Earlier this year, I had a post titled Angry Toddler Reviews Sesame Street Live. Recently, after running some errands during which a not-so-toddlery 2-year-old pulled some shenanigans. Consequently, I thought perhaps the Angry Toddler should come back and review Target. I meant to have the Angry Toddler review a trip to the pool. But it’s September. I missed the boat on that. Although, there are always the pumpkin patches…
I am unsure of why my mom insists on running these things she called “errands.” What the word errands means is, basically, I have to sit and be happy while my mom stares at a list and tells me to stop pulling boxes off the shelves. But why do they have Mickey Mouse on them if I’m not supposed to pull them off the shelf? Honestly, it’s a Pavlovian response. It’s out of my hands. I blame marketing and my mother for using television as a babysitter. Really, mom, this one is on you.
This morning, my mom told me we were running errands and said it in that really perky voice that meant it was going to be horrible. I mean, toddlers aren’t idiots. If we were actually doing something fun you wouldn’t have to talk all squeaky like you do when it’s bedtime. As she ran around packing her purse (honestly, we aren’t going to Egypt, it’s just Target) and changing the baby, I colored on my arms. Because, I just had a bath, so why not? My mom asked me if I needed to pee, I screamed. She walked away and then when she came back with my shoes, I told her I had pooped in my underwear. The look on her face was priceless. Suck it, potty training. Of course, I then proceeded to cry because my poop was really stinky and why didn’t someone just change me already?
I won’t tell you the words that my mom said. But I will say this, later when I repeat them to dad, I’m going to cause some serious marital strife.
It took my mom approximately 20 minutes to load my brother and I in the car, which allowed me ample time to fill my pockets with leaves and then wiggle out of my car seat adding another five minutes onto the load time. And then we were off. Because my mom insisted on listening to NPR, I sang a song about ponies so loud I woke my brother up. Then, as he cried, I proceeded to mimic the sound. I’m getting really good at it.
One of the keys to being a good toddler is making constant noise. This is a tactic the FBI uses to end stand offs with criminals. The Feds are just taking they cues from toddlers who know how to drive someone crazy. Seriously, try it next time you want to watch one more “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse” or you want your mom to admit she ate all the candy during nap time. Thank me later.
We pulled up to Target and mom loaded us into the cart. I made sure I tossed a small Daisy Duck toy on to my brother just as we were entering the store. It had been almost five minutes since I’d made my presence known. I didn’t want my mom getting soft. She did nothing.
I mean, she gritted her teeth and stood in line for coffee. But ultimately she ignored me. This meant I had to get more serious.
“What I getting?” I yelled. “WHAT I GETTING?”
I mean, I had pooped twice that morning. I deserved a treat. My mom grabbed her coffee from the barista and took a gulp. The woman didn’t even sip. She gulped. Her slurping sounds were loud and desperate–like she was a six month old grubbing puffs from the couch cushions. Lady, have some dignity.
I yelled again, “WHAT I GETTING?” She said nothing to me. Instead, choosing to clutch her coffee close to her and maneuver the cart to the bakery, where I remembered: Right, it’s Target. I get a cookie. See, Target knows my worth. That bakery lady just smiles and hands over the cookies. I think more adults would do well to follow her example. So, bravo Target.
My mom drank her coffee and we picked out milk and snacks. I had a cookie, so I was momentarily distracted from throwing food down into the cart on my brother. But just momentarily.
Look, I don’t want to front with you. It’s my job. Nay, my civic duty to keep this lady honest and on the edge of insanity. But let’s just all agree, that Target is basically the best place to be. I mean, your mom yells less because she has coffee and you always get a cookie out of the deal. Which is why, I always reserve my meltdowns for the checkout line. Especially when that red-clad devil forgets to give me my sticker.