A Leisurely Day Out With Two Kids (Snort)

A while back, my husband and I had an apparent brain fart and decided that we would try taking both boys to a movie. Our four-year old loves going to the movies and can sit through just about anything, cartoon or not, like a champ.

But then, there’s our two-year old. We tried taking him about four months ago to a new, very popular animated movie. He made it about twenty minutes. During those twenty minutes he wiggled, he made loud noises, and he bummed popcorn from the family sitting behind us who we happened to be acquainted with, thank goodness.

My husband had the brilliant idea that we should go watch Iron Man 3 in 3D at the IMAX Theater, in a town about an hour away. The IMAX Theater is a pretty cool experience, so I guess I let the thought of the ginormous screen paired with 3D graphics cloud my good judgment.

Well, when we arrived there was already a line coming out of the building. Because we decided to go on opening weekend, of course. Because we’re just smart like that. The only remaining seats were on the bottom row, second from the very front.

I literally could have stretched my arms and almost touched the screen.

Things were okay at first. That is, until the lights went out and the previews came on. I’ll tell you. There is definitely a difference in the persona of movie goers attending an animated, kid movie and movie goers attending a non-cartoon super hero movie.

They latter are not forgiving. I’m pretty sure I got disapproving looks before my child even started making any noises.

And before he even started making noises, I realized this was a completely ridiculous idea.

I had noticed that the ticket said the movie was about two and a half hours. Now, I didn’t think for a minute that my child would sit quietly for that long. Even if we did stuff him with endless popcorn, coke, and candy.

Well, after preview number one, I had to pull out the candy that I had hidden in my purse because we are too cheap to buy a $5.00 bag of “rip-off” at the movies. So we sneak our candy inside instead.

Don’t tell me that you don’t do that. You do, right?

Well, it’s pretty bad when the previews have only been going for four minutes and you already have to dig into your sugary-ammunition. There are only so many Skittles in that bag, you know? They need to be rationed.

Especially if they’re going to last through a two-hour movie. Which, of course there’s no way they ever would.

Keaton insisted on sitting in a chair by himself. He sat back with his little feet sticking off the end of the seat. There was a man sitting in front of him, on the very front row. He had leaned his seat back as far as it would go in an attempt to ease the strain on his neck, I guess.

Well, in doing so, Keaton’s feet were touching the top of his seat.

This was actually the man’s fault, since my two-year old son is about the size of a big cabbage patch doll. But I guess the man didn’t see it that way. He glanced back a couple of times giving us dirty looks as Keaton tapped his feet.

We tried to get our little one to stop, but my goodness, if you get a two-year old to actually sit down for any period of time you’ve performed a miracle. Asking him to sit and keep his feet completely still is totally unrealistic.

Not gonna happen.

Well, he tapped his feet once more, even after our warnings. (Imagine that.) This time the man turned around and said, “Get your kid!” I wanted to explain to him that he was practically sitting in my kid’s lap and that if a normal-sized human being was sitting in my son’s seat there is no way in you-know-where that he would be able to lean that far back.

Yeah, I wanted to say that.

But, instead I took that as my cue to snatch my son and bolt out of there.

As soon as we got in the lobby of the theater I felt the sweet relief of freedom. Freedom from the judging, disapproving eyes of Iron Man die-hards. Much of whom obviously must not have children of their own or else they might’ve had a little more patience for two-year old foot tapping.

Then, I felt the not-so-sweet dread of having to keep a two-year old occupied for over two hours, while my husband and oldest son finished the movie.

Luckily this movie theater is located in a promenade shopping center. But, unluckily I didn’t bring a stroller or anything (not that my child would have willingly sat in one). Shopping with a toddler is nearly impossible anyway. Shopping with a toddler, by yourself, and without a stroller, is dang near hopeless.

But, what other choice did I have?

So, off we went. On a “fun” shopping excursion.

After the first store, I realized that I wasn’t actually shopping at all. That wasn’t what this was. I was actually entangled against my will in this game of hide-and-go-seek with my toddler. As soon as he would get out of my arms, off he would go. I would frantically look around the store, sometimes spotting him.

Sometimes not.

If I didn't spot him, most times he ended up being found under a rack of clothing or in the dressing room. So, I resorted to holding him in the store.

Which is about as dang near impossible as taking a two-year old to the movies.

And try getting your items (none of which you had time to try on) on the checkout counter, get out your wallet, get your debit card out of that wallet, swipe your debit card, and enter your pin number. All the while holding a fairly heavy purse and a super heavy child.

A child who is in no way cooperating.

He’s trying with all his might to escape, like a wild animal that doesn’t want to be caged. He all but bit me. Even he knew better than that.

By the time I left that first store, I was sweaty, holding a purse, an agitated toddler, and bag containing items that I didn’t even get to try on. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what I had bought.

In store number two, my son tried the whole hide-and-seek game once again. But, this time he was pretty easy to find. In fact, all I had to do was sniff. Of course, he had a dirty diaper. And by the smell of things, it was a whopper.

So, we left the store in search of a bathroom. We walked all the way to the end of the promenade only to find no bathroom. So, we walked all the way to the other end of the promenade. Still no bathroom that I could see.

