Today my friend Andrea came over with her three-year-old who is a month older than Pierce. We decided to take a drive over to a cool shop that sells vintage everything! Furniture, antiques, fabrics, clothes, you name it, and this cool place has it. However, it is not nearly as much fun with two toddlers in tow…not at all…
We drove separately since we were going in opposite directions when we were done, and on the way Pierce fell asleep in the car. I forgot that 1p.m. is not a great time of day for him if I want him to stay awake AND behave. He has a fun new habit of running and jumping or purposely bumping into things and then falling over—why this is fun? I can’t answer that one other than possibly it’s testosterone in its infant stages of development.
Waking him up wasn’t as terrible as I anticipated when we got to this cool store–probably because it looked like such fun to run through touching everything. I had no stroller, though, and holding hands is not his thing unless we are crossing a busy street–and that accommodation evaporates with fatigue and general naughtiness.
So away we went. Perusing the aisles constantly reminding that “We can look, but don’t’ touch.” Actually, he is pretty good about honoring this rule, and if he does reach out to touch something, it is with the utmost care and discretion (if you can believe that.) It was the running ahead of me by 15 feet then stopping, dropping and rolling that jangled my nerves. That, and the fact that this is one of those places like any antique market, that is filled to bursting in every possible nook and cranny with things big, small, and very breakable. We were probably in the place for a total of 30 minutes, but I am sure the proprietors thought it was more like 30 days. We saw several of them pass us numerous times, and although they were kind and friendly, I am now wondering if they were keeping an eye on those two whimpy mom’s whose kids obviously didn’t fear their wrath. But we persevered…
We enjoyed all of the notions and things the place had to offer at 60 mph, with eyes in the back of our heads and necks with 180 degree range of motion—trying to make mental note of all the cool goods that we wanted to come back and see when we weren’t trying to control our boys. Finally, I’d had enough of Pierce getting more and more wound up and scooped him up to carry him for our last lap of vignettes. Oh boy…here come the tears. At one point I scrambled him over into a corner, got down on his level and looked him in the eye with my angriest glare and sternest threat. He was lost already by this point, and when that kid shows his frustration, he does it loudly and terribly—and most embarrassingly. Time to go!
Carrying him out screaming was such a great experience for everyone. I wondered if the shop owners and patrons clapped when we exited the premises. I think I may have even heard someone “whoot whoot!”
Because of our good time cut short, Pierce and I sat in the car line waiting for Mikey for 40 minutes, while we fought over him kicking my driver’s seat—he cried and hollered while I threatened to get out of the car and spank him. Eventually we both calmed down, and all was well, until we got home and I walked in on him crapping his pull-up quietly and discreetly in his bedroom. When he knew he was busted, he covered his eyes and told me to go away. Oh the terrible “Threes…”