Not Fit for Public Consumption

Today I called my hubs and told him the following, "We will no longer be taking our child into public. She can go to school, and that is it. She can no longer be trusted to not act a'fool out among the decent people of the world." 

Respect.

Why you ask...Why? WHY? WHY????????????????????
Lady Baby has taken a swan dive into the terrible twos. I thought 16 months, 18 months, 22 months, were bad. Ha. Ha. Ha. Um, no. She can now undo buckles, climb in and out of chairs, and clearly and loudly speak phrases like, "No mommy, stop it, no I do it, Stop it, No. NOOOOOOOOOO." These things are among the long list of reasons that she cannot be contained with much ease at a restaurant. She does not ride well in a shopping cart. She is not happy to sit in a booster. Add in her sassy personality that has nothing to do with a two year old and everything to do with being, well, her, and it adds up to not fit for public consumption. 


Today Toodles went to play with a friend while I went to the office, then we ran errands, went to lunch, and ran more errands. She was great at the friend's house. She was good on the first two errands. The only dicey moment was in Macy's when she pretended to tickle the bum on a package of pantie hose while actually saying "tickle, tickle" and the old lady trying on coats gave me a very dirty look.  It was when we got to lunch that things started to fall apart. And fall apart they did. We were meeting my friend Ginny. Only Her Highness's excitement in seeing said friend and getting french fries allowed me to wrestle her into one of those wooden high chair thingys. She sat in it and enjoyed a cracker for exactly 2.3 minutes before she had unbuckled the "child restraint" and was standing in the chair. Goodbye high chair, hello cornerbooth where Ginny and I could pin her in. In theory. In reality it was not possible to keep her in the contained. After attempting to get out the door, into the bathroom, and behind the bar, Mother and Child had a little come to Jesus outside which involved a spanking. She had some crying because her mommy hates her and then got over it. She was happy for the time it took her to eat 7 bites of sandwich and 12 french fries, mostly because I let her sit in a regular chair, which she eventually ended up standing in. Whatevs, I am picking my battles on this one. Stand up and eat for all I care. Just try not to fall because then I look like a bad mother. Thanks. 

My child's future closet.

After a very unrelaxing lunch we went to Petsmart to get the liquid gold that takes cat pee out of upholstery (a whole nother problemo). Things started out fine. Look at the fish, talk to the cats, screech at the birds. You know, the usual. Then I need to actually get what we came in for in the first place, but Crazy Pants won't follow me, because she is organizing the dog sweaters. But she is calling them baby sweaters and talking to herself all while grouping them together by color (ironically colors are the only thing we have tried to teach her so far that she cannot grasp.) I say, "come on." She says, "no mommy, baby sweaters." I say, "actually they are dog sweaters, and I need you to please come over here." I walk toward her and she grips two sweaters and starts screaming. That is not embarrassing at all. I am just reaffirming to 90% of the patrons there why they chose pets instead of children. You are welcome, weird cat lady and ambiguous fella with the tiny dog. At this point, I think you made a solid decision. I have to carry her flailing and squalling self over to the aisle with the no-peepee products, which just happens to have another rack of dog clothes. Sweet Lord. What I don't realize is this is good for immediate relief, but very bad for my long term goal of leaving the store. I get what I need and spend way too long watching my child organize chihuahua-sized onesies and fur lined parkas (which seems kind of like making a cow wear alligator shoes). I blame her father for her need to do this. She didn't get her serial killer tendencies need to organize and sort from me. After prying a tiny yellow slicker and a pink tutu out of her hands, I have to carry a screaming and crying (real tears) toddler and stand in line to check out. It is difficult to discuss the best products to stop cats from urinating on furniture with a hysterical toddler screeching in your face. FYI: animal people don't seem to love toddlers. With good reason, of course. She turns off her hysterics when she realizes that she can see all the dogs being groomed. Thank you people who design big box stores. I heart you at this moment.


Last stop, the Red Box next door to return two movies. While I struggled to get the movies to go back into the box from the future, my child climbed on a concrete patio set and chatted up the deli lady from the Teeter on her smoke break. Despite repeated demands for her to come back and stand with mommy, she inhaled second hand smoke and dared fate to give her a head injury. When I disrupted her and the queen of lunch meat's convo about how pretty she was, the child raged on me, hard. Thus the phone call as we were leaving to let the Baby Daddy know he would have to get his own bleepity bleep blank blonk batteries, because I could not subject another group of innocent bystandards to his child. From now on she could play at home, go to school, and then come back home. No meals out, no stores, no where that serves the general population. I suppose that places that cater to children, and those that make them, are okay. The zoo, the children's museum, the science center, Chuck E Cheese (sob). Everywhere else, I will see you in five to ten. If you need us, we will be at home, organizing our closets.