Cabin Fever Breaks

I was reminded today why I don't leave the house with my children all too often. It's far simpler to keep them at home and sacrifice my own sanity. Nonetheless, it is nice to venture out on occasion, and before today actually unfolded, I was absolutely dying to break free from the confines of my home. Here's how the day went down:

8:15am: After Owen and Nicholas get their breakfast and Peter gets his first bottle of the day, we venture out to Kindercare, where Nicholas is slotted to have his first full day. I wanted to make sure that I could bring him for a long enough time that he could get a sense of a full day, but a shorter time than my full work day. As we pull down the driveway, the downpour begins. One umbrella, one parent, three children. I don't think I would ever WANT to leave my children unattended in my car in the parking lot, and I've never known, in my lifetime, any setting where it would be safe to do so. Wherever I go, the kids go, too, which is why I never go anywhere until after they're in bed and Jason is home.

8:30: We pull into the Kindercare parking lot. I pop the trunk, remove the enormous box of diapers, wipes, Pull-Ups and other sundries for Owen and Nicholas' cubbies. I carry said cumbersome box to the front entrance, drop the box, code in, keep the door open with one leg, drop the box inside the front foyer, return to the car for Peter, code in, drop Peter in the front foyer, then go get the other two. Nicholas is screaming now because, well, he thinks I've abandoned him and he's expecting to go into Kindercare because all we've been doing the whole way up is talking about it. In we all go, after code-in #3, to Nicholas' classroom, where Owen now wants to play with towers of blocks and Nicholas screams and grabs my leg as I try to leave the room (I left Peter in his car seat out in the hallway in eyeshot, and now he's crying.) I'll never forget the first time I dropped Owen off at Kindercare. I left, got to the car and cried because he didn't cry or scream. He just waved and said goodbye. I had to know the day would come when one of my children would act like this, and like Aurora from Terms of Endearment, who pinches baby Emma's leg to rule out crib death, then sighs in relief as Emma screams, I am somewhat contented to know that Nicholas will miss me. This contentment does not set in as I close the classroom door and hear him crying all the way back to the front foyer, where Owen, Peter and I now collect his nap-time Pull-ups and deliver them to his classroom for his start on Monday.

9:30am: Arrive at the Palisades Center in West Nyack, where the Target opens at 8am. On our shopping list, a few new pairs of slacks for me (the guinea-t-over-sports-bra-and-pajama-pants look just doesn't cut it at work) and another potty seat insert for Owen (he's scared of the "big" potties at Kindercare -- having fallen into them a few times now. Oh, to be so little-heinied), and some kids' potty seat liners. This is our first foray out into the public potty arena since Owen has started wearing his big boy underpants. I'm biting the bullet. No Pull-ups just for the sake of convenience to me. We WILL do this. I'm perplexed by the mall security standing in front of the indoor parking garage. They appear not to be letting me through. I roll down the window. "Can we park in here?" I ask. "Nope, the parking lot doesn't open till 10." Swingin'. It's still raining. Harder. The closest parking spot I get is in the middle of Lake Nyack, about 200 feet from The Cheesecake Factory. "Mommy," Owen says, "I forgot my umbrella." "I know, Owen," I reply, "I forgot mine, too." Navigating a double stroller, a diaper bag, my purse, Owen's big-boy backpack and Peter's car seat, there is little room left for an umbrella. "We can enjoy the rain," I say, feigning cheerfulness like a sorority pledge. "OKAY, MOMMY!" Owen chirps back. "LET'S GO!" 5 minutes later, we arrive at the mall entrance. My Chuck Taylors are soaked through to my socks, as are the cuffs of my jeans. Owen has consumed about 100,000 raindrops and is high on life. We get to the handicapped automatic door entrance and I push the red button. Nothing. "OPEN SESAME!" Owen yells. I hit the red button again, as if by my own will I can make a broken door open. "O-PEN S-E-SAMEEEEEEEE!" "Sweetie, it's broken." Ladies and Gentlemen: I will now attempt to open the mall entrance door and push my obnoxious double stroller through it. I will not think negative thoughts or harbor resentment toward the mall security officer who should have had the decency and common sense to let a minivan momma through. I'm not selling crack in that mall garage at 9:30 in the morning. I just want to go to Target!

