Wherein I lose just one more ounce of my sanity and eerily resemble a junkie needing a fix
We went to Target today and if you stay through my, what I guarantee will be a most entertaining story, I will reward you with photos of the world's cutest girls.
We started off going to the Tarjey concession stand because it was close to lunch and I thought I could buy The Duckling's good behavior with a large, soft pretzel. This old woman approached us and had to check out both of the girls and ask me repeatedly how I would like to have seven kids like the woman in Iowa (ummm, I would put a gun in my mouth) or if I was aiming for twin boys the next time (if it were to happen, I might take a giant leap off of a very, very tall building). Finally the concession chick comes over and the pretzels won't be done for another ten minutes.
That might as we be next Tuesday in the mind of a two year old. We ventured on, empty handed.
Our first stop was in the baby aisle for (no, not another baby), but some soft leather shoes for Peanut. They sell 0-6 mos. or 6-12 mos. Now, she's 5 1/2 mos....do I dole out $13 for a few weeks or get my money's worth by making her wear shoes that are a little big. I'm married to an accountant, you better bet that Peanut is going to be looking a bit like Bozo for the next month or so.
On to the toddlers' shoe section. Now, I should have guessed that repeatedly whacking myself on the knuckles with a five pound hammer would have been less painful, but it's Monday and Monday brings out the ambitiousness in me.
I released The Duckling from her restraints in the shopping cart and you'd have thought that someone at the zoo proclaimed it "Free the Wildebeest Day". She took off for the main aisle as I snatched her hood and drug her back to the shoes we needed to try on. After wrestling the wild beastie for a few moments I got her to try on a few pairs and walk around (without too many fleeing incidents).
Now was the time that all wild animal capturers fear...entrapment. No easy way to do this...I scooped her up and shoved her into the cart. The screaming began. A lot of screaming. A lot of very loud screaming. I could do nothing but laugh hysterically. I couldn't pretend to be embarrassed. I couldn't pretend to get so mad that we were going to leave the store (I had more on my list, dammit!!!).
Finally the screaming and writhing hit a lull and I strapped her into her Floppy Seat and handed her the box of shoes. She looked at me, opened the box, and flung the top on the floor, then the shoes and then the bottom of the box.
Then her Kix went out the cart. One. At. A. Time. through the shoe department and then home goods.
The next 15 minutes went forth without incident.
Because I've somehow addicted The Duckling to those nice, young Australian men that all American mothers love for one reason or another I wanted to pick up a Wiggles CD to fill in during long car trips. The Duckling saw this an immediately had to hold the new CD. She managed to hold it together until we got out of the store with a teeny, tiny exception when the checker had to scan the CD.
We got the car loaded up and The Duckling was ready for her new music so I started trying to get the CD open. Now, there's not just plastic wrap, oh no...there this huge plastic contraption I have to cut away. Thankfully I have an arsenal of pocket knives in my car which finally allowed me to get to the coveted Wiggles CD. I started thinking about how sad it was that I was maniacally pulling and cutting at this plastic unable to wait until I got home to use my good kitchen scissors. And then it occurred to me, WHO am I really opening this for? My two year old or me?
I put the tunes in and jammed all the way home. Th hughlights were "Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Car" (where I tooted and chugged and sang really loudly) and "Rock A Bye Your Bear" (which made me cry, but that's only because I'm a hormonal mess).
Alright, here's your reward...
Yummy
Corn
We started off going to the Tarjey concession stand because it was close to lunch and I thought I could buy The Duckling's good behavior with a large, soft pretzel. This old woman approached us and had to check out both of the girls and ask me repeatedly how I would like to have seven kids like the woman in Iowa (ummm, I would put a gun in my mouth) or if I was aiming for twin boys the next time (if it were to happen, I might take a giant leap off of a very, very tall building). Finally the concession chick comes over and the pretzels won't be done for another ten minutes.
That might as we be next Tuesday in the mind of a two year old. We ventured on, empty handed.
Our first stop was in the baby aisle for (no, not another baby), but some soft leather shoes for Peanut. They sell 0-6 mos. or 6-12 mos. Now, she's 5 1/2 mos....do I dole out $13 for a few weeks or get my money's worth by making her wear shoes that are a little big. I'm married to an accountant, you better bet that Peanut is going to be looking a bit like Bozo for the next month or so.
On to the toddlers' shoe section. Now, I should have guessed that repeatedly whacking myself on the knuckles with a five pound hammer would have been less painful, but it's Monday and Monday brings out the ambitiousness in me.
I released The Duckling from her restraints in the shopping cart and you'd have thought that someone at the zoo proclaimed it "Free the Wildebeest Day". She took off for the main aisle as I snatched her hood and drug her back to the shoes we needed to try on. After wrestling the wild beastie for a few moments I got her to try on a few pairs and walk around (without too many fleeing incidents).
Now was the time that all wild animal capturers fear...entrapment. No easy way to do this...I scooped her up and shoved her into the cart. The screaming began. A lot of screaming. A lot of very loud screaming. I could do nothing but laugh hysterically. I couldn't pretend to be embarrassed. I couldn't pretend to get so mad that we were going to leave the store (I had more on my list, dammit!!!).
Finally the screaming and writhing hit a lull and I strapped her into her Floppy Seat and handed her the box of shoes. She looked at me, opened the box, and flung the top on the floor, then the shoes and then the bottom of the box.
Then her Kix went out the cart. One. At. A. Time. through the shoe department and then home goods.
The next 15 minutes went forth without incident.
Because I've somehow addicted The Duckling to those nice, young Australian men that all American mothers love for one reason or another I wanted to pick up a Wiggles CD to fill in during long car trips. The Duckling saw this an immediately had to hold the new CD. She managed to hold it together until we got out of the store with a teeny, tiny exception when the checker had to scan the CD.
We got the car loaded up and The Duckling was ready for her new music so I started trying to get the CD open. Now, there's not just plastic wrap, oh no...there this huge plastic contraption I have to cut away. Thankfully I have an arsenal of pocket knives in my car which finally allowed me to get to the coveted Wiggles CD. I started thinking about how sad it was that I was maniacally pulling and cutting at this plastic unable to wait until I got home to use my good kitchen scissors. And then it occurred to me, WHO am I really opening this for? My two year old or me?
I put the tunes in and jammed all the way home. Th hughlights were "Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Car" (where I tooted and chugged and sang really loudly) and "Rock A Bye Your Bear" (which made me cry, but that's only because I'm a hormonal mess).
Alright, here's your reward...
Yummy
Corn
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