston; and their 10-year-old daughter, Mattie, came to visit. Mattie brought slime ingredients to make and stay busy with while the adults talked, but soon enough, Robinovitz was down on the floor playing with it, too.

“Melissa said they had to go, and I remember being completely confused because I thought, ‘You just got here,’” Robinovitz said. “She said, ‘You've been on the floor with my daughter for four hours.’ That's when I realized I had just reconnected with joy. I didn't think I'd have joy again.”

Robinovitz said she’d tried therapy, antidepressants, shamans, healers and grief counseling. 

“When I found slime, it started to slowly bring me back,” she said. ”It was like re-meeting my 7-year-old self. I hadn't seen her in a long time.”

Robinovitz took some slime to her friend, Sara Schiller, who was facing significant challenges of her own. Schiller’s husband was dealing with disabilities from a stroke, and the eldest of their two daughters, then 11, was nonverbal because of a rare genetic condition called Angelman syndrome.

Schiller’s daughters played with slime in a way she hadn’t seen before.

“We saw them playing as equals,” Schiller said. “My older daughter can't play Connect Four or cards or Monopoly, so they didn't really play.” 

It’s not surprising, then, to see how hands-on Robinovitz and Schiller have been about opening their newest business in Charlotte. They spent the grand opening wearing brightly clad outfits, mingling and stretching slime with patrons. 

“This is equally made for adults because adults need to let go,” Robinovitz said. “It's a permission to be your silly self and suspend your reality for a little while and get into this….One of my favorite comments from a parent was, ‘I feel like my kids got to meet me when I was their age.’”

In our contingent at the watermelon slime, one mom friend told us about growing up in the Polish community in Buffalo, N.Y., and how playing with slime reminded her of making pierogies at her parents’ butcher shop. Our other mom friend, a pastor who was about to start a new job working with hospice, told us taking slime to meet her patients would be a great way to engage them in conversation.

The power of goo is palpable at Sloomoo, too, which makes it a practice to hire neurodivergent employees. And Sloomoo Institute Charlotte has sensory-friendly hours one Thursday each month. 

The Sloomoo owners seemed to have answers to questions before you ask them. We were not going to make it through the museum without at least one of my boys wearing some slime. But a helpful employee nearby helped us get a stain off Johnny’s shirt with her “slime eraser” spray bottle. The museum has QR codes posted on the wall, linking to directions for a cleaning solution made of white vinegar and water. They also sell a slime-cleaning kit in the gift shop. (Your best bet, and they tell you this on the website, is not to wear your best clothes or shoes on the visit. Our boys wore Crocs.) 

So what’s the catch to all of this? Maybe the price. Tickets for both kids and adults start at $29.99 and, with dynamic pricing on weekends, can climb into the $40s. That adds up for families, especially if it takes just an hour or so to go through. So another reason it behooves adults to let their guard down is to get the most value from the experience. 

And for kids? Ages 5 to 12 is probably the sweet spot. It definitely helps to have children who are slime-crazy to begin with, and mine certainly are. 

“I wouldn’t pay extra money for Sloomoo Falls,” advised Wade, who called it more blue-colored water than slime. “But I would pay to make my own slime. That was the best part.”

At the end of the tour, each guest gets to create their own slime, choosing color, texture, scent and charms. They get to stir it together themselves and play with it on the spot. 

“I love this,” said Johnny, rolling his orange-colored, lemon bar-smelling, butter-textured slime in his hands. “I’m so glad we came.”

“Name mine the ‘Green Surprise,’” said Wes, whose surprise was that his slime smelled like gingerbread. 

Each of us walked back out to the free Metropolitan parking deck carrying 8 ounces of slime in its own circular container. The fact that I let everyone bring theirs home was an endorsement enough. I did draw the line: they weren’t allowed to open slime in the car, and at home, they could only play with it outside or on the hardwood of the upstairs hallway.

Perhaps it’s no surprise that we spent a few days reading our bedtime Harry Potter in the hallway, and they smashed their Sloomoo slime as they listened.

Carroll Walton is a longtime journalist and freelance writer who authors The Ledger’s weekly Fútbol Friday newsletter on Charlotte FC. Reach her at [email protected].

📹 Watch Walton and her sons enjoy the slime-making in action on The Ledger’s Instagram page:

Today’s Charlotte Ledger is sponsored by Atrium Health Levine Children’s. Since 2007, Atrium Health Levine Children’s has led the Carolinas in children’s care – helping reimagine the future of pediatrics nationwide.

We’re always looking at new ways to engage and connect our readers. While we love getting face time with subscribers at events like Beers with the Editors, we’ve also heard that it’s beneficial to meet and network with fellow smart, informed Charlotteans (aka Ledger subscribers!). We also know trying new (and familiar) restaurants across Charlotte is something a lot of you enjoy.

We’re considering a Ledger dinner club — matching Ledger readers with each other in small groups to meet each other and socialize — but we wanted to gauge interest from readers before launching it. Please let us know in the poll below if this is something you would find value in — thanks!

If you have any opinions — on this or anything else — feel free to drop us a line.

On Saturdays, The Ledger sifts through the local news of the week and links to the top articles — even if they appeared somewhere else. We’ll help you get caught up. That’s what Saturdays are for.

Monday

Wednesday (🔒)

Friday (🔒)

Charlotte in Motion

Fútbol Friday

Real Estate Whispers (🔒)