Today we had a mall event where the children got to meet-n-greet with Curious George. The kids all had to be part of the ‘Kidgits Club’ in order to participate. The information sheet states ’20 minutes per child for photos’ blah blah blah… something along those lines. So why is it that when you actually arrive it’s a whole ‘nother story?
I pull into the mall – park the car… the world is peachy keen. Victor gets loaded up into his car seat, I take out a billion items from his diaper bag and place them in the stroller’s basket for easier access, and into the mall we go.
As soon as I walk in, I get a call from one of the other playdate mommies. Seems like there’s a new member there and it’s her first playdate. Since my friend on the phone is running late she asks me to give her a quick call to let her know she’s not alone – basically, that the group hasn’t ditched her. I’m thinking, AWESOME! Another mom. So I give her a call and we meetup by the Kidgits club registration desk. She’s laid-back and all smiles – phew!
More and more playgroup mommies start showing up with their kids and you know, the world is still peachy keen. I swear I checked my son’s stroller a BILLION times to make sure I had taken him out of the car. He was too quiet! Unusually quiet… creepy quiet. Evil plan-plotting quiet…
After having to run to Starbucks, debate with the cashier why I think she should break my $20 without me having to make a purchase, and then turning my back to her coldly and saying “Whatever – I’m not buying anything. This is ridiculous”, I finally find someone who can break my $20 so I can pay the freaking $5 yearly club membership fee. Thank you whoever broke my $20 – I owe you one!
Still chatting away, I unsuspectingly move my conversation to the wait-line. Of course, that was cue for Curious George to need a break. He’d been there for 30 minutes and already needed a 20 minute break. Where’s the elevator music while we stand here like idiots?
20 minutes later, our star reappears. I’m chatting away, forgetting my own child is with me because he’s still unusually tranquil. It was hilarious when one of the playdate mommies asked me if I wanted her to turn my child’s stroller so he could be in the picture I was about to take. Oh, what, you mean my child is here? Oh silly me… and I thought I had left him in the car.
I’m outside the play area like the paparazzi, trying to get Curious George to look at me so I can take the ‘perfect’ shot. Of course, as soon as I’m about to take the photo, he always turns the other way. I have a great shot of his left butt cheek, right butt cheek, back, arm… let’s get together sometime and I’ll show you.
Finally it’s our turn. I didn’t want to be in the shot but I had no other choice. Putting Victor down would of been like tempting fate. He would of gone from 0-60 in a few seconds and been all over the play area. That was a tantrum I wanted to avoid thank-you-very-much.
Ok Victor, say bye to George… “Bye bye bye”…
30 seconds later a wild fight broke out. I was in awe, I could harldy believe it was happening. What in the world… why do they allow such things to happen in a mall. I mean, what kind of a world are we living in when a mother can’t even take her child to get a cute little photo with a fake monkey? There was screaming, kicking, a shoe went flying… it’s just a shame that all of it happened to be between my son and myself. Yep, that’s right. It was my ‘angel’ of a child throwing the world’s biggest, most embarassing tantrum.
I’m sure the other mommies loved having their husband’s there. They all got a 2-for-1 special meet-n-greet… one with Curious George and the second with my big breasts almost popping out of my shirt. Hey, if George got $1 per each photo with him, how much do you think I can get for a photo of your husband next to my huge, shirt-popping boobs? I mean, I think $5 minimum per husband is cheap, don’t you? I’ll even pay for your marriage counseling session afterwards. What a steal!
Needless to say, before killing my child in front of the public view, I quickly escorted (aka. clubbed and dragged) him away from the play area into the nearest store. Thank God for the cover of clothes racks.
I’m carrying my 38lb toddler in one arm, pushing a stroller with the other arm, and of course, as soon as we actually reach an area of the store where there are other people present, my son decides it will be fun to test my patience by slapping me in the face. How far do you think a 38lb toddler can go flying? Hm… Of course, before I even say anything to him, the mall-starers are already looking at me like I’m the world’s worst mother. How dare I let my child cry like that… tsk tsk.
I reach the restroom and I’m relieved. Phew. No witnesses. Let me just say that I’ve never seen a restroom clear out that fast. I swear those women piled out of there faster than if “Smelly Betty” had the runs and the toilet had clogged up and started overflowing with crap. No pun intended.
I left the mall as quickly as humanly possible, loaded up Victor and all his stuff, and sped away like I’d stolen something. Wait, did I load Victor?
The boy did not make even ONE sound all the way home. Not one. No crying, no sudden movements, nothing. How lovely. My little demon all of a sudden becomes Mr. Doesn’t-Hurt-a-Fly-Perfect-Little-Angel.
I feel like I’m Lois Griffin, mother to Stewie from ‘Family Guy’. Damn you, vile woman, you’ve impeded my work since the day I escaped your wretched womb!