Some days are just not meant to be. The thing to do on those days is to sit it out at home. My problem is that I never figure it out till it’s too late.
I needed to get summer clothes for the kids and decided to head for the mall on Sunday what with all those tempting sales and offers. The Husband was supposed to do the baby-sitting. He, however, declared he had to go to work. No problem thought I, I’ll take the kids along. Like a super efficient mom I dressed them up a full hour in advance of the time decided upon. We were going with the SIL and my niece. By the time she arrived the kids were deep in the antics of Hanuman and greatly resented giving up the telly. The little one set up the mother of all tantrums. Never mind thought I, she’ll be fine by the time we are through lunch. She howled her way through one full hour of lunch making sure her protest was well and truly registered. However, she recovered after that and we reached the mall in averagely decent shape. Even as I was giving myself a pat on the back God in heaven was having a good laugh at what he had in store for me.
Catch n Cook
As I got on with the task at hand the kids busied themselves playing hide and seek, then catch and cook among the clothes’ rails. I ignored them determinedly vowing not to worry till one of them was in actual danger of being upturned – the rails or/and the kids. (That’s called mommy nirvana).
Spin it on
I HAD to take note however when I found the two of them spinning a rotatable accessory showcase. By the time I reached the scene of action the showcase was spinning at an unbelievable speed and before I could stop it clips, bracelets and hair bands came flying off the stands. The next few minutes were spent in gathering up the merchandise, apologising profusely and telling off the kids.
I spy
In the middle of the chaos… ‘Bathroom’ announced the son and we made a beeline for the washrooms. After the kids were done I went in to do my business. I had barely shut the door when I heard H saying ‘Mama I can see your shoes’. I jumped off and walked out in a hurry to see him sprawled on the floor, yes on the washroom floor, trying to look under the door. We washed, cleaned rushed out.
Try it on
I collected my scattered wits to try to focus on the clothes and in a flash the kids had disappeared. I recovered them from the women’s lingerie section trying out the ‘clothes’. They had picked two pieces off the rails and were placing them on the relevant parts of their anatomies while preening in the mirror. It was kind of weird considering the son shall never qualify to wear those garments and the daughter has many many years to go before she does. I found myself putting back the merchandise, apologising profusely and telling off the kids once more.
Caught
I rushed them off to the changing rooms where my SIL had been calling me for eons for a second opinion. As I checked out her buys I heard the son’s distressed call of help while the daughter shouted, “mama look at bhai”. There he was sprawled on the floor yet again with one leg inside the changing room occupied by a young lady. For once he had bitten off more than he could chew. He had put his leg under the door into the changing room to see ‘how far in it could go’. The young lady inside believed in giving as good as she got. So she caught hold of his foot and refused to let go. She walked out after a while, a big grin on her face. I readied for the apologising-telling off routine but, “That was fun,’ she said, ‘I’ve been on the other side when I was their age.” And walked off with a wave. Oh I wanted to high-five her.
Sing along
One would have thought this was enough of a shocker to keep the duo quiet for some time. However within five minutes I found them facing the mirrors outside the changing rooms singing and gyrating in the most amateurish fashion. The songs – for the daughter “My name is Sheela” and the Son went with “My name is Singh is King”.
Oh and I have left out minor irritants like the time they wrestled with the huge soft toys, the time they hung from changing room handles so people inside couldn’t open them, or when they wanted to take off Santa’s cap in the display counter to check if he had hair.
All this in a space of two hours. God keep the patience coming.
PS:
1. This post is an explanation, explanation NOT apology, for my Harridon-like behaviour when I got home and found The Husband at his laptop refusing to help out with the housework.
2. In their defence I have to add that the kids do not provide so much entertainment always. It is only on some days that they are so much in their element.
