The Store

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s…It’s a mom burning rubber in her minivan to get her child to a bathroom!

Park the van. Whip up the double stroller. Buckle in both babies. Grab two hands. Check to see if I have my van keys. Okay, Operation Commode underway.

Riiing! Just as we reach the door, of the nearest department store, my cell phone blares from the underbellies of my purse. I could have let the phone ring. But, no, I answered it, like a loyal dog.

Thankfully it was my dh, Neat Pete. Even now, as I type, I can’t even remember why he was calling. I muttered something about having a potty emergency. Molly pushed as many automatic door buttons as she could find during my 15 second conversation.

Through the open doors we flew. Passed fundraiser stuffed animals, summer sun dresses and brightly colored patio collections, we flew.

Until, I saw, an end cap with jewelry sets. Oh look, something shiny, I brought us all to a stop.

“Mo-om! Don’t doddle!” urged Ryan. (Where have I heard this before? At least I know something I say makes it into his memory banks!)

Leisure shopping is not in my vocabulary.  Plus, the bathroom beckoned us from the back of the store. The jewelry sets left my attention, as quickly as they had gathered it, and off we went, in search of the bathroom.

I accepted help, to open the bathroom door, from a customer service clerk. So, humbling, I promise you.

The girls and I waited for Ryan, who is now happily situated in a stall. Each and every woman, that passes in and out of the door,  strikes up a conversation or tosses out fleeting inquiries about my family.

“Are those all yours?” they cry. “You must be so busy!” they claim. “I could never do that!” they admit. “Are they identical?” they prod. “I knew twins in my graduating class!” they add.

“It’s a lot of fun!” I respond. I feel like telling them I also have a 5 year old boy, but he’s is pooping in the stall next to you, but I don’t. Cause, I’m sane.

“How old is big sister?” they beg of Molly. They of course are met with a blank stare, filled with wonder. I can see her wheels cranking, Why do all these strange women want to know my age?

To which, I say, “she’ll be 3 in June”.

That’s all it took. Molly began whining and scrambling for the door. I knew my patience was getting thin. I sent a how are you doing pal? over the stall door. He was almost done.

Almost done, isn’t done, when your a 2 2/3 years old middle sister, waiting in a bathroom for too long!

She melted into a whimpering puddle next to my leg. At the same moment, I remembered, I had store credit that would expire unless I used it by, of course, that very day.

Back to the jewelry department!

Part 4 – coming soon

Love,
Jess