Mall? Rats!

25 Jan

Here in the Northeast, old man winter has decided to seek vengeance on those who claimed “global warming” the last few winters, and has cursed us with a cold spell. Not just cold,  frigid   actually(-3 degrees yesterday) with a generous side of snowstorms. This is GREAT news, if youre a 20 something snowboarder, or a 10 year old who enjoys sledding, but for a mom, its more like a sentence of 20 to life.

Couped up. The natives are restless. the inmates have taken over and there is a mutiny on the bounty. I’m a hair away from walking the plank. Noise, smells, body fluids, cat calls, screams, its all there. I find myself nervous, anxious, and wishing I had stopped at the liquor store for a little Baileys in my coffee by 10am. Not good.

The Tv is blaring. sweet Life on deck is on. I find myself laughing out loud at Zack’s (or was it Cody?) gag-o-licious jokes. Jesus H. Christ, what has come over me?  “Enough!” I proclaim! Lets listen to music. They want to play radio Disney. I oblige, knowing it will shut them up for 10 minutes. I find myself singing along. WTF? WTF?  Panic sets in.  I’m starting to identify with my “captors”. JESUS HELP ME, I HAVE STOCKHOLM SYNDROME!

Ok, that’s it. We are OUT OF HERE. I need to see adults, be near people who dont know the characters to high school musical or hum the “Handy Manny” jingle. Where to go when its 23 degrees mid day?  The Mall.

Yes, the mall….that’s the ticket. It’s warm. Its loud, so they can make noise. Its large, so they can run. And there is adults there. Maybe I will stop by Sephora, get myself a new make up brush (yeah, “somebody” gave mine a “haircut” ) and Starbucks for a coffee. mmmmm. Maybe my friend Ron is working over at Brookstone.  Maybe Ron will be nice and keep an eye of the girls for a few minutes while I sit in the massage chair.

Off we go! We start off strong. they are just as excited as I am, they feel the need to be social. And they are looking cute. I got them all dolled up in pretty little matching pink and lavender corduroy dresses, winter- white wool tights, and bows and ribbons streaming from their hair. Oh, I know what I am doing alright. It’s the trojan horse thing to fool the enemy. They NEED to look cute, because let me tell you, if the enemy in this case (sales clerk) knew what they really are with out all the ponytails and pink lace, and the havoc they will wreak  on their store, we wouldn’t make it passed the door.

We shop a bit browse a bit. They don’t want to be in a stroller, they want to walk, and assurances are made that they will be good. A pack of polyester clad blue hairs stop to admire them. I am a little nervous. My pair work as a team, and the treacherous urges of pair of ponytailed toddlers knows no boundaries, including respect your elders. The golden girls throw out the usual questions “How old are you?” “whats your name?  ” The older one puts on the charm. “My name is Darla, I am four years old. Please to meet you”  The woman are charmed indeed. They smile, giggle, and the one reaches out to pat Darla’s head. Darla looks at her sister, and if on cue, the little one hurls a full juice box dead on at the old gal’s crotch faster than you can say “hip replacement”. The old gal gasps, as if shot. Gads! I apologize, say a silent prayer that juicy juice wont stain polyester, and her Depends took the brunt of the hit nd blocked the pain she surely must feel. We keep moving. The girls are laughing hysterically. Me? Not so much.

Onward we march.  Well, I march, they run.  We come up to Build a Bear. They beg. LOUDLY. Very Loudly. At this point, I’m still reeling, humiliated and recovering from the juice/cooch incident, so I agree, thinking it will kill a good 15 minutes. I also figure that by acquiring a bear,  they will have to hold on to the damned things, thus eliminating little free hands for shoplifting or pulling down store displays. Fifty dollars later (ouch, but as the master card commercials would say , 15 minutes of peace =  priceless ) We make our bears, which are actually pink and lavender dogs (to match our outfits, naturally) and all goes with out issue. Sweet. Maybe this wasnt such a bad idea after all.

The little one says she is hungry. The big one is too. I ask if anyone has to go potty. The big one is doing that strangle booty wiggle she does when she has to go. She swears up and down she is just”dancing” (we are outside of Arbercrombie, which is equivalent to a techno concert) and she promises she does not have to go. I decide that pizza is a safe bet, so we hit S’barro. I order 3 slices, and the guy asked me if I want to make it a combo. At this point, the “I’m hungry ” chorus is reaching full crescendo, they are running circles around me, and I am frazzled. Would I like a side of pasta with that? Yeah sure, whatever dude, give me angel hair with butter just get me out of here FAST so I can put some food in their mouths so I can get some peace, if only temporarily. I ask the big one if she needs to use the potty again, she defiantly shouts NO.

