Even so (make no mistake!) we have our hands full of toddler madness. Both of us still has at least one sticky hand in ours at all times, there are several random head counts and inventories, and there is still plenty of added cargo of emergency supply to tote along.
So obviously the outing in and of itself was a chore to say the least. It was a fun chore... but with two small and wildly independent children with the joy of Christmas radiating out of every or face of their tiny bodies, it takes a lot of strategy to successfully navigate a family of 4 thru a mass mob of 'the rest of society' (teenagers, old people, love birds with OUT children, and the other fanatic and frazzled parents of little ones putting out fires of their own) without getting separated and avoiding meltdowns at every bend and turn.
We braved a long line in the freezing cold to sled down a melted and filthy heap of frost that was at one time meant to be snow. The kids didn't care, they were actually decently behaved in line and had a blast for all of 4 seconds down the 'slope.' They each decided to go alone at the last minute... and Anabelle had a look of terror and regret on her horrified little face from the moment the man said "GO!" Ha ha. Poor lil thing.
I suppose in light of that, I shouldn't have been surprised the next thing she needed to do was "GOOO POTTY NOOOOWWWWW!" Of course, she waited to mention that little detail until we had moved on to the bounce house with the longest line in the park, and then split up so I could hold both kids and our place in line while Tyson went to buy tickets.
Thank heaven for Grammie, who took my spot in line with Dawson so I could have the glamorous privilege of high tailing it to the closest pitch black and freezing cold out house with my newly potty trained and highly curious daughter. Ew.
When we found the sacred place located at the other end of the universe, of COURSE there was a line. Anabelle did a lively little potty jig, and I silently prayed someone would see my predicament and graciously offer 'cuts.'
No such luck.
I had explain to her at least three times that we were waiting our turn because the other people had to go potty before we could go in. She was getting antsier by the second (believe me, so was I... the suspense of waiting for an impending accident in a crowd of the entire town isn't exactly my idea of a star parenting moment).
It was ALMOST our turn when the girl ahead of us, who was about my age with no child in her arms or anywhere in sight turned around to glare at me.
GLARE.
I didn't get it.
I had half a mind to glare right back when I found myself saying "is something wrong?" as politely as could be. (Well what do you know... motherhood hasn't sucked all the soul and self control out of me after all!)
The girl hesitated for a second, and then her angry glare melted as she realized I was completely oblivious to whatever was bothering her.
She then managed to apologetically mutter... "um... she kicked me," pointing straight at the darling little potty princess now hiding behind me and clinging for dear life.
She quickly added "I'm sure it was an accident..."
Oooooo, no. No, no, no, no, NO, make no mistake, this was NO accident. I could spot the tarnish on her polished halo from a mile away. Little angel Anabelle had, in fact, KICKED the lady ahead of us in the shins simply because she was mad that she got to go first!
THE NERVE!
I spent the rest of the time in line apologizing, strangling an apology out of my daughter, and then apologizing a little bit more.
I seriously can't believe she thought to do such a thing!
Well, OK, maybe I can believe it. But I probably wouldn't have actually managed to sum up the courage until I was at LEAST six or seven to do such a thing myself... OOpsey!, did I really just type that out loud? So much for all that still having a soul nonsense...
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