Cranky Tuesday and the Saga of the Sandals

We are nearing the end of school vacation here at Chez Necessity. The kids have been off since Monday, and go back this Tuesday. It's been rather a long week. Mind you, I like vacation - we get to go to lots of places as a family, and everyone gets a break from their normal routine. However, I'm a routine kind of gal; I like knowing what the plan for the week will be, what I'll be making for meals, etc. Also, the kids definitely react to the change - I keep wondering if someone is sneaking in here and giving them espressos while I'm not looking.

This brings us to Tuesday. The day started out badly; you know those days when you just wake up grouchy? I'm not generally a cranky person (normally being sweetness personified), but I knew as soon as my feet hit the bedroom floor that Tuesday was not going to be my favorite day. I had planned to take the kids shopping for sandals, but after assessing my mood, I should have cut my losses and stayed home. I did not. You know when you're watching a movie and the main character does something so ill-fated, you find yourself talking to the screen? I would have talked sternly to my screen if I were watching the movie of my life.

We dropped The Professor at work (in an effort to both save money and be green, we have one car) and continued on to Target. I like Target. The kids like Target. Should be an easy, pleasant trip, right? We went in, headed to the shoe aisle, and I braced myself. I was speaking to a friend this week, and she mentioned that her 9 year old has been causing her agita because she has developed opinions about her clothes, and now won't wear certain things. I was somewhat amazed by this statement, because Miss Serious has been this way from about the time she could consume solid food. I'm not sure, but I think her first complete sentence may have been, "I don't like these shoes," or maybe the ever popular, "But it's itchy."

We settled down into the sandal aisle, and Miss Serious began pulling completely inappropriate choices off the shelves; now that she is no longer in little girl sizes, the manufacturers make items to fit girls ages 7-14. Because we all know that 14 year olds and 7 year olds should be wearing the same fashions, including wedge heels and sweatpants with words slapped across the backside. (Actually, nobody should be wearing those, but I digress.) After about 40 minutes, and several hundred shoes later, a pair of sandals went into the cart. (Mind you, these were the first sandals I pulled off the shelf). We moved on to Big Trouble, and luckily the first pair out of the gate fit and were approved, as opposed to last year, where the above rant could have been written about him, except that when we got home with the newly purchased sandals, he announced that they hurt his feet and he couldn't wear them. Is it possible for feet to grow in the 1/2 hour it takes to drive home from Target?

We then moved on to the clothing section; as I've progressed as a mother, I've learned that I need to buy bathing suits when it's much too cold to wear said suit. If I wait until the actual season, the suits are all gone, but I could have my pick from a wonderful selection of fleece hoodies. Miss Serious perused the suits (many of which were already on clearance!) and was naturally attracted to anything that sparkles. Miss Serious' fashion sense is pretty much all about the sparkly. I'm hoping that her tastes change a bit later in life, or she is going to be one spectacular 50 year old. We gathered up all the possibilities, and headed for the changing room, always a fun place with 2 children and hundreds of bathing suits to try on. As we neared the changing room, the attendants had about 19 carts surrounding the area, so I left mine about 2 miles away and grimly headed in. I was then informed by the fitting room attendant that I could only take in 6 items and needed to leave the rest in my cart. Yes, my cart that was parked back in Guam. I asked if I could just leave the other things at the desk, and was told very self-righteously that that was impossible, because they were working there. At this point, the children were singing and spinning and my patience was just about over. I did as requested (I may have actually flung my items into the cart, rather than gently placing them), Miss Serious tried on and chose the most sparkly suit possible, and our excursion was finished.

Well, not really, because I still needed to buy a cake box. A friend asked if I would make her son a lego cake, so off to Michael's for the box. Miss Serious had birthday money, and purchased a craft kit. All was seemingly well until we got back in the car, and Big Trouble asked if he could help her with the kit. She very sweetly told him that she didn't think so, as the box said it was for ages 6 & up. Let the pouting commence - Big Trouble could win awards for pouting if any existed. I wonder if there is any such thing? He could be the key to us becoming independently wealthy. Miss Serious claimed not to understand why he was upset, as all she did was read to him what it said on the box. I contemplated my options, decided there were no good ones that didn't involve doing my children in, and we went home. The day wasn't a total loss however. I made this:

and the birthday boy was enormously pleased - not a pout in sight.