We sit. The little one immediately hones in the pasta and dives in with both hands. It’s really not angel hair, it’s actually a side order of butter soup with a few macaroni thrown in, but whatever. It’s greasy as hell, and she is dogging it. The big one is squirming. big time. she looks anxious. “Whats wrong?” I ask? “I have to go pee-pee really really bad” she replies. @@#$ing great. Of course you do. She is holding herself and I can tell its urgent.  Ok, fine. We will leave our food and hope no one slips a roofie in it. I mean, its pretty unlikely that anyone would want to drug a disheveled, aging, frazzled mother in order to “tap that”, but hey, I DID have mascara on. I ask a nice looking lady near by to watch our food. The little one, (a foodie who LOVES to eat) is PISSED. She is elbow deep in butter and not going with out a fight. She scream,  she struggles, she does not want to go. Determined to show her who is boss, I lift her out of her chair, look her in the eye and tell her “we ARE going to the potty. You can finish when we get back. ”  I turn around to walk away, and am hit with a 2 defiant palms on my rear end. I shout “Dont hit mommy”, grab her hand and off to the potty we go.

The potty, of course is filthy, and as I am spouting off  my usual “DONT TOUCH ANYTHING” routine, I notice my reflection in the mirror. My hair looks surprisingly good, mascara smudged, but wait…WTF….2 greasy hand prints lie directly on my ass. One for each cheek. Unmistakable. undeniable. And my coat is too short and too bulk to cover it. Just freaking great.

As I cast my gaze upon my hind quarters, I have temporarily taken my eyes off  the little one. Big Mistake. The sound got me at first, water dripping. I swing around and see the big one has finished her business and is off the potty, and the little one has taken the opportunity to give her newly purchased build a bear a bath in her sister’s urine. She is standing there dangling her puppy in and out of the toilet, smiling at me proudly. Double freaking great. One the bright side, it made me forget about the palm prints on my ass. On the negative side, I now know what tedious work, drying a urine soaked dog with public restroom grade paper towels is.

We eventually emerge from the lavatory, I put it all out of my mind, determined not to let the day be ruined. Afterall, we were out of the house. We resume eating (after some major hand washing, sanitizing and the wet dog put in the bag for a “nap”. ) They settle down. Hungrily they gobble down food, share the remaining juice box graciously, and smile and wave at the people seated near us. They are back to be charming and wonderful and I find myself intermittently torn between wondering if my friend who works at Brookstone has any Jack Daniels with him, and  being filled with motherly pride at their sweet, chewing cheeks. The big one is amping up the charm, and the people around us are eating it up.  My girl knows how to work an audience. She sweetly says to me: “Hey mommy, lets play a game.” She looks around to make sure the people next to us, a 30-something couple of  DINKS (DINKS=Dual Income NO Children) are listening. She continues, “You say the animal, and we will make the sound. ”  Sounds easy enough, I comply.  I say cow. They both belt out in harmony “mooooo”. The DINKS smile. I say “piggy wiggy” and they start snorting, and so on. We go thru every animal I can think of, and the DINKS are smiling, gazing at them with  a twinkle of what I imagine they hope for in the future. Again, I swell with motherlove for my little angels, so cute and pink cheeked, ponytails bobbing and giggly.  The big one says, “Hey mommy, you forgot one more. Know what sound ***I**** say? ”  Now based on the tilt of her head, and the curve of her sweet little lips, and the way her eyes are batting at me, I am think she is going to say “I love you Mommy” or something sweet like that.  So I reply pointedly “what?????” It was then that she lifted one butt cheek and let ‘er rip. My darling child cut the cheese. Perhaps it was the re-verve against the chair, but I knew not that a 4 year old had such…projection. It was loud. The female DINK nearly spit out her soda, the male started snickering. I cleared our trays and turned around and high tailed it out of there, ass prints still prominent on my overstretched skinny jeans. When I turned back, the DINKS are both laughing. Me, not so much.

It was time to go. I had enough. The little one threw herself on the floor in a tantrum. The big one mooned me. The wet build a bear in the bag stunk worse than a public restroom in Times square. The ass prints on my jeans certainly were jiggling as I retreated from the mall. Broken, once again. In the car, up and out.

As we drove home, I found myself returning to that safe, familiar place, Falling back into bad patterns, once again, a victim of Stockholm syndrome, singing along to Ernie as he crooned the praises of his rubber ducky on the  “Sesame Street Platinum Hits” CD that was blaring from the audio system . Its ok, I feel comfortable here. Other than a wayward gummy bear thrown at my skull now and then, I am safe. Home sweet home.

As I threw the captain pee-pee dog in the washer, I vowed that next time I feel couped up, I  am going to teach them to snowboard. It will surely be less painful.

Now, where is that Jack Daniels?????


28 Responses to “Mall? Rats!”

  1. Dolly January 25, 2011 at 10:17 pm #

    I enjoy your blog. Your awesome.

    • Betsy January 26, 2011 at 7:07 pm #

      That was THE FUNNIEST one I’ve read so far… I laughed so hard I cried, and more than once!! You are a gifted writer and, knowing the pony-tailed ones as I do, your words quickly paint the picture in my mind… keep ’em coming!!!

    • livelaughloveliquor January 28, 2011 at 6:05 pm #


  2. cara January 25, 2011 at 10:36 pm #

    OMG!!! I don’t know how you do it!!! Its like having a set of twins!! You can’t go out to the mall without another adult to assist!! Thats it.. Puttin my foot down!! I am putting my 14 year old son on the list as a stand by ‘mothers helper” lol…
    (usually only costs a video game!)

