Now that’s just lovely.
But I’m thinking Mr. Wisenheimer did not have toddlers.
Now, it is possible with toddlers to know serenity. There are moments. Brief. Actually, kinda wispy in their brevity, like smoke. Or air. Or very small bubbles that burst if you look at them. But still, they are there.
But I’m not gonna talk about that right now, because that’s just been done. The blogosphere is full of “Treasure the moment!” posts, and we read, and we nod. We know. It’s TRUE.
But, I am so out of balance with my toddlered state, that I have, it seems, an inability to BE IN THE MOMENT BECAUSE ONE MOMENT IS WHACKING ME IN THE SHINS WHILE THE OTHER MOMENT HAS DECIDED TO PAINT THE CAT.
Case in point: (please add the “Dun DUN” from Law and Order here. It makes the writing better.)
It’s Tuesday. We are at a store (it’s da Big Blue One, as my boys call it. Not to be mistaken for the Big Red One, but sometimes, I do feel as if I have survived a major battle just getting in and out alive.) We are in what I wonder might actually be the first circle of Hell:
The Wal-Mart Bathroom
Red is attempting to wash his hands – a fruitless effort in this environment because, basically, we are in a germ aquarium. He spots a penny on the floor and (of course) his toddler brain goes: “I must have this! It is the MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD TO ME.” Momsie watches in horror, and her Momsie brain goes: “EWWWWWW. What is WRONG with you?” While I am trying to remind him about germs and dirt and what the word ‘disgusting’ means, he retrieves it and then – it happens. He bumps his head on the sink.
It was at this moment that my conviction about this whole “first circle of H-E-double hockey sticks” was ratified because my beloved Red proceeded to LOSE HIS TODDLER MIND.
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! I DABUMMPPPPDANDWAAAAAAAAMYHEADDDDDDDDDD!”
Somehow I retrieved both toddlers from the now deafening, reverberation germ box that might be a portal to Hades, and we grimly return to the toddlers other favorite location: The Cart.
Red was still going: “IMASADBECAUSEIHITMYHEADDDDDDDDDWAAAAAAAAAAAAAATHATHURTSMYFEEEEELINGS!!”
Soon his crying kinda morphed into just a general wailing at the world. It’s like he decided to go ALL out with the mourning. Red is like this; he goes big or he goes home. Thus the rest of the trip took on a Doppler effect for all those in the store with me. If you were there, you would remember it. I’m sorry.
You get the idea.
While I was grimly rolling my cart of grief down frozen foods, I considered just sorta pushing off and sidling away, but it was at this point that Blonde felt left out and wanted to get in the game.
However, he decided to speak in only teeny tiny whispers, paired with a hand in front of his mouth because I don’t KNOW, lip reading is bad? If he knew how to mime, I am sure he would have attempted it at this time. He probably figured out that nobody likes a mime, so he uttered tiny whispers only a gnat could hear (if a gnat wanted to converse with a toddler).
I basically stick my face in Blonde’s face, bypassing Mr. Sturm and Drang (Red) to discern the fervent whisperings. Blonde sees this as the time to belt out, like tiny little Tattoo finally spotting that Fantasy Island plane:
“DA POOPS! DA POOPS! DA POOPIES ARE COMING!”
This rang out all over the Wal-Mart land. Red had politely taken a breath at this time so Blonde’s announcement was loud and clear.
And thus, we slowly wheeled our Cart of Doom back to the entrance of Infernal Suffering. (For those of you who are having trouble following: The Wal-Mart Bathroom. Again.)
Balance? Nope. On a scale of 1-10 for Annoyance,
IT GOES TO ELEVEN.
*The lawyer would like to have me add two things:
1. Red was not injured. It was an “awwww lemme kiss it and make it better” kinda boo-boo.