Big broke his glasses. Again. We're currently on pair #6 in about 18 months. LensCrafters is our friend, I tell you. It seemed like such a great idea at the time. The kids and I had been couped up for about ten days following some pretty heavy snow. In fact, long after the roads had been cleared, we still couldn't leave because I was unable to clear the driveway to get my car out (shoulder, yo) and Hubs didn't have time. We had to take the It-Will-Eventually-Melt approach to snow removal, thus my Mom Mobile remained in the driveway. Anyway...
Plan: Get ready, dress the kids, and go to the mall. We could drop off Big's glasses to be fixed by our friends at LensCrafters while I did a little required shopping. Following this, we would allow Little to blow off some steam at the indoor play area that I thought was such an ingenious addition to the mall for parents like me. The play area is directly under LensCrafters, so I could continue to let Little play while Big, still in my line of sight, could go and retrieve the finished glasses.
I am brilliant! I could bribe convince Little that, should he cooperate through the tasks we had to complete, he would be rewarded with play time. Big able to retrieve the glasses on his own meant that I wouldn't have the drama of having to fight Little to get him to leave the play area to do the above. And as far as mall extraction strategies go, I parked next the the entrance by Auntie Anne's. As in, "Listen up, kids: if you want your pretzel, you'll leave when I say it's time to leave." Perfectly planned, if I do say so myself. Of course, the parenting experts would point out about 15 errors in judgement within this strategy, but those parenting experts haven't ever been placed in charge of my children.
Phase One: Mall Arrival and Dropping Off of the Glasses
It cannot be simple. Like, ever. When Big broke the glasses, he rendered the frames all wonky. They had to be readjusted. Meaning Big had to sit and get measured and all of that stuff. And I could see the wheels turnin' in Little's mind. All of those glasses. Walls of glasses. Shiny glasses.
And off he went. So with one eye, I am tried to oversee the activities that were going to ultimately impact Big's vision, for God's sake, while the other eye was trying to closely monitor for signs of mutiny in Little. My nerves were tingling, my muscles at the ready to pounce and prevent. In my mind was the vision of Little sitting on the floor in a sea of broken designer frames, giggling maniacally while I cry and beg the Glasses Czar to please not make me sell my life to pay for the damage. At some point, someone asks for money. This is when I blindly thrust my arm out, debit card there between trembling fingers while staring intently at the top of Little's head. Thank you, LensCrafters people, for your honesty in not adding a few extra zeros in the amount you charged my card. But just so you know, you probably could have and I wouldn't have even noticed.
Phase Two: Kids, Mommy Just Needs to Pick Up This One Small Thing and It Will Only Take a Minute
Ha! Hahahahahahaha. All I needed to do was pick up an order I had shipped to a store instead of my house. I didn't have to try anything on or wait in line to pay. I simply had to show my photo ID, take the package and leave. But then we passed Bath and Body Works. "Mom, do they sell men's stuff there?", says Big. Yes, they do. And the light bulb went off in my head: Big's personal hygiene these days leaves much to be desired. Maybe if I let him pick out some products, it would encourage him to, oh I don't know...actually wash himself? So in we went. I had a death grip on Little's hand at this point. No way was this child going to escape from me in the store full of bright, glossy bottles arranged just so on tables right at his eye level. No friggin' way. Of course we had to navigate the minefield of these tables and displays to get to the section of men's stuff way in the back of the store. (Thanks for that, B&BW!) We were about halfway there when Little used his free hand to swipe a bottle of lotion from a table. And he squirted it all over the floor. Yes, really. A salesperson came over and her mouth was saying, "No worries, it happens all of the time." Her eyes? They were saying something completely different and it wasn't very nice. Before I knew what was happening, I was holding the lotion and going to buy it. That is when her smiling mouth said, "Oh, those are Buy Two, Get One Free." Her dagger eyes were saying, "Lady, you had better buy some shit, I swear." I left with six bottles of generalized crap to add to my collection of other crap at home. Not one product purchased was for men.