    • livelaughloveliquor January 28, 2011 at 6:06 pm #


  3. justina January 25, 2011 at 10:56 pm #

    that is the best bedtime story i have ever read…i dont know if the gray haired incident or “taping that” made tears come to my eyes, i can totally see it. according to sheila, ugg clenaer removes grease…read her post. xo

    • livelaughloveliquor January 28, 2011 at 6:07 pm #


  4. meleah rebeccah January 25, 2011 at 11:01 pm #

    Wait, so it’s not NORMAL to putt a little Baileys in my coffee by 10am?

    “2 greasy hand prints lie directly on my ass”

    I too have suffered from Stockholm Syndrome. We really are hostages to our kids sometimes!

    Christine I feel your pain girl! But thank goodness you have a great sense of humor to get you through!

    • livelaughloveliquor January 28, 2011 at 6:07 pm #


      • meleah rebeccah February 1, 2011 at 12:03 am #

        A sense of humor is ESSENTIAL! I love your blog too. You have a real knack for writing posts. And I’m totally digging the new lay out!

      • livelaughloveliquor February 1, 2011 at 12:08 am #

        Thanks Meleah, I really dig your blog too! *did i tell you I have thrones as well?) I’m still learning so much – I would like to link your blog here as a “blog I read” but I dont know how? I’m an infantile blogger here so I’m fairly clueless. There is soooo much that is over my head!

      • meleah rebeccah February 1, 2011 at 2:35 pm #

        What is thrones? Did you mean Crohn’s? And, I can help you out – as a newbie blogger! Maybe we can meet for lunch one of these days {bring our laptops} and I will show you how to make a blog roll, and how to ‘market’ your blog?

      • livelaughloveliquor February 1, 2011 at 4:00 pm #

        damned spell check, LOL. yes, crohns. since 1994. I would love to meet! that would be awesome!

  5. Alli January 25, 2011 at 11:02 pm #

    awesome! Love it! Especially the 2 ass prints! I think I have some jeans with those prints on them too… lol

    • livelaughloveliquor January 28, 2011 at 6:08 pm #


  6. Chris January 26, 2011 at 7:48 am #

    Double freaking HILARIOUS!!!

  7. KathyG January 26, 2011 at 9:32 am #

    Christine, I’ve been in your shoes, too many times to count….and, yet I still subject myself when I am going stir crazy. Every time I ask myself “why?” LOL Thanks for sharing, especially with your humor adding some spice to it!

    • livelaughloveliquor January 28, 2011 at 6:09 pm #


  8. msdove89 January 26, 2011 at 11:56 am #

    LOVE LOVE LOVE it!!!!!!!!!!! I had to read it again, it was so enjoyable. Thank you for sharing!! It’s great that you have started to blog, hopefully as a means of venting…but also “entertaining” the rest of us.

    Favorite part – the two greasy hand prints on your bum!!

    • livelaughloveliquor January 28, 2011 at 6:10 pm #


  9. Lisa January 28, 2011 at 2:25 pm #

    OMG! This is the best one yet! LOLOL 🙂 I was laughing to the point of tears. If you ever get the mall idea again give me a call and I can meet you there……two against two is more fair.

  10. thedailydish February 5, 2011 at 7:23 pm #

    You are TOO FREAKING FUNNY. “Tap that” – HAHAHHAHAHAHHHHH!! As a fellow momma who frequently checks the clock for happy hours approach, I say keep up the great work HERE & at home (of course). PS: I wrote a post on magical grease removing spray which should get those ass prints off tout de suite! Grease stains, Ice cream cones and Walmart – Oh My!

    • livelaughloveliquor February 5, 2011 at 9:48 pm #

      Thanks Christy! I enjoyed your blog as well – and I now know NEVER to buy Joy cones! LOL

  11. PernRider February 16, 2011 at 12:00 am #

    I’ve done that. I’ve got three little “angels” (I swear if I comb it enough, I WILL find those horns … I know they’re there!), and every so often, I get the ridiculous urge to actually take all THREE of them ANYWHERE!! And every time, when I finally manage to retreat to the safety of my own home, away from the torches and pitchforks I just KNOW are seconds away from being pulled on me, I swear THIS IS THE LAST TIME I TAKE THEM **ANYWHERE**, unless it’s a one-way trip to the zoo!!

    I have yet to find the nearest orphanage, no matter how many people I ask …

    And oh yeah, we once nearly got thrown out of Bath & Body Works, because I made the mistake of letting them pick their treat FIRST, BEFORE I picked out the goodies I was spending my birthday giftcard on. This while I had my hands tied up holding Build-a-Bear boxes for EACH of the girls, plus the one my stepmom had gotten me for a gift. xP

    • livelaughloveliquor February 16, 2011 at 9:28 am #

      hahaha! You and I seem to live parallel lives! The orphanage, LOL – dont give me any ideas! If I could only afford boarding school…..

      p.s. I live in fear we will get black listed from our local grocery store. I can soooo relate to B&BW incident! ugh!


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