Containment

This is the story of how one quiet-ish Monday, Tova and I found ourselves without any big kids to cramp our style. After doing all our drop-offs at soccer and gym, Tovey told me she wanted to buy some 'sishy cwackerz' -- fishy crackers, duh -- and eat 'em all up, yum, yum, yum.

We buy our fishy crackers in bulk, and two things happen when you buy fishy crackers in bulk. The number one thing is that children untwist the twisty tie and take a handful and then shove the bag back in the sorry-excuse-for-a-pantry that we have in our sorry-excuse-for-a-kitchen. Basically they get stale, or spilly all over and then the mice come or we have stale fish. Either one is a bummer. Ok, the number two thing is that our mutt-puppy dog and our pure-bred wiener dog are geniuses! They can muster up the know-how to break through our baby proofed pantry doors (blue rubber bands wrapped around the door handles) and steal the plastic bag with the goldfish and then eat the plastic bag with the goldfish inside.

At first it doesn't sound like a bad plan, right? Cause who wouldn't want their dogs to eat plastics bags, then the poop would already be bagged up. Turns out, that's not how it works. The plastic ends up mixed in, you see. Mixed in, sadly.

Now you know where I'm going right? We needed another container. A container to keep the mice out and a container to keep the fishies fresh and a container that was eat-proof (not putting Maggie past it, but I'm always hopeful). All our other containers were tied up with oatmeal and pretzels (Maggie doesn't like pretzels) and Honey Nut Cheerios and granola and all that crap.

So, sishy cwakerz store and then the 'tainer store. Tova wrote the plan on her map of the zoo with a highlighter and off we went. She was happy-dappy, singing her fave song about the juke box and rock and roll. Last stop was the fancy outdoor mall by our house, with many 'sountains' (fountains) and the 'tainer store.

And before you knew it, we were done with the 2-errands Tova had on her list. Listen, I know what you're thinking: 1) but they really were Tova's errands, her original ideas 2) you're probably thinking I'm the kind of mom that drags my kids everywhere on errands and such and then lets them pick a fun one to do so that they don't think the whole day was a big wash (I am, but that's not what happened today). Tova carried the bag with 3-cereal box sized containers, and we headed out the front door toward home. There I was yapping away about washing our 'tainers, drying our 'tainers and then filling our 'tainers with all the fishies and then how we must only eat a little bowlful. It's funny, I thought, how I suddenly don't hear Tovey dragging that bag of 'tainers behind her.

Gasp!

I was alone, looking like a lady with a few-hundred screws loose baby-talking to thin air about goldfish crackers and portion control.

A few frantic nanoseconds later, I found that girlfriend around the corner. She has a thing for fountains, and this mall has lots and lots of fountains. I'm thinking she went out the side-door to see the fountain, dragging her container bag with her.

Well, there she was, paralyzed with her jaw dropped, little drips of drool dangling from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were dancing and awestruck, her chubby little finger pointing at side-by-side escalators. Barely audible, her tiny voice was whispering "alligator, alligator, alligator." And when a taut woman with bouncy body parts jumped onto the escalator, yoga mat tucked into the crook of her elbow, Tova gasped and shook with joy.

Slowly, she turned and as she did she noticed me watching her a few feet away. Her precious brown eyes, as big as chocolate covered doughnut holes, welled up and implored me without a word but saying so much -- "Mommy," they said "it's all I ever wanted, all I ever needed." Then she gently parted her rosebud lips and let out the sweetest sigh ever heard on this barren earth.

And so I had a choice. I could have been the mommy who stuck to the plan, wrangled up my toddler and pressed her into her car seat with my elbow and forearm holding her in place and my other hand snapping her up at 5-points while she wailed in mortal rage as her hopes at sacred escalator ascension were dashed by evil, evil mama. But who wants to be that mommy?

Most of the time not me. And, just who on earth was I to be a heart breaker? Who? I'm nothing without these babies, so if life is about the simple pleasures and cheap thrills then let's do it.

39-minutes later, pudgy baby hand in my hand, we rode up and down that escalator on 11-round trips. A couple of times we went and splashed our hands in the 'sountain', buuuuut mostly we did 22-escalator rides.

You know that song about Charlie, the man who gets stuck on the M.T.A 'neath the streets of Boston and never returns? Well, my life was starting to sound just like a Kingston Trio song.
And then it came to me, bribery.

"HeyTova! Remember those goldfish crackers in the car?"

"Yeth."

"Well, how about you and I go home and wash the new container and then pour the gold fish in. We'll have to get off this escalator of purgatory, but I'll let you use the scissors to cut the bag open."

She had to think about it for a bit, purgatory or scissors. Think, think, think. She really loves scissors.

"How about we wide da alligator fwee more times, den we comed home and I cut de sishy bag open and I get to pour dem aww by myself and you don't help me and den I eat dem and you don't eat mine. Fwee more time I wide dis fing."

And that is how you pull yourself out of purgatory. You simply offer your child something to gouge their eyes out with and then some cheesy sodium to wash it down.

Three more round-trips on the escalator and we were home with her cutting open the bag of crackers, pouring it onto the floor and table and a little bit into the container.

Peace, love and containment,
K-Mama