Target. One of my all-time favorite one stop shops. You need a frozen pizza and some grape jelly? Go to Target. You need fishnet pantyhose and a pair of peace sign hoop earrings? Go to Target. Oh, what's that? You want a barbie toothbrush and some Batman underoos? Guess what! Yup, Target. Love that place. Taking all 3 children in 2 vehicles in 25 degree weather at 8 o'clock at night and realizing 5 minutes into the drive there that I may have remembered to comb the kids hair but damn if I remembered to do my own... yeah, not really loving it so much anymore.
Wait, let's not stray from the subject of combing for just a sec... I'd like to comment on both my own head and my daughter's for a brief moment because it will really set the scene for how people stared at us the entire time we in there tonight. Olivia's hair smelled like a "butterfly" per her dilusional father. I asked him at dinner "What the HELL does a butterfly smell like?" and he laughed. I think he thought that telling me something really cutesy and girly when I asked him what in God's dear name he had put on her head would somehow win me over. Nah, not so much. Not only did her head smell like Grandma at Junior Prom but it had coated her beautiful (and very out of control) curls into this Don-King-Meets-Elvis do' that literally could have landed her a main part in a Dr. Suess movie. You see, Daddy decided to go ahead and mousse her up with Mommy's Bath and Body Works Honeysuckle lotion. Oh well, she's 1 and a half, she's so darn cute no one will notice. Me, on the other hand, I should have just been plain ol' ashamed of myself. It was clean, that I was sure of. The 80 year old bun I had slicked back on my head, however, was another story. Add to that the fact that after catching the stomach bug from the kids and throwing up for hours I was forced into wearing my black framed 60's style crooked glasses because I had literally destroyed my contacts from the constant pressure of dry-heaving. I think there were maybe two small gel slicked curls hanging out of this lovely bun and several very long missed strands hanging down my neck. You know what? It'd been like that all freakin' day and I really wasn't in the mood to change it up. By the time I had everything packed to leave the house, the kids in their coats and shoes, the baby strapped in her seat, warmed up the cars, turned off all the lights, put leftover dinner in the fridge... AND got my grown ass husband ready... really, truly, my hair was probably number 104 on my priority list. Anything past 15 on that list usually goes in the forgotten pile anyway, never to return.
We pull in to the parking lot, looking like a posse pulling in from Kindercare. We are literally turning into a damn gang there are so many of us. Maybe we should come up with one of those cool finger hand symbol thingys. Eeeast sy-ide! On the other hand, maybe not. Ryan pulls the two older kiddos out of his car. I jump out of mine like I'm playing chinese fire drill because the cold air that bursts into my face as I open the door literally sucks my breath away. It doesn't help that I stopped to get Riley a milkshake that I promised him hours earlier. I think my hand is already stuck to the cup. I thrust it at him hoping he's got a grip on it and am waiting for my fingers to rip away from my hand as he pulls the cup to his mouth. GOD. IT IS COLD. I have the brainy idea to carry the baby in the infant carrier on my chest in the store. If I don't we will have to push two carts. Nah, not interested in that tonight. We are already becoming a spectacle. I don't want to make it any worse. It takes me 10 minutes to yank the baby out of her seat, she's so tiny I can't tell what's a leg and what's just part of the 5 point harness system. Stupid harness sytem, why are you always so difficult with me?? I pull her out, she makes that high pitched sucking a breath in noise and I instantly feel like I'm putting my newborns health in jeopardy. I do what comes to mind first, toss a huge blanket over her entire body as I hold her with one arm and pray she either has some air in there to survive on or can hold her breath until we get to the front door. Poor baby. If she only knew what she was in for in this family.
We spend another 3 minutes outside trying to direct Riley to where the actual "IN" door is and then another 2 minutes as he tries to spell it out. Really, Riley? NOW? Mommy isn't exactly in the intellectual mood if you haven't noticed. PLEASE JUST GET YOUR ASS INSIDE! No, I didn't say that... I just sorta kept walking until I rammed him from behind and bulldozed his tiny little butt into the store. He never knew what hit him. We spent another 12 minutes at the carts dismantling coats, putting on the infant carrier and other misc. odds and ends. People were already staring. Some smiled at the cute little newborn head popping out from my chest as I strapped her on. Some looked at us (or maybe it was Livy's doo-whop?) like we were out of our minds. I took on the attitude of not caring, I had too much to focus on anyway. During all this I pull the carrier straps over my head because, let's just face it, I'm way too lazy to unbuckle the sides and put it on the right way, and damn if I don't pull put out 50 different strands of random hair bundles from my awesome bun. GREAT. Now I look like Medusa. With glasses. I tried tucking in one, it didn't work. I figured the rest weren't going to cooperate either. I gave up. Besides, Riley had already occupied himself by discovering fake dog poop in the dollar bin and was announcing how great it was to some stranger walking by. Yup. My kid likes the poop. Get the horrified look off your face and keep on truckin' lady. Nobody cares what you think.
Things get pretty uneventful for awhile, hey it can't be comedy ALL of the time. We fast forward a little to the food department. At this point I've already discreetly yelled at Riley at least 97 times to stop acting so crazy. By the time we get to the ham in the refrigerated section I decide I don't care who hears me anymore and I declare to all around him in my loud other-worldly Mom voice that if he doesn't stop running and looking where he's going someone is going to run him over and crush his head into tiny little gooey pieces with their cart. The employee stocking soup on the shelves is trying hard to act like he doesn't hear what I'm saying and I can see that he's not sure if he should smile or just ignore us altogether. I push past him before he gets a chance to make a decision. Riley seems to have calmed down for the moment, well at least until he sees the millions of M&M's that someone has released all over the floor in the toy section and he thinks he'll roller skate on them. We make it to the diapers and he's actually being helpful. He even melts the heart of some lady standing next to us at the wipes when he says "Oh Mom, let me see Natalie! She's sleeping?! Awww! She's so beautiful when you walk around with her". I'd attempt to decipher exactly what he meant by that for you... but there really isn't any use. I have no idea. It was cute though, I'll give him that. We're finally moving on to the clothing and I'm beckoning for Ryan who's watching Olivia climb through all of the display cribs in her big pink and white tennis shoes and skin-tight cupcake pj's. Oh, I didn't mention those? Yeah, she was definitely a sight on this fine evening. There's not even a description I could begin to think of to describe my little monkey. When you add in the hair... I can't even go on.