10:00: Checkout at Target a great success. Grabbed three pairs of slacks, all the same style, just different colors, and will try them on at home. We leave Target and enter the mega-mall, which is -- shocker -- quiet. "Mommy, can I wear my monkey?" "Sure, Owen," I say. Mall workout to commence. I figure out that the best thing to do is attach the loop of the monkey tail (leash) to the clasp in the seat where Owen should be sitting. This way, he will not snap my wrist in half, rendering it impossible for me to blog or work successfully in the 1:1 E-Learning District. We have two hours before I am due to drop Owen and Peter off at Grandma and Grandpa A's house so that I can go and get my two-tone hair done. Four months' worth of roots are showing, and my hair is longer than it has ever been. Caroline Ingalls I am not. In adult time, two hours flies by. It is not enough time to go home with Owen and Peter and then drive back up to my in-laws. As such, I have packed a bottle and Peter's cereal and fruit for the road. Peter is sleeping now, when I would normally feed him. I let him sleep and walk with Owen. We go to the skating rink and watch pee-wee hockey. "I WANT TO GO SKATING!" Owen says. My mind fast forwards to ten years from now, town leagues, 5am practices, hockey camps, missing teeth, possible insurance payments for my future goalie. "Owen," I say, "Why don't we go to Dunkin Donuts?" "NO. I WANT TO GO SKATING!"

10:30: Arrive at old location of Dunkin Donuts across the mall, three floors down. "Coming soon," the sign reads, "Mr. Donut." Okay, stop the train. Malls and Dunkin Donuts go together. If there is no Dunkin Donuts, how can I possibly expect my three year-old to behave without the incentive of Munchkins? What the hell?! Owen doesn't know who Mr. Donut is, and he can't wait five minutes for his turn with a toy. How is he supposed to wait for Mr. Donut to arrive? I now have to tell Owen that we're going to Starbucks. Starbucks is the nightmare of the mother with children in a stroller, which I have had to return Owen to at this point. Everything is within reach of little hands. Peter is screaming now. I'm feeding him a bottle in his car seat, which is locked into the double stroller. It looks like I'm feeding a suckling pig instead of a baby. "Everyone," the girl behind the counter says, "I need you to form a line around our coffee display, please!" I wish this woman a double stroller like mine ten years from now. I had planned on a veggie egg white flatbread combo at good ol' DD, but now I am in a foreign land. Owen asks for a slice of lemon pound cake. It is covered with about a half an inch of oozing sugary icing. I fold. He has already grabbed himself an organic apple juice box, thanks to the conveniently placed refrigerated drink section. I get a $1 banana, a tall skinny vanilla latte and a low-fat apple bran raisin muffin. Peter gets a bottled water for me to mix his formula and make his cereal.

11:00: Owen has sucked down his apple juice box (I did limit his liquids, knowing we were coming out, and it came back to haunt me!), Peter has chowed on his rice cereal and bananas, and I now have bathroom on the brain. If I don't get Owen to a bathroom soon, only the worst will ensue. Luckily, there is one close by. I dig into the depths of the double stroller storage basket and get one of the potty seat liners from the Target bag. In brief: Handicapped stall. Double stroller. Disney toilet seat liner. Auto flush. Auto sink. Hand dryers that sound like our vacuum cleaner. Owen freaking out. Me using Peter's old burp cloth to dry Owen's hands. Peter freaking out.

11:20: After I call Kindercare to check in on Nicholas, who is having a GREAT day, we find a quiet place where I can hold Peter and he can work some of his gas out. It turns out little piggie wants some more of his bottle. I am ready to eat my fist. I notice other moms power walking in their Juicy Couture, their little ones neatly strapped in or standing on the ledge of their walker friendly mega-strollers. Moment of grace intervention: ENVY IS ALWAYS A LIE. Peter finishes a few ounces, I burp him, hold him on my lap, and try to open my apple bran raisin muffin. "Mommy, can I have a little bite?" Owen asks, so sweetly. "Sure, Owen," I say, my heart melting, my stomach growling, trying not to remember how he just wolfed down a 500 calorie slice of pound cake and a 200 calorie apple juice, and also trying not to think about the fact that even a tiny little bite of a bran muffin should not really be on the menu of my cute but incontinent three year-old. Owen takes a crater sized bite of my muffin. I sip my now-cold latte and peel my banana. "Mommy, can I have a bite?"

12:00: Arrive with Owen and Peter at my in-laws', along with Peter's box full of goodies: formula, baby food, bibs, burp cloths, diapers, changes of clothes. Put Owen on the potty there, where he pees like Niagra Falls. Thank goodness for local relatives!

1:00: Yonkers. New Beginnings Salon. Much needed hair color and hair cut.

3:00: Stew Leonard's Hoe Down Grill. Burger. Fries. Soda. No stroller. No kids. Feels very, very weird, and I do not like it. Take my burger to go.

3:45: Collect Nicholas from Kindercare. He can now say ALOHA and dance the hula. He also had tacos, peas, salad and fruit for lunch. That diaper should be tons-o-fun! On our way to pick up Owen and Peter, Nicholas and I talk about his day. "Nicholas, how was school?" "Sool." "Yes, school. How was SCHOOL?" "LO-HA!"

5:15: Happy to be back home with all the troops. It's pizza night, but I doubt that Owen, Nicholas, or I are very hungry for it. Surprise! I manage a slice. So do the boys. Jason is happy to have the extra pizza for leftovers. Peter tries out applesauce for the first time. Good stuff!