One of Those Days
I'm supposed to be making stuffing right now, but I've already made the cranberry sauce, two types of muffin (the cranberry pumpkin is delicious!), and prepared a strata that is now sitting in the fridge (since Thanksgiving is all family this year, we're having a couple of friends over for breakfast in the morning and to watch the parade on TV). The Tweedle Twirp is baking an apple pie and Adam is making hot chocolate (not for tomorrow; for right now). So I will take a break from the kitchen and tell you all about my day last Thursday. I know, I could be listing all the things I'm thankful for and get all sappy about the wonderful things in my life, but let's face it: that's not really me. Instead, last Thursday. It was one of those days.
As you recall, we last left our heroine alone with her two children while her husband "worked" in Vegas for the week, the sit-and-stand stroller locked away in the trunk of his car at Logan Airport. Of course, this particular Thursday was one of the few Thursdays that our heroine didn't have any plans. Our heroine has a fear of an empty day with both children (it's fine with one child when age-appropriate activities can be planned and supervised; not with two when it inevitably ends with either Doodles making off with the toy Pie was playing with or Pie climbing in the middle of Doodles's project/game/toy and dismantling it). So our heroine decided to hit the mall. And she also decided to begin writing in the first person.
Okay, so we're at the mall. With the double jogger. Did you know that a double jogger doesn't fit through 80 percent of the aisles in any given mall? Which means that I couldn't do 80 percent of the errands I needed to do.
While I get done the 20 percent of errands I can run, I'm walking through the mall quickly to try and avoid the two hot spots: Dunkin Donuts and Santa. The former guarantees an "I want it!!" meltdown and I'm just not ready to deal with the latter. Honestly, I was surprised the big guy was already out--we were still a full week before Thanksgiving.
But then another meltdown is occurring. The "nothing is going to make me happy except your b*oob" meltdown, and once again, I cave to the Pie and break weaning rule #173: no feeding in public places (although the whole Delta airlines thing makes me want to very publicly breastfeed, except of course that I don't want to breastfeed period so what's a gal to do?) and she gets her twelfth breastfeed of the morning.
Then it's off to Gap Baby, as the kids need socks and it's one of the few stores that have socks that fit extra wide feet. While I'm there I look around for a shower gift and check out a few outfits for Pie. And then I look up. And Doodles is gone. Not there. Doodles and I had been chatting with the saleswoman, so she quickly went to the back of the store to look for him in all open areas as I weaved through the aisles, fighting back the panic that was quickly rising up. Luckily, it was less than a minute before a woman at the door said, "There's a little boy out here. Is that who you're looking for?" I ran out and sure enough, down the way, Doodles was standing looking down through the glass wall at the floor below. I practically laughed I was so relieved but I was also so mad I wanted to cry. Doodles was oblivious. "But you were with me! You came with me," he insisted.
We needed to regroup. The three of us headed down to Johnny Rockets so Doodles could have a plate of French fries. I get him his fries. Pie has a hot dog. I'm trying to down a burger, keep Doodles out of the neighboring booth, keep Pie out of the ketchup, "indoor voice, please!" "Pie's eating my fries!" "Pie, hands on your own plate. Doodles, you don't need twelve napkins. Pie, please sit down. Doodles, please sit down. Doodles, please take one bite of your hot dog. Pie, please slow down and chew your hot dog." All of a sudden a face appears next to Pie. A very familiar face. But I'm trying to pick Doodles's train off the floor and keep Pie from spitting out her milk, so I'm slow to process when this familiar person points to Pie's fries and asks, "Are these hers?" "Yes," I say. And then, as he takes a fry--one of Pie's fries!--and Pie starts to scream bloody murder because no one, absolutely no one, is allowed to take food from Pie and Doodles starts asking over and over, "Who's that? Who's that? Who's that?" that I realize who is stealing food from my daughter: the mall Santa. Before I even know how to react, Pie's screaming scares Santa off. The waiter comes bustling over: "Santa! Did Santa come to visit you?" and I practically hiss, "We don't celebrate Christmas!"
I head off the question--I'm prepared for the Christmas/Santa conversation; I just wasn't prepared at that particular moment--and we all head home. Pie goes to bed. Doodles plays quietly. And I check my e-mail. Now, you need to know that the town I live in has a parents e-mail list. I don't know how many people are on this e-mail but I'd reckon close to a thousand. Don't know where I got that number; I may have just pulled it out of my butt. Anyway, there's a lot of activity of the list on the subject of a local daycare. I open and read the first e-mail. And I start to laugh. It starts by explaining that the poster was walking by a day care (which she doesn't name but does describe) when she saw something:
Anyone want to take a guess at who that child was?
Yep. Pie. My Pie. My Pie who is supposed to be readjusting to one nap a day, but is stubbornly refusing. My Pie who, when tired, will just lay down anywhere. My Pie, who I specifically told the center, "Hey, if she falls asleep, just let her sleep where she is, but wake her up after ten minutes." My Pie who chose this day to fall asleep in the sand. (And for the record, her face was not in the sand.) And cause a complete ruckus in our little town. As I'm sure anyone who spends any time online knows, the discussion got quite heated at times.
And now? Adam's back. The parents list has moved on to other topics. My son hasn't pulled any disappearing acts. My daughter hasn't--well, okay, she is still catnapping at any given opportunity and sneaking in extra breastfeeds. In other words, everything's back to normal.
