Into the Tundra
Evenings used to be our prime errand-running time. Since my three children leave me terrified to venture outside without adult help during the day, I need to wait until Ellie comes home at night. We could wake the kids up, stuff some food in them, pack them in the car, and head out for an exciting couple hours of collecting Vital Supplies. That’s enough time to stop in two completely different stores, or three if they’re close enough that we don’t need to pack the kids back in the car.
Those halcyon days are gone now. We still run errands at night out of necessity, they’re just not an exciting time. Or enjoyable. Or tolerable without the aid of a mood altering substance, preferably caffeine since I’m usually driving.
A big part of their crankiness involves coats. Back in the summer we could throw the boys in the car wearing little more than a onesie. When the autumn chill filled the air, we had to slip jackets on them for warmth, and to prevent every other middle-aged woman that passes us from remarking on how they look cold. Now that the winter frost is here, they need heavy coats, which they hate. They hate how it takes us forever to put their coats on, they hate how hot they get while we’re taking forever to put their siblings’ coats on, and most of all they hate their coats’ bulkiness that leaves them an immobile down-filled blob while we’re taking forever to put their siblings’ coats on. Unable to stand, crawl, or move their arms more than 20-degrees in any direction, they express their displeasure by screaming. They usually scream for about ten solid minutes between the time a brother first dons a coat, and the time the car starts moving, which instantly calms them. Of course the screaming returns as soon as the car stops, such as at a traffic light, or while toting around the store in their stroller. It doesn’t help their attitude that they’ve recently designated nighttime as their fussy time, as opposed to mornings, which are just generally unhappy time.
Knowing all of this we still ventured out last night. We needed to stop at a home improvement store to pick out important design paraphernalia, and what better time to shop for important design paraphernalia than while toting two screaming 1-year-olds?
We entered the store with the boys in their stroller and Abbie walking at our side. I hadn’t planned on grabbing a cart, but decided I’d need one when Abbie left our side to push a stranger’s cart.
We spent the next several minutes browsing through tiles, trying to decide if we like pattern #1 more than pattern #2 because it matches our walls better, or if we just have a better association with #1 because the children were screaming less while we looked at it. Abbie helped distract us from our decision making by running through the aisles, threatening to disappear from view or at least pick up the most interesting, i.e. fragile and expensive, tiles.
Somehow we survived. With two children screaming next to us, and a toddler screaming some where within a two-aisle radius, we examined every tile and determined we hate all of them. We left the store, walked to the car, and packed the children back in the car. That when we discovered that Tory had lost a shoe. Usually he can only kick them off into the stroller, but this time he managed to kick it off somewhere in the store. Ellie went back in to look, but had no luck.
With three screaming children and five children feet adorned with shoes, I examined the rest of our plans. We needed pet supplies and the pet store was just down the street, so I decided to make another stop. We were already out anyway; I can just flash a dirty look at any middle-aged women who remark that Tory’s foot looks cold.
Those halcyon days are gone now. We still run errands at night out of necessity, they’re just not an exciting time. Or enjoyable. Or tolerable without the aid of a mood altering substance, preferably caffeine since I’m usually driving.
A big part of their crankiness involves coats. Back in the summer we could throw the boys in the car wearing little more than a onesie. When the autumn chill filled the air, we had to slip jackets on them for warmth, and to prevent every other middle-aged woman that passes us from remarking on how they look cold. Now that the winter frost is here, they need heavy coats, which they hate. They hate how it takes us forever to put their coats on, they hate how hot they get while we’re taking forever to put their siblings’ coats on, and most of all they hate their coats’ bulkiness that leaves them an immobile down-filled blob while we’re taking forever to put their siblings’ coats on. Unable to stand, crawl, or move their arms more than 20-degrees in any direction, they express their displeasure by screaming. They usually scream for about ten solid minutes between the time a brother first dons a coat, and the time the car starts moving, which instantly calms them. Of course the screaming returns as soon as the car stops, such as at a traffic light, or while toting around the store in their stroller. It doesn’t help their attitude that they’ve recently designated nighttime as their fussy time, as opposed to mornings, which are just generally unhappy time.
Knowing all of this we still ventured out last night. We needed to stop at a home improvement store to pick out important design paraphernalia, and what better time to shop for important design paraphernalia than while toting two screaming 1-year-olds?
We entered the store with the boys in their stroller and Abbie walking at our side. I hadn’t planned on grabbing a cart, but decided I’d need one when Abbie left our side to push a stranger’s cart.
We spent the next several minutes browsing through tiles, trying to decide if we like pattern #1 more than pattern #2 because it matches our walls better, or if we just have a better association with #1 because the children were screaming less while we looked at it. Abbie helped distract us from our decision making by running through the aisles, threatening to disappear from view or at least pick up the most interesting, i.e. fragile and expensive, tiles.
Somehow we survived. With two children screaming next to us, and a toddler screaming some where within a two-aisle radius, we examined every tile and determined we hate all of them. We left the store, walked to the car, and packed the children back in the car. That when we discovered that Tory had lost a shoe. Usually he can only kick them off into the stroller, but this time he managed to kick it off somewhere in the store. Ellie went back in to look, but had no luck.
With three screaming children and five children feet adorned with shoes, I examined the rest of our plans. We needed pet supplies and the pet store was just down the street, so I decided to make another stop. We were already out anyway; I can just flash a dirty look at any middle-aged women who remark that Tory’s foot looks cold.
posted by Matt at
11:15 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home