Finally we stopped inside a small ice-cream shop and used their bathroom.

When I opened that diaper it was just as bad as I had thought. And realizing that in an attempt to carry less, I had thrown a diaper in my purse and left the diaper bag in the car.

So, I had a new diaper but no wipes. Sweet.

This often is no big deal. At least when it’s a number one. But, a number two is a much different story. So, I got some toilet paper wet and began attempting to clean my smelly son.

After ten minutes we emerged from the bathroom.

There was a sign on the wall that read “Only Customers Can Use the Bathroom”. So, I decided we better order some ice-cream. It was our duty as law abiding citizens, right?

Plus I kind of felt like I deserved it. As we were eating our ice-cream I looked at the time, nervously. We still had an hour and a half. An hour and a half. Are you stinking kidding me?

Lord help us. Okay, Lord help me.

Realizing that we better not go to any more stores for a while I decided to let my son down to explore. But instead of staying in the grassy area that I had let him down in, he took off for the beautiful, perfectly manicured flower garden that is displayed outside the theater.

He was romping and stomping right in the middle of all the flowers. I kept yelling at him to get out. But for some reason he didn’t seem to hear me. Oh wait. I remember the reason now.

He’s two-years old and therefore NEVER “hears” me. Also, he's male. Yes, I said it.

As people walked by, some laughed at the sight of my son crushing flowers by the second. Some shot disapproving looks our way. And some had expressions of pity. Finally I had to climb in myself and pull him out, kicking and screaming the whole way.

Seriously. That was THE longest two and a half hours of my life. I will now cross “movies” off of the list of enjoyable leisurely things to do.

Just one more thing my kids took away from me. Along with any shred of youth and energy I might have left in this tired body of mine.

Embarrassing Moments in Wal-Mart

As if my multiple trips to Wal-Mart each week aren’t bad enough, sometimes I am even forced to take my children. Both of them. Shudder.

This most definitely makes shopping much harder and more painful. From the endless “No, we don’t need that. No, that’s too expensive. Put that back. Sit down. Put your shoes back on. Don’t hit your brother. Stop picking your nose. Use your quiet voice. Don’t sit on the bread!” to the out-of-the-way detours in a desperate effort to bypass the toy section.

It’s exhausting. And I get looks. Most of the time they’re looks of pity. It must be bad when we’re walking down aisles and people are feeling sorry for me.

Sometimes it feels like we’re a freak show.

And what’s really annoying is when I see a mom with her five or six children all sitting calmly in the cart and walking along peacefully with her. How in the heck does she do that? What kind of trance did she put on them? A sedative? That’s the only logical explanation.

And I feel like a big fat failure with my two maniacs yelling and bouncing.

Last Friday afternoon, we decided to head to Wal-Mart to pick up an assortment of popsicles for my niece Kenzie since she had her tonsils out the day before. We spent about twenty minutes perusing the frozen goody aisle. Both boys wanted everything they saw and kept forgetting that we were actually there to get treats for their cousin.

After filling our cart with frozen items for Kenzie (and of course some for our household since I often cave in these situations) we headed to the check-out line.

This line seems to be the place where my children lose it. I mean, they’re not great throughout the store. But, it’s like all heck breaks loose in the line.

And the candy. Oh the candy. At hands-reach. Little hands.

Well, in this line on this particular afternoon one of my most embarrassing mom-moments happened. I got all our items on the counter while at the same time repeatedly grabbing bags of candy out of my two-year old’s hands. I was so glad when the cashier put my last item in the bag and gave me my total.

We were just about to get out of there. Then, I reached in my purse to grab my wallet. And my heart sank.

It wasn’t there.

My mind began racing and I immediately started sweating. Then, it’s like the Heavens opened and I found my checkbook. Overwhelmed with relief, I quickly wrote a check to pay for our items.

I had our sacks in our cart, ready to go when the cashier spoke the words I secretly feared: “May I see your driver’s license?”

The license that was in my wallet—the wallet that was sitting on the end table beside my couch from earlier in the day when I made an online purchase. Stinking online shopping.

I had no debit card or credit card. I had no ID. So, I had to hand each bag back to the cashier.

Now, this sucked for several reasons. First of all, I had just endured a trip to Wal-Mart with both my children. And it was all for nothing. Second of all, we had been in the store for nearing thirty minutes. Third, it was a little embarrassing to have to hand my bags back. Fourth, I knew that we would have to make yet another trip to Wal-Mart as soon as I could get my wallet.

And the fifth most important reason this totally sucked was my children. When I handed the bags filled with popsicles and ice-cream back to the cashier, my four-year old instantly began crying.

Which, of course, made my two-year old start crying. They were both screaming as I started to walk away, dragging their limp, lifeless bodies out of the store as quickly as physically possible.

Then, my four-year old began crying, “I HATE Wal-Mart! I HATE Wal-Mart”.

We really were a freak show. They are never going to let us back in that place. My husband is going to have to do the grocery shopping from now on. Wait a minute, maybe that’s not such a bad thing…

I guess I could have told my son that really it was actually mommy’s fault (not Wal-Mart’s) because I forgot the money at home.

