Today was a DAY. IKEA. Three kidlets. One semi-professionally potty trained. One who hates the stroller. One who wanted nothing other than to play in IKEA’s “Magic Forest” despite having already been told “no.”
Yeah, this Mommy had set herself up for a good ol’ time. I had meant well. Tuesdays are Story Time Days at IKEA and kids eat free. How can the lazy days of summer get any better than that? My plan was to stuff the kids with Swedish Meatballs, listen to a story and grab a few things for a project.
Even the best laid plans can go awry and it wasn’t long before mine were heading in the wrong directon.
Kidlets tired, cranky… Throwing fits because no single “want” was being met. Red-faced, eyes blurred with tears and completely broken hearted.
In an effort to appease the disappointed mites (and as a bribe to quit crying, quit trying to get out of the stroller, and quit brandishing a balloon sword at unsuspecting and innocent shoppers), I promised a treat after all the walking through the Market Hall…. ICE CREAM!
Eyes brightened, noses stopped sniffling and suddenly we lived in Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood where children and babies do nothing but smile, hold hands while walking slowly and singing cheery tunes. I mentally patted my shoulder, glad I had found a solution and kept the melt-down at bay.
(yeah, obviously I have been in the middle of an IKEA melt-down before … And it ain’t pretty. So, a $1 ice cream cone is worth it, in my book. Don’t judge.)
But, it back-fired on me…. Or, gave me the best laugh I have had all day. You decide.
We got back home, tired but content. The first order of business was for everyone to visit the bathroom, and it was that simple act that pretty much summed up the day.
The Little Lady: “Boy, Mommy – you will NEVER believe what I just pooped out! My ice cream!
Mommy: “Little Lady! We don’t talk like that…”
The Little Lady: “No, not the same ice cream I ate, Mommy… My tummy changed it. Into pieces, Mommy.”
(She was serious. Very. Serious)
Before I could chastise again, Mr. Boy interjected.
Mr. Boy: “Ooo! Little Lady, can I see? Can I see your poop?”
The Little Lady: (shaking her head, pony-tail whipping her little pink cheeks) “No, Mr. Boy… I already flushed it away.”
Her two-year old brother, who is (thanks to potty training) OBSESSED with bodily functions of all kinds, promptly burst into heart-broken tears and wails.
The Little Lady’s maternal side awoke and she quickly moved to him, putting her arm around his shaking shoulders, and tried to calm him down.
The Little Lady: “Don’t worry, Mr. Boy. I promise you can look at ALL my poop next time.”
Obviously, she has learned the fine art of bribery, because Mr. Boy’s tears vanished, with only a few steamy paths down his cheeks to belie his bright blue eyes.
Well done, Grass-hoppah.