Clearance rack: I'm checking out the little boy outfits that are $5 for two reasons. 1. My cousin's wife is having a boy in May and they'd make a nice gift. 2. What new Mother out there can resist those tiny little outfits that your dear child may only wear once if you're lucky... and it's only $5?! I'm sold. Several other women must have had the same idea because we all seem to be politely fighting through the two feet of rack to get the best steals of the day. Riley tells me and everyone around us that he sure wishes we had had a boy instead because he just found the cutest airplane shirt. I'm not surprised by the boy comment, he's still coming to terms. I was more shocked that my 4 year old was checking out the bargain rack. Wow. If his Dad could only see him now. I know what you're thinking, he's there in the store with you, right? Well, yes. Only he's chasing Livy who is extremely tired, cranky, insane and silly all at the same time. He's decided to release her from the cart and now he's almost killing himself running through the maze of clothing to keep up with her. She's really cute when she runs. You should see her. I don't think Ryan was having the same thought at that moment. I can especially attest to this when he finally caught her and slammed her down in the seat again, breathing hard and maybe even sweating a little.
Getting back to the bargain rack. We weren't there long, really. At one moment I'm looking at those little boy outfits with Riley beside me looking at the onesies on the lower rack. A much better height for him. The next thing I know he's disappeared. "Did he run off?" you might be thinking. "Oh, my! Did someone kidnap him? Lure him away with candy? A puppy perhaps?". Oh no, I'm not THAT lucky... No, my child was walking through the middle of the rack to the other side looking at the discounted Spider Man shirt AND he was basically walking right into some woman's crotch. Any person above the age of 4 would realize that they are not headed in the right direction and veer off to the right or left. Not 4 year olds. Nope, they assume that whatever is in their path will simply part one way or another for them to have clear passage. I say the first thing that comes to mind because that's just what I've been doing a lot these days. "Riley, please get out from underneath that woman's legs!". It doesn't sound right. I know it doesn't. People look at me. I desperately try to reach for Riley underneath all of the hanging clothes without letting the baby slide out of the carrier. I'm leaning low enough now that I'm pretty sure that could be a possibility. Before I can even touch him he's already running away. I try to apologize but my words trail off as I chase him over to the strollers. I didn't even look back to see if she heard me. I hoped that my actions were loud enough to make up for any lack of a formal apology. If not, oh well. Riley is now climbing into the umbrella strollers that are lying on the bottom shelf and when I scream at him (in a voice a little louder than intended, my nerves and patience were shot at this point) he says that he's just trying them out. The man standing closest to us smiles, he probably thinks this is funny. I smile back and I'm not sure why. It's not funny in the slightest and I just want to get the heck out of there. I've never wanted to leave Target so badly in my entire life. I've even given up hope of somehow tricking my dear hubby into covering the tab on our overflowing cart and beg him to just take the kids home in his car while I go to the checkout lines. I'm ready to sign over a blank check just to make this nightmare ends. As always he calms me down by telling me it's okay in his ever-patient voice and we proceed directly to check-out 3. Riley is already trying to persuade me to buy some new yo-yo device that he found in the aisle. Damn those last minute toys and trinkets that are just waiting for your bored child to eye up while you load the conveyor belt. I tell him no without even an explanation and surprisingly he tosses it down and goes with his Dad to load the cart. I fight with Olivia for a brief moment because even though she's 18 months she already knows that the credit card needs to be swiped in that cool black and gray machine thingy with all the buttons. She wants to do it. Could be a sign that Mommy uses the card a little too much or a sign of the times, who knows. I wouldn't be shocked if there are 18 month olds with cell phones at this point. Hell, mine can hold her fake Disney Princess cell phone alarmingly well with her shoulder up to her ear and multi-task with the other hand already. Scary. So my card goes through and I'm already dreading putting all of our coats back on and de-strapping the baby who is sound asleep. Let's not even mention how I felt about having to go back out into the cold and load the trunk. The check-out guy who has been silent until now asks how old the baby is. I kiss her head, yikes! Sorta forgot about her for the last hour. I tell him she's one month old. "WOW! So little!" he exclaims. He asks how old Livy is. 18 months (going on 18 years! I don't tell him that though) and she waves to him as if on cue. He looks at Riley. "How old are you young man?" he says. Riley gives him the cutest grin and holds up 4 fingers. I'm grinning from ear to ear. Wow, these kids are incredible. They truly are my babies and I adore them right down to their toes. Ryan and I say goodnight to the nice man and head for the door. A trip to the bathroom to wash hands and one tiny incident of Riley almost throwing up in the water fountain because he was a little over zealous and slurped in more than he could handle, and we were gone. We managed to load the kids, the bags and ourselves and came straight home to start the bedtime ritual of bottles, blankets, etc. All in all a good night. It might have been crazy but it was a much needed trip out of the house. Oh, and it was one more experience to make me think that it sure is tough these days but just when I'm ready to lose my mind these kids make me realize that I'm the luckiest Mommy alive.
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