Doing Things With Kids

crazy Doing things with kids is the worst. Not all the time, of course, I really like taking my kids to carnivals and filling them up with funnel cake and then watching them puke it all out on the carousel. I also, really loooove hauling them to the pool only to have them beg to sit in the chairs and eat snacks for the next two hours. But, somehow, no matter how hard or how well I plan, something always happens that turns a simple run  to the grocery store into Mutiny on the Bounty. I run out to the store for just a gallon of milk and the baby poops on the cart and my daughter begins sobbing in the cheese aisle.

Here are some examples of what I mean.

Signing Up for a Race Without Kids: I sign up online. I run the race.

Signing Up for a Race With Kids: For some reason the online form isn’t working. Email and call the race organizers and reach no one. Decide to sign up at the packet pick-up the day before the race. Bring both kids with me downtown. It takes ten minutes to find a parking spot three blocks away. Get out of the car and realize the stroller isn’t in the back. Carry the baby and pull Ellis along two blocks* in 90 degree heat and up three flights of stairs to the packet pick up. Wait in line for the form. Sit at the table to fill out the form. The baby immediately crawls away into a display of shoes. Ellis begins crying because of the mess. Pick up baby, let him crew on my credit card while filling out the form. Almost finished filling out the form, when a sharp pain shoots through my leg. Look down, the baby is no longer chewing on the credit card and is chewing on me. Also, I just swore in front of 50 strangers.

Pick up the baby and wrangle Ellis to the line again. Get to the front and are told, no credit cards. Cash or Check. I have neither. Give the woman a desperate look. Take both kids out of the building, down the block to the nearest bank. Enter the bank only to be told their ATM isn’t working. Hustle both kids back outside. To another bank, farther away. Get money. Walk back to the packet pick up. On the way back, Ellis notices a feather in the street and becomes so overcome with fear that the “magical feather” will get hit by a car, that she throws herself to the sidewalk in anguish. Try to pull her up. Realize that the baby has dumped the entire contents of my wallet on the sidewalk. Pick up wallet contents. Drag Ellis who is crying because the feather was hit by a car. The baby begins crying too, because why the hell not?

Get back to packet pick up. Shove the money at the lady, who hands me the packet with a look of irritation in her eyes that SHE HAS NOT EARNED. Walk over to the T-shirt lady, who insists on trying to talk me into a Medium shirt, rather than a small. Because she just thinks I will be happier with it. She can’t see this, but the hand that is holding the baby is giving her the finger. I get the small. Ellis is now twirling in the middle of the room and will only come to me if I address her as “Your royal highness, get over here now!”

Get home. Tell the story to The Dave, who immediately gets upset about the ATM fee I incurred. Speak to no one for the next 15 hours.

Going to the Store Without Kids: Walk into the store, pick up milk. Purchase milk. Walk out of the store.

Going to the Store With Kids: Walk into the store, strap both kids into the shopping cart. Ellis begins fussing because she wants to sit in the giant cart that looks like the Titanic and boasts of the same steering capacity. The baby is crying because he likes being strapped down for NOTHING.  Promise them both cookies if they just shut up and focus. All we need is milk. Begin walking back to the dairy section. Notice that bananas are on sale, pick up bananas. Remember there is no thawed meat for dinner, pick up some chicken. Notice the baby licking a snot bubble and recall that I need tissues and veer into the tissue aisle. The citizens begin their coup. The baby is reaching out to grab everything off the shelves. Ellis is asking me WHY IS THAT LADY LOOKING SO ANGWY? WHY DO I HAFTA BE QUIET? IS THAT LADY MEAN? IS SHE NAUGHTY?”

See the dairy section and remember that The Dave had said he was out of yogurt. Get yogurt. Ellis is now demanding her cookie and the baby has a leg up through the arm strap. Go to the cookie aisle, grab some Oreos. Open the package and feed my children sugar so they shut the hell up. Remember we need wipes, hand soap and band aids. Grab all of those things while the kids are drooling chocolate down their faces. Rush to the check out aisle, just as the meltdown begins. The baby is in full on riot mode, twisting and shrieking and arching his back to get out of the straps. Ellis is crying because “Bubby is not doing da right fing!” Bubby don’t care. Bubby will tear everything off of the shelves until I relent and pick him up. With a tear in her eye, Ellis is picking up gum packages off the floor. The high school-age cashier asks me how my day is in a really happy voice. She can’t see it, but the hand that is holding the baby is giving her the finger.

I get home and realize I forgot the milk.

Taking a Walk Around the Block Without Kids: Walk around the block? Please, I either run five miles or I sit on my Adirondack chairs and read a book. It’s a lovely day, after all. Walk around the block? What am I? An old lady? LOL.

Taking a Walk Around the Block With Kids: It is a lovely day and we still have an hour to burn before nap time. I put the baby into his Little Tikes Cozy Coup and get out Ellis’ tricycle and take them around the block. We get ten feet out of our door, before Ellis is screaming that she doesn’t have her helmet and it is not safe. “DIS IS NOT SAFE!” I curse The Dave under my breath, run inside and grab the helmet, and hope that in those five seconds the neighbors don’t see my kids unattended on the front lawn and call CPS.

Run back outside. Try to put the helmet on Ellis, but I’m told, “PRINCESSES JUST ONLY DO FINGS DEMSELVES!” Let the Princess do the fing her ownselves. Ellis riding her bike and me pushing the baby in the Cozy Coup, we begin the the trek around the block. Ellis hits a crack in the sidewalk.

“OH NO! I STUCK! I STUCK!” She begins to wail and her body hangs limp over her handlebars. “I SO BERRY STUCK!” I kick her over the hump.

“Oh, wank you berry much!” She says. We continue on. Halfway up the block the baby begins throwing his body out of the Cozy Coup. I offer him a stick to chew on. He throws it out and tries to climb out the back. I catch his head before it hits the sidewalk. I pick him up and try to continue boldly forward, but it’s apparent now that the baby really wants to eat cement. I don’t mean this metaphorically. I set him on the ground and he licks the sidewalk. Ellis has decided that she is too “hot and ‘weaty” to continue.

“Fine, let’s go back!”

“‘Fere, hold my bike,” Ellis says getting off her tricycle. I insist she rides it back. She insists on crying. The baby is arching his back and wailing. I may or may not yell something along the lines of, “GET ON YOUR BIKE AND QUIT TALKING TO ME!”

I hope the neighbors haven’t called CPS. I lead my sad, wailing band toward home, like a pudgy, white lady Moses. I can feel the seed of a migraine plant itself in the base of my skull. A neighbor without kids walks by, “Well, that was a short walk,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah, right?” I say.

He can’t see it, but the hand holding the baby is giving him the finger.

 

*If you live in a real city, two blocks isn’t daunting. But I don’t live in a real city. I live in Cedar Rapids. Our city blocks are abnormally large and my Iowa kids don’t understand the concept of walking places

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