TheMommyBlog

Saturday, February 12, 2005 Family

I was going to post my redemption in the previous post’s extended entry, but it got loooooong and eventually stamped its tiny foot and demanded its own post.

I left the house for the second time today to make a wine run. I am now happily ensconced with a fishbowl glass of Langtry Meritage, and have put away (in the wine rack, shut UP.) various bottles of Haut Brisson Bordeaux, Pontet Canet Bordeaux, Toad Hollow chardonnay, and Grandes Serres Chateneuf de Pape. The kids can eat Top Ramen for a few days.

Oh, you ask, when was the first time? Gee, I can hardly remember that one, let’s see, oh yes, the TORTUOUS TRIPS TO OFFICE DEPOT FOLLOWED BY McDONALD’S. That one.

All I needed was a sheaf of labels for the VHS cassettes, and they were right there by the door, should have been a cake walk, but nooooo, I brought my children.

“OK. guys, we’re just here to get one thing! Labels! And they are right here! Let’s see… VHS, VHS… Logan don’t climb, please, and Dylan, thank you for straightening the piles, but if you push them way back, no one can read the front… (Pulling stacks of product forward again while he follows along, pushing them back again) Oh, Daphne, that’s not the kind we want, yes I know it’s purple, but I don’t need it, no no no put that back, arrrrghhhh where did it come from? Never mind, we’ll let Dylan find a spot. Well, there are a gazillion DVD labels but not a single VHS label, am I the only idiot around here who still has them? DYLAN WYATT ROBERTS you stop strangling your sister THIS INSTANT. Gaaaaah can’t we buy one thing and leave in peace? MARSHMALLOWS!!!*

Finally at the ONE register that was open, we waited in line behind four people apparently all returning stuff. Right next to the candy display. Amid screams of “Loook!” and “Mommy, I want this!” I herded them back to the line. I had Dylan by the collar and he went slack, feet off the floor and shouting, “Mommy, you’re choking meeeeeee!” “So put your feet down.” “I caaaan’t.” “Dylan, put your feet down and it won’t pull. (to the others in line) Heh, I’m not really hurting him. Heh.”

After thirty seconds of adding inches to his collar, I stopped. “Logan. Eyes. Please hold these labels.” I grabbed Dylan, swung him up to my shoulders and begged him to not cover my eyes. Daphne went NUTS because that is her spot, so I swung her into my arms using that little pin the leg under my chin move. Shit. Purse on floor. Squaaaaaaat, and just got it. I turned to the register to find the clerk staring. “Um, would you...” “No, I don’t need a bag, thanks.” “OK, um cash back?” “No thanks.” “OK, have a nice day.” “Oh, THAT’S likely.” Did I just say that?? I am such a jerk.

I scuffled out to the car, holding 65 lbs of screaming toddler, Logan following behind, tossing the box of labels waaaay up high and catching them again. Mostly.

As we buckled, I threatened to go home and not to McD’s because of their behavior. Hilarity did not ensue. So, I made Dylan a deal.

Me: “If you promise to take a nap with Daphne and me after lunch, we can go to McDonald’s. Otherwise, we go home. What do you say?” (Two blocks away now.)
Dylan: “I promise I won’t hit Daphne if we go to McDonald’s.”
Me: “No, that’s not what I said. You have to promise to not hit her AND take a nap.”
Dylan: I won’t hit Daphne, and I won’t take a nap, and I will go to McDonald’s.”
Me: “Nice try. You have to promise to take a nap after lunch.” (half a block away now)
Dylan “I won’t take a nap, and I won’t hit Daphne, and I will go to McDonald’s and have an ice cream there too.”
Me: (where did he learn this?) “Try again. We’re here. We can either go in and eat and play in the tunnels, or we can go home. What’s your promise to me?”
Dylan: “...”
Logan: “You’re supposed to say you won’t hit Daphne and you’ll take a nap.”
Me: “Well?”
Dylan: “OK.”
Me: “OK, what?” (engine still idling) “You’ll take a nap?”
Dylan: “Yes.”
Me: “Are you promising?”
Dylan: (in the smallest possible voice, a positively Whoville voice) “I promise.”
Me: “Great! Everyone out!”

And guess what? No nap. I took one, but I haven’t the faintest what the others did while I was sleeping.

*The marshmallows routine comes from my eighth grade chorus class with Mr. Butera (Motto: “Don’t B flat, don’t B sharp, just B natural.—Mr. B.”). He would hold marshmallow contests. You had to sit silently with your arms making huge round bellies, cheeks puffed out, not speaking or moving. I tried it out on the kids, and it worked for a while, but now only sometimes. However, when they hear me shout MARSHMALLOWS!, they know I’m serious and at least make a token effort. More than once I have been overheard telling my brood that they totally suck at being marshmallows.