Now, about that stuffing....
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
As you recall, we last left our heroine alone with her two children while her husband "worked" in Vegas for the week, the sit-and-stand stroller locked away in the trunk of his car at Logan Airport. Of course, this particular Thursday was one of the few Thursdays that our heroine didn't have any plans. Our heroine has a fear of an empty day with both children (it's fine with one child when age-appropriate activities can be planned and supervised; not with two when it inevitably ends with either Doodles making off with the toy Pie was playing with or Pie climbing in the middle of Doodles's project/game/toy and dismantling it). So our heroine decided to hit the mall. And she also decided to begin writing in the first person.
Okay, so we're at the mall. With the double jogger. Did you know that a double jogger doesn't fit through 80 percent of the aisles in any given mall? Which means that I couldn't do 80 percent of the errands I needed to do.
While I get done the 20 percent of errands I can run, I'm walking through the mall quickly to try and avoid the two hot spots: Dunkin Donuts and Santa. The former guarantees an "I want it!!" meltdown and I'm just not ready to deal with the latter. Honestly, I was surprised the big guy was already out--we were still a full week before Thanksgiving.
But then another meltdown is occurring. The "nothing is going to make me happy except your b*oob" meltdown, and once again, I cave to the Pie and break weaning rule #173: no feeding in public places (although the whole Delta airlines thing makes me want to very publicly breastfeed, except of course that I don't want to breastfeed period so what's a gal to do?) and she gets her twelfth breastfeed of the morning.
Then it's off to Gap Baby, as the kids need socks and it's one of the few stores that have socks that fit extra wide feet. While I'm there I look around for a shower gift and check out a few outfits for Pie. And then I look up. And Doodles is gone. Not there. Doodles and I had been chatting with the saleswoman, so she quickly went to the back of the store to look for him in all open areas as I weaved through the aisles, fighting back the panic that was quickly rising up. Luckily, it was less than a minute before a woman at the door said, "There's a little boy out here. Is that who you're looking for?" I ran out and sure enough, down the way, Doodles was standing looking down through the glass wall at the floor below. I practically laughed I was so relieved but I was also so mad I wanted to cry. Doodles was oblivious. "But you were with me! You came with me," he insisted.
We needed to regroup. The three of us headed down to Johnny Rockets so Doodles could have a plate of French fries. I get him his fries. Pie has a hot dog. I'm trying to down a burger, keep Doodles out of the neighboring booth, keep Pie out of the ketchup, "indoor voice, please!" "Pie's eating my fries!" "Pie, hands on your own plate. Doodles, you don't need twelve napkins. Pie, please sit down. Doodles, please sit down. Doodles, please take one bite of your hot dog. Pie, please slow down and chew your hot dog." All of a sudden a face appears next to Pie. A very familiar face. But I'm trying to pick Doodles's train off the floor and keep Pie from spitting out her milk, so I'm slow to process when this familiar person points to Pie's fries and asks, "Are these hers?" "Yes," I say. And then, as he takes a fry--one of Pie's fries!--and Pie starts to scream bloody murder because no one, absolutely no one, is allowed to take food from Pie and Doodles starts asking over and over, "Who's that? Who's that? Who's that?" that I realize who is stealing food from my daughter: the mall Santa. Before I even know how to react, Pie's screaming scares Santa off. The waiter comes bustling over: "Santa! Did Santa come to visit you?" and I practically hiss, "We don't celebrate Christmas!"
I head off the question--I'm prepared for the Christmas/Santa conversation; I just wasn't prepared at that particular moment--and we all head home. Pie goes to bed. Doodles plays quietly. And I check my e-mail. Now, you need to know that the town I live in has a parents e-mail list. I don't know how many people are on this e-mail but I'd reckon close to a thousand. Don't know where I got that number; I may have just pulled it out of my butt. Anyway, there's a lot of activity of the list on the subject of a local daycare. I open and read the first e-mail. And I start to laugh. It starts by explaining that the poster was walking by a day care (which she doesn't name but does describe) when she saw something:
Lots of e-mails followed expressing concern for the child, the center, the judgment of the teachers.
"I noticed that there was a young toddler, 12-15 months or so, who was laying face down in the sand not moving. Two of the teachers were facing her so it seemed foolish to call their attention to her. I did slow right down and had a good look at her and it was clear that she was sleeping, and didn't look particularly uncomfortable, though I wouldn't want to sleep with my face in damp sand."
Anyone want to take a guess at who that child was?
Yep. Pie. My Pie. My Pie who is supposed to be readjusting to one nap a day, but is stubbornly refusing. My Pie who, when tired, will just lay down anywhere. My Pie, who I specifically told the center, "Hey, if she falls asleep, just let her sleep where she is, but wake her up after ten minutes." My Pie who chose this day to fall asleep in the sand. (And for the record, her face was not in the sand.) And cause a complete ruckus in our little town. As I'm sure anyone who spends any time online knows, the discussion got quite heated at times.
And now? Adam's back. The parents list has moved on to other topics. My son hasn't pulled any disappearing acts. My daughter hasn't--well, okay, she is still catnapping at any given opportunity and sneaking in extra breastfeeds. In other words, everything's back to normal.
Now, about that stuffing....
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home