The day started out positive enough. We were going to go to the mall, visit the Easter Bunny, capture the adorable memory in photo form for 76 dollars a piece, and then eat at the food court and buy our son some new birthday shoes. While I primped in the bathroom, my husband was wrangling the kids. I sent him a text from two rooms over listing several things he would need to remember to pack, because in a matter of two hours, you always end up needing 7 diapers, 4 bottles, the sippy cup with Spongebob on it and baby wipes, the cure-all for every mess imaginable. When we were finally set to walk out the door, luggage in hand, the dog, who has severe separation anxiety, prepared herself for the panic attack she was going to have before we even left and took a dump in the hallway. So I set everything down, and cleaned it up, all the while muttering unspeakable curses to the dog, who was shaking in the corner like some kind of mentally ill canine weirdo. Once that was taken care of, we all had to slowly step-by-step go down the basement steps, because my two year old son is Mr. Independent and likes to descend the steep staircase on his own. If you attempt to assist him, he will thrash and kick until you drop him on his head and let him roll down to the bottom. Broken bones not being on the agenda, we just sigh loudly and allow him to tyrannize us.
We all then piled into the car where the two year old converted himself to a two-by-four, refusing to use any kind of flexibility to help us strap him into his car seat. The seat-belt song I sing didn't even work this time. "We all have to wear seat belts, yes we do! We all have to wear them, it's safer for you!" He then had the audacity to cover his ears, which implied my singing voice was bothering him. As if his stubborn, anti-seat belt act of defiance wasn't bothering me in the slightest! At this point in the trip we were still in our own garage and I was panting and sweating already. I don't know why I ever bother to attempt to look decent, I always sweat my make-up off before we even leave. As we pulled into the mall's parking lot, my husband circled the place three times, hoping to snag the parking spot reserved for pregnant women and young families, and as we hone in on one, a young twit pulls in, with no belly bump, no kids, and a cigarette hanging from her lip glossed mouth. As I curse her under my breath, worse than I did my dog, my husband parked three miles from the entrance.
We have one stroller designed for one child, which means that my son has to be a big boy and walk everywhere on his own. Thankfully, usually this isn't a problem, unless he decides to inspect chewed gum on the ground or jump into a filthy puddle. We were now an hour into our journey, and we had just entered the building, like a miniature parade. We load the stroller with so much STUFF, it nearly could pass as a float, and since my son likes to throw things at people, we truly are a parade of four when we go places. We made a bee-line for the Easter Bunny because I wanted darling pictures of the kids with him before they ruined their hair and clothes with ketchup and other stain-worthy condiments.
The Easter Bunny is a massive costumed man or woman, who besides being a heavy mouth-breather, is disturbingly mute. Even to the parents. I tried to ask him a question and his vacant eyes stare back in silence. The photographer speaks for him, and tells me to place both kids on each one of his knees, and then she will take the picture for me. My three month old complies, mainly because she can't move, and has no choice, but my two year old runs wildly in the opposite direction, terrified. Understandably so, the bunny was a monstrosity and his silence was giving me the creeps. While I attempted to chase after him, my daughter's pacifier fell out and she began to wail. So what did my husband do?!? He sanitized it by sticking it into his own mouth from off the mall floor, and then shoving it back into our daughter's mouth!
The "photographer" had given up pretending to think my son's behavior was cute and started to sigh and roll her eyes, so I gave up on him being in the picture, and had her snap one of just my daughter. We paid 94 dollars for an atrocious photograph of my three month old and the Bunny, and walked away, defeated. Our next stop was the shoe store. Our son immediately moved all the toddler shoes within reach off the shelf and replaced them with men's running shoes. We found a pair we liked for him,on sale of course, and while my husband tried to get him to try them on, my daughter started to scream. I grabbed her diaper bag, thinking it would be an easy-fix. I would make her a bottle and she would settle.
Well, wouldn't you know, because I had forgotten to specifically include bottles on my text-list I sent my husband that morning, he had only packed formula and water, and NO bottles. Through gritted teeth, and in hushed tones, we fought with each other over who was to blame for this massive screw-up. All the while, my son is running through the store barefoot and my daughter is screaming still, only more urgently. We had successfully irritated every employee and customer in the store and once we had gotten shoes back on our son, we left the store dragging him along by the arm behind us, still fighting bitterly over who caused our daughter to go hungry.
What had started as a fun family outing had turned into a family brawl in the food court. I was starving to death at this point so I ordered my food and sat down, pretending not to know any of them. I did however, have to figure out how to feed my daughter, so I mixed formula and water in a Styrofoam cup and spoon-fed her. My husband was mortified I was publicly displaying such white trash behavior, but when I hissed at him, reminding him who had forgotten the bottle, the insults ceased. He refused to eat, apparently too worked-up and embarrassed, but I shrugged it off and enjoyed my Lo Mien. I offered some to my son who threw it to the floor and fought tooth and nail to escape the filthy mall high chair we had practically tied him to, so again, I ignored him, and proceeded to also enjoy my egg roll.
The trip had been a disaster. I had no positive way to end my story, because we left furious with each other, and the teenager at the door who callously ignored us and wouldn't hold the door got an earful. We threw everything and everyone into the car and drove home. Then we put everyone to bed for a nap, and didn't talk to one another for an hour. I had no way to positively spin the day into some kind of cutesy life lesson. Sometimes having kids just isn't fun. And sometimes it's too soon to laugh it off, so I waited a few days before I wrote it all down, and like I hoped, I now can look on it with affection and I guess days like that, make the good days that much better. Already the memory is a funny one, and I did end up with a hilarious picture of my daughter and the Bunny. Sometimes you just have to take a breath, wait a few days, and look back with fresh eyes. And would you look at that! I was able to make it a happy ending!
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