When my children speak of their childhood, this is the story they will tell.
Call this my penance, call this my confession, call this my what-in-the-hoot-was-I-thinking or call it what it is, an absolutely ridiculous story.
No doubt written because yours truly decided after 7 days in bed, post-op and upstairs that I was nigh unto delusion and needed sweet, sweet air coupled with the joy of wearing real pants.
The hubs even started with an, “Are you sure……..”
To which I probably gave the crazy-eyed look of a woman who was not to be questioned, especially one who had yet to take the pain medication that would make the aforementioned adventure possible.
Should you wonder as to how much or what kind, I give you Steve Martin and Vatsnik.
Now as for our task? Completely. Simple.
Buy the boy a backpack courtesy of grandma and grandpa at the ever so dude-worthy store, Runder Rarmour at an outdoor mall of massive scale.
(And should any of you be questioning the need for protecting the store’s true identity, I give you the rest of this story.)
When life was good for about two minutes until I heard a very familiar voice coming from Dressing Room #1, “Mooooommmmeee?”
Something in me said this was not a question you responded to until you were safely contained in said room.
So I hobbled forth and the moment I opened the door, I saw it.
A puddle of pee.
Oh. My. Vatsnik.
Words cannot even describe the shade of white the teenage employee turned when Nathan quietly whispered, “Our kid just peed in your dressing room.”
Thoughts of regret were certainly going through his mind, like “Why didn’t I take that internship Uncle Bill offered me at his law firm this summer?” Until Nathan rescued him with a quick, “Dude, we’ll clean it up. We just need some supplies.”
Now if you have met our kids, you know they are not quiet.
We are loud and louder.
So imagine the darling comments that came from Dressing Room #1 during clean-up…
I HOPE THERE ISN’T PEE ON THESE CLOTHES. BUT MAYBE IF THERE IS THEY’LL GIVE THEM TO US FOR FREE!
WE ARE CLEANING UP A LOT OF PEE IN HERE!!!!
THIS IS SO GROSS! <BLEEP> SHOULD NEVER PEE ON THE FLOOR AT RUNDER RARMOUR AGAIN!!!!!
Dear. Jesus. Help.
Still drugged and somewhat frayed, my eyes widened when I opened the door to this declaration from my son, “Um, I think I want to go look and see what else this place has for backpacks.”
But boom, my man.
Always ahead of the game, he answered with a quick, “I’m going to get a wheelchair!”
Never has my guy looked so divine as when he came around the corner pushing that chair. Our madness was over. Even as I settled down into the seat, I felt a burden lifted until…
Two rolls into being home free, one wheel locked and I nearly launched onto the pavement.
Not being quitters, we thought we could Jedi-mind trick this thing into submission. But after about ten roll-roll-launches and me laughing so hard that we were worried about another peeing incident, we relented. The hubs went back to get another chair, leaving me in charge of the 3 by a fountain.
Now let me just say that again.
Me. Three Kids. A fountain. Vatsnik.
BWAH. SNORT. AND BLESS THAT.
Cue the same wide-eyed Runder Rarmour look now on my hubs face when he rounded the corner with the new wheels and found all three kids soaked from head to toe and yours truly laughing so hard that wet pants didn’t even matter.
When 4 out of the 5 people you brought with you have wet pants, it’s time to embrace that some things simply cannot be redeemed.
So we left.
For some utterly insane reason known only in eternity, we kept going. And to top it all off, my darling 6-year-old was now my chaffeur.
What you must understand is this girl has gumption. Full-on “I will survive at all cost” gumption.
We ran into people. We ran into doors. We ran into bushes of several varieties. We ran into displays. We ran into check out counters. We ran into someone else IN A WHEELCHAIR.
All at full steam ahead and delightfully narrated by the same said 6-year-old.
WHOOPS. WHOA THERE. PEOPLE, GET OUT OF MY WAY, I HAVE A WHEELCHAIR. I SAID EXCUSE ME, KID. HOLD ON, I JUST ABOUT HIT A BUTT.
This could go on and on.
But in the interest of time and sanity, we will stop there and end with a butt.
It was only after we determined that the backpack we had found in the first 2 minutes at Runder Rarmour was THE ONE and we had to re-enter a place where one of our people had peed on the floor only 45 minutes earlier, that I gave in.
Vatsnik or no, it was time for this story to end.
As we rolled onward, I began to feel that we might be home free. So much so, I decided to nearly love the deliciousness of it all. Love it until only 10 feet from the car, my driver slammed me into the curb.
Leaving her to say what deserves to be printed on a pillow and sold in Targets everywhere…
“Mom, let’s face it. Some days, you just end up with pee on the floor.”