Oh, look, there's Aeropostale! Big wanted to buy some stuff, and the kid really could use a little more in the clothes arena. But wait! Those were girls from his school in there. He cannot possibly be seen with his mom. No way, no how, despite the fact that those girls are with an adult female who suspiciously seemed to be about my age. She was probably their mom, but maybe she was also an eighth grader and just failed a few dozen times? I'm going with "Mom" on this one. She had the same glassy eyes I did. Eyes that revealed that she, also, had been stuck in a house with children during the snow storms. But Big cannot possibly be held to the same standards as those girls. Big must surpass their coolness. He's entirely too impulsive to just be handed a credit card, so I must go into the store. I'll just stay off to the side with Little, browsing as if their jeans have a high enough rise to hide a c-section scar. Big wandered around the store, gathering stuff at an alarming rate. I mean, that pile he was holding was getting rather large. I was going to have to intervene and ruin his thirteen-year-old swagger, wasn't I? I had to pay for all of that. He kept glancing over at me with darty eyes, seeing if I was seeing him. As a matter of fact, he was acting so weird in trying to keep up the charade that he was alone that I was waiting for the girl at the counter to call mall security for suspected shoplifting. Thankfully, before this could happen, he ran up to the register and dumped it all on the counter and ran from the store like it was on fire. Oh, that's my cue. I got to the register and whispered to the girl what was going on so she wouldn't think we were complete weirdos. To my surprise, she said she knew all along. Apparently this is not uncommon practice. And she started ringing up his picks. My eyes were squished shut, bracing myself for the blow of the total when she said something crazy. "Your total is $75.87." What? There were six shirts there, and at least a couple pairs of jeans. No stinkin' way. Apparently Big managed to pick stuff from sales racks at crazy low prices. I mean, one hoodie he picked retails for over $50. Okay, I'll pay. I was amazed. I was in shock. I was then convinced, more than ever, that Hubs' genes are strong, because I could never, ever pull something like that off.
And so it went, through the mall. The Children's Place, Lids, Finish Line....At some point, I put my foot down. No. No more.
Phase Three: That Damned Playground. And the Stupid ChooChoo.
We survived. Somehow, all three of us made it to the play area. Little was so excited that, once it was in sight, he left a trail of coat, hat, left shoe, right shoe through the remaining length of the mall. I hastily chased after him, trying to gracefully swoop up his belongings while precariously grasping everyone's purchases in one arm (shoulder, yo). I could imagine what a hot mess I was to the onlooker. Big, by this point, was cracking up laughing. Because, once we got to the actual play area, we saw it. I was brilliant, alright. And so was every other mother in the tri-state area. There was not a single place to sit. I vaguely remember gingerly stepping over small children as I made my way to the far wall and dumped a pile of shopping bags, coats, handbag, and shoes on the floor and sat on top of them. I could feel how crazy I looked to others. I had zero on for makeup, I could feel my hair falling down and could do zilch to fix it because putting it up requires a major operation involving bracing my bad arm on a counter while maneuvering said hair with the other hand (shoulder, yo). My outfit? Well, I was wearing jeans, thankfully. I did successfully manage to not wear yoga pants, but the rest of the getup consisted of a raggedy college hoodie and some dirty Nikes that were stained from the grime that comes from a lot of snow. And aside from that, I was sure I was just exuding craziness. Glassy stare, dark circles. Mom Lunatic Extraordinaire.
And there she was.. She is Perfect Mom. And I worked with her for eight years. She was perfectly coiffed, manicured, coordinated and accessorized. Her child was all perfect, too. Cute little frilly dress with matching tights and mary janes. Not a hair out of place on the child's head, and the glossy ringlets were pulled perfectly back in her little grosgrain ribbon that perfectly matched the one on her dress. Just as I was praying that she did not see me, since I wasn't even sure Little had on matching socks at that point, I remembered where I was...sitting in a crowd of people off to the side, and on the floor, for crying out loud. And it seemed to be working, as she hadn't even glanced my way. I was in the clear. And as I was just thinking to myself that it was a close call and I needed to make sure I never left the house like that again, it happenened.
Toot-Tooooooooooooot.
Holy shit. That damned train. That short little train that stands about four feet tall and Little loves dearly. Because for just $3 per person, it will take you on a loop around the mall. So everyone who missed seeing your crazy ass while you were on foot can be sure to stare at your overgrown butt on the Kiddie Train to Hell. And Little got all super-excited because Daddy always lets him ride it, but he is too small to do it by himself and he needs a grownup. No way was I getting on that train. I'm a big woman--a plus-size gal, if you will. I was not about to wedge my fat, crazy-looking butt into that tiny train and let them parade me around the mall. No. But this upset Little and he started throwing an absolute fit. People started looking. Perfect Mom started coming over to me. She'd seen me. She and her perfect child.
But once Perfect Mom reached us, I could see. I could clearly identify the caked concealer under her eyes to hide her dark circles. I could smell the Marlboros she had been smoking to keep her sanity. I could see just how tired she was. And her perfect child? She had a run in her tights and chocolate on her face. And we sat there silently together, not needing to speak while the kids ran off the ten days' worth of energy they had been holding in. Two strong, educated women defeated by their offspring.
At some point, we successfully left the mall. I bribed the kids with pretzels and soda and they gladly left I got to the car, shut them both in the back after ensuring Little was safely secured in his booster seat. I cranked the heat for them and stood outside the car, puffing on my own Marlboro Ultralight to gather enough strength to get them home safely. And I vowed that I would never go to the mall with these children by myself again. I ground out my cigarette with the toe of my grimy Nike and got in the car.
And realized we never went back for Big's glasses.
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