But I didn’t think that pointing the blame would have done any good at that moment.

When we got outside, both kids still crying, it was raining. Of course it was.

After a frustrated call to my husband, we headed to the bank where he works to get some cash.

And then, because there was no other choice, we headed back to Wal-Mart to repeat the whole process. I would’ve rather cut off my arm. But there still wouldn’t have been ice-cream or popsicles so that wasn’t an option.

We retraced our steps in the store, a little faster this time. I had chosen to wear some pretty tall wedges on this trip. We were going to dinner later that evening and I thought I would dress up a bit.

Stupid move. What was I thinking? I’m a mom. Wedges are never a good idea. My feet were killing me by the time we left Wal-Mart.

On our way out, as we walked through the rain, I spotted our SUV. But the weird thing was the driver’s side door was wide open. My first thought was, “Did someone break into our truck?”

Then, I realized that in the craziness of things, I had forgotten to shut the door.

How do you forget to shut the stinking door? When it's raining?

Two upset kids. A second trip to Wal-Mart. Rain. Sore feet. Deteriorating mom-brain cells.

That’s how. I really don’t think I’ll have any brain cells left by the time they’re teenagers.

I quickly got the kids in their seats, the bags put in the back of the SUV, and then sat down in my sopping wet seat.

We were finally done. I opened up a popsicle for each of the boys to eat on the way to give the get-well treats to their cousin. I didn’t really care at that point about the potential mess that eating a popsicle in the car would create.

And I might have opened up a popsicle for myself to eat while driving down the road. I deserved it.

I actually deserved a whole stinking, giant-sized banana split.

It was just a typical afternoon with two small boys. Makes you want some sons, right?

Fourth of July--Fail

What says “Fourth of July” better than diarrhea and vomit? Right? Right?

Our two-year old woke up this morning with some sort of stomach bug. Poor baby. We didn’t figure out there was a problem until we got to the park and noticed him waddling around, awkwardly.

Which in Keaton-translation means “I’ve got a big, nasty, undeniably smelly, diaper situation”.

And because mamas are so lucky like this, he insisted on me changing his diaper. (I guess my husband has tricked our son into falsely assuming his fatherly-incompetence in many of the areas of personal hygiene). How do men do that?

As I changed him by the car, I kept looking toward the road behind me thinking there had to be some sort of dead animal nearby. The smell was nothing like I had smelled from my son before. It was a smell that usually oozes from a five-day old mushed possum or armadillo or something equally grotesque.

And of course the liquid mess had already covered the inside of his shorts. And of course I had no other shorts. And of course, we had just arrived at the park when this happened. And Keaton hadn’t even had any time to play.

So, there was no saying, “It’s time to go, boys!” So, he played in his diaper. I’m sure we looked like, “those people” as cars drove by and saw a diaper-clad two-year old at the park with no pants.

After several more diarrhea diapers, which luckily happened in the convenience of our home, with a bathtub accessible, we headed over to my mother-in-law’s house. (Which by-the-way is about to be our house because we are building again and our current house has sold. So we have to get out in a few weeks).

On the way, Keaton was being extra moody. He was whining and kind of whimpering. Then, suddenly he vomited. And vomited. And vomited. About four times. From his mouth, his nose, and I think maybe even his eyeballs. Okay, not his eyeballs.

But, believe me, it was a LOT of throw-up. And it was chunky. Hey, I’m trying to help you understand just what we were dealing with. And maybe trying to get you to feel an ounce of my pain.

We completed the smelly-twenty minute drive and then tried to get Keaton out of his seat, while trying to make as small of a mess as possible.

Which was impossible. I got Keaton out without too much trouble. But when I pulled his seat out, chunky vomit splashed out on both my legs.

Thank goodness he’s my child. If the puke had belonged to anyone else, well besides he or his older brother, I just might have died.

Or frantically attempted to be hosed off in a treatment facility for radioactive waste exposure.

When we got home, I also got the fun job of cleaning the truck of the puke that was covering the seat, some of the carpet, and the seatbelt. Because I guess being a mom entails having some kind of magical cleaning power that my husband does not possess.

It’s strange. I’m pretty sure I’m not even that good at cleaning.

No matter how much resolve and Febreze I sprayed on, the smell would not come out of that seatbelt. I wonder how much a new one would cost?

So, Keaton and I ended up staying home from the fireworks festivities. Luckily he didn’t realize he was missing anything. And thank goodness we had a small Fourth of July celebration at our house the night before and so he got to enjoy some fireworks and fun.

I got Keaton to bed early, since it was just he and I in the house. I did a quick house-clean, and then spent the rest of the evening drinking coffee and browsing Pinterest.

And then I was awoken at 1:15 am with horrible stomach pains--and other issues. Keaton passed his bug along to me.

Of course.

Was cleaning the puke-covered child, the chunky, liquid filled car-seat, and about six road-kill smelling diarrhea diapers not enough?

Looking at what I just typed, it’s no wonder I caught the bug as well. I really need to invest in a hazmat suit.

And never take it off. Ever.