How to Hide in a Department Store

As I buckle Evee into her stroller I start a little conversation with Sarah that goes something like this:

            “So, Sarah.  We’re about to go into this store and do some shopping.  Mommy needs to buy a present for Aunt Kim.  Won’t that be fun?  Will you help me find a good present for her?”

            Sarah is investigating the car we’re parked next to.  I take her hand to redirect her attention.

            “Just remember that in the store I need you to stay with me and Evee.  Don’t run off, okay?  It’s not safe, and it makes mom grumpy.  Understand?”

            No response.

            “So let’s stay together, okay?”

            She finally nods her head.  “Okay.”

            Alright, I think.  Problem solved.  My parenting books have all promised that if I explain to a toddler what I expect before we enter a store, they will behave and do as I say.  This last conversation was merely one of many we’ve had about proper conduct in stores, so I know my daughter is more than prepared to be on her best behavior. 

            As we walk to the doors side by side (holding hands while in the street, of course) I picture the other moms I’ve seen who have absolutely no control over their children.  They were just too lazy to read the right books and take the right steps.  My children would be perfect.

Bah.

            Opening a heavy door while trying to push a stroller through it can be somewhat tricky, and my always on the ball Sarah takes the opportunity to jump ahead of us, racing down the aisle to disappear around a corner.  Oh, crap.

            We spend the next thirty minutes playing catch and release.  I finally catch up to her, get down on her level—just like you’re supposed to—and we have yet another little conversation about staying with mommy.  She stays with us until I turn to look at something and then I have just enough time to look back and catch a glimpse of a pony tail whipping past a clothes rack.

            Eventually our little conversations take a turn to something like: “If you run off again you are going to be in time out for the rest of the day and maybe for the rest of your life!”  Evee usually adds her two cents around this time by crying—loudly and with great animation.

            Out of the corner of my eye I notice something pink and sparkly on a table I’m running past, so when I catch Sarah this time, I carry her under my arm back to that table, toss whatever it is on the stroller, and haul my noisy, kicking and screaming crew to the register.  It’s here in this enforced slow zone, exhausted, disheveled, and on the brink of rage, that I notice other people in the store looking at me like I need to pick up a couple parenting books.

            As the lady behind the counter rings up the whatever it was that I grabbed for my sister I look at the clothes racks behind me, the ones Sarah had hidden in for ten minutes last time we were here, and wonder if there’s enough room in there for me to take a nap until all the judgmental people are gone.