A day in the life in December

The plan was to go to an indoor playground on a rainy day…

L had an eye doctor appointment, and the good news is that his weak eye has improved significantly. Afterwards he declares that he LIKES his patch. The bad news is that he still is going to need surgery to straighten the eye.
As a reward, we head to the mall with the awesome indoor playground. We are not accustomed to malls. I’m so out-of-touch, I have forgotten that malls are nightmares in December. I’m thinking we’ll spend an hour, and be home by 3.
We park. L wants to listen to the end of the song before disembarking. Despite the rain, D wages a standoff trying to get me to lift him onto a wall outside the mall entrance. Then he realizes he can walk up the stairs to climb on the wall that is 5 feet tall at the bottom of the stairs, but only 1 foot tall at the top. The wall is a path that must be followed by both of them around and around, while I stand in the rain nearer the entrance. I keep thinking they will hop off at the 1-foot part, so I don’t race back over and down the stairs to spot them across the 5-foot part. They each cross it 3 times.
We head inside. D must walk the mall by stepping in each square of the floor tile.

We find a photo booth. I can’t resist getting pics with my boys. They (with no influence) choose the background theme, “Mommy loves me.”
They are distracted by every gadget and game, every flashing light, and anything shiny. There are an assortment of cars for kids, the ones that used to be a nickel, that lurch slowly for a minute after you put money in. The boys are transfixed. I refuse the exorbitant 75 cents. I resist while they run from car to car, sitting, driving, exploring, oo-ing and ah-ing. A Race car! A Firetruck! LOOK!!! ITS A TROLLEY!! I resist when they can’t be lured away, even by the bright and moving indoor playground 10 feet away. I finally give in when I discover I actually do have a dollar, and there is a change machine. The trolley ride is totally anti-climatic.
By now, they are too hungry to go play. We turn around, and trek to the food court where I can’t find anything bearable to eat. They are in heaven. D finishes first, and takes off, saying, “I’ll be right back.” As if! We’re in the middle of a busy food court! Back at the table, I ask him if he knows why we need to stick together, and he says, “So we don’t get eaten?” I ask what would eat them. He says, “Coyotes.”
Sufficiently wired because I’m certain cups of sugar are added to all mall food, we head back to the playground, which is a pretty awesome place. Everything is padded. There is a room full of balloons with netted walls up a flight of padded stairs. A fan keeps the balloons blowing around like the inside of a bingo ball selector. Kids run through the balloons with frenzied abandon. My kids collided at least three times. They made a new friend, Chase, and spend a good hour racing around like reckless puppies. Mission accomplished. Time to go. It’s 3:15.
Outside, there is another (free) kids play area, and they are off before I can body-block them. A car slide! A tunnel! I give them 2 MINUTES!! 10 Minutes later, I pull them away, and we head to the “family” bathroom. Both demand the right to lock and unlock the door, so when all are ready, I leave with one while the other exercises his right. The man waiting for the bathroom is totally confused when he tries to go in the bathroom as I am leaving with one kid, and I have to tell him no, I’m leaving a 4-year-old in there. The door must close all the way, the lock must engage, then disengage. The door opens, and a proud kid emerges. Now, dear sir, you may go in.
We are standing in front of Target. I remember we need glue and a light bulb for the refrigerator. I think we will run into Target for a minute. Hahahaha, what am I thinking? Bringing the kids to Target???? AT CHRISTMAS? What a fool. I try to find my Drishti – that’s yoga speak for focus. I explain to the kids that this is an exercise in tuning out advertising, which is designed to make you want things, and will rot your brain. Its like putting popcorn in a hot pan and telling it not to pop.
So I make mental notes for Christmas presents: they love holiday lights, the airbrush painting kit, everything rainbow, and… HELLO KITTY?! (“Mom!! Have you ever seen a Hello Kitty like THIS ONE before?! It’s SOOOO BIG!”) D really wants rolls of tape. Then we have to pass by Electronics to get to the bulbs. CARS! TRUCKS! HELICOPTERS! …WITH REMOTE CONTROLS!! They run from sparkly new thing to sparkly new thing, and I am starting to feel like I’ve wandered into a Bermuda Triangle. We are never, ever getting out. Finally, while the boys test all the flashlights, I find my bulb. I see Housewares, and remember they need a hamper for their room. We start searching. We finally settle on a small wire basket- but L wants yellow and D wants silver. We negotiate for a long, long time. Nobody will give. I think of a number between 1 and 10. L picks 10 and D picks 4. My number was 7, and I can’t lie about it. L finally wins a contest, but D is so heartbroken, I give in and buy both baskets.
Finally, it’s time to go home. I am insistent that the Oreos (with bright red centers) and M&Ms lining the checkout line are NOT FOOD. D says innocently and loudly, “Is it sugar, Mama?” like that is a very bad thing. People grin at us.
As the realization sinks in that we have a long walk to the car, both boys sprawl on the Target floor and tell me they are too tired and hungry to get up. As shoppers walk around us, I feed them bits of Satsuma Tangerine like they are little, dying fish. That Bermuda Triangle feeling is overwhelming. I would do anything right now for a stroller.
We rally. Back in the mall, there is a hot dog shop, and I suddenly see a means to get home. They totally perk up for hot dogs. I promise they can have a hot dog once we get back to the car. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Then we pass Santa. It’s the kind you pay for pictures with. They stare, but there isn’t a line of kids waiting for a visit, so I think they’re not sure what it’s all about. I tell them that it’s a fake Santa, that the real one is far too busy to be just sitting there. He waves at them, and they giggle.
Every time they veer off course, I say, “Hotdogs!” with a voice grown hoarse from wrangling.
People stare.
It’s dark and misting outside. We finally get to the car, and the boys rub against it, getting soaked, because its fun to see the water drops disappear.
The snap of their carseat buckles is like Pavlov’s bell, and I relax for the first time. As soon as I am buckled in, I hand them back their still-hot dogs. 5 minutes later, they are both asleep, clutching them unopened.
They eat the hotdogs for dinner, and I’m sure they are packed with sugar because the boys can’t sleep. From their dark room, D sings at the top of his lungs, “…and I said, HEY-EY-EY-EY-EY, HEY-EY-EY, I said HEY, WHATS GOING ON?” Then he yells, “HEY LUKA! I SANG THE ‘HEY’ SONG!” As I write, they are discussing whether or not grownups have birthdays. It’s 10 PM.