The Field Trip
[The following story is true. I have changed the names to protect the innocent,.... er.... the young.]
My son is four years old. When he grows up, he is going to be Spiderman. This is because I sent him to preschool, where he first heard of Spiderman, and first decided to finish potty training, and first learned to hold a complete conversation. I am grateful to preschool for all these things.
But this week, we had a field trip.
My first instinct was to skip it. It meant dragging the baby sister along, and the Princess has just turned two. Without the aid of preschool, she has learned plenty of things already. She can charm a stranger, manipulate a brother two years older, and lose the ability to walk in public.
Why didn't I skip the field trip? Because I had already skipped the field trip they held in the fall. And I felt Guilt. After all, I would be the Bad Parent if my kid was the only one to miss the amazing field trip to....
Harris Teeter.
Not kidding. It was a field trip to Harris Teeter. And we went and joined the milling throng of screaming four year olds. Two other mothers were also there with small, toddling siblings. I took comfort that I wasn't alone. But I was wrong.
Once the field trip finally began, headed by an adorable elderly employee who, bless him, meant well, I realized that I should have stuck with my original instinct. We went to the produce. "This is where you can buy bananas."
Yes, I thought. We've been here before. Twice a week. And sometimes on Saturdary night when we're out of said bananas.
"And this is where you can buy flowers."
Yes, I thought. That seems reasonable. It says FLOWERS. And there are flowers.
"This is where you can buy bread."
Yes, I thought. They're four, not blind.
Now I know that you're thinking, 'Gee, what a horrible attitude this woman has. Why can't she just enjoy the moment? It's an experience!'
Because the Princess knows all about Harris Teeter. She knows about the Cookie at the end. She knows that we get a Cart and ride around and are in and out in twelve minutes because Mommy doesn't have time to meander through the meat section. Also, the Princess takes a nap. Every day. Without fail. At 10:52.
I have used Herculean effort to get this child to push the nap back to 1:00 or 2:00. An afternoon nap is doable and reasonable and coincides with Spiderman's quiet time and would give Mommy some quiet time as well. But she will NOT have it. At around 10:33, the Subtle Whine begins. It foretells the need for a Nap Soon.
Then the Whimper begins. And usually a Quick Tantrum. By 10:45, the Thumb comes out.
All of these things happened, on schedule, in Harris Teeter. And while the other mothers carried their toddlers periodically, the babies were so excited to be with the big kid class that they were happy to stroll along.
But not Princess.
She wept for a Cookie. I told her in my quietest voice, "You know very well it comes at the end of the trip and if I hear the word Cookie again you will not get one." She pouted.
Then she cried when we passed the bananas. I can't blame her. It didn't make sense to her two year old brain that we weren't buying any. Also, there was no cart for her to ride in. I regret that oversight, because she also insisted on being held.
When we reached the Bakery, one of the other mothers turned and asked, "How are you today?"
"I can't feel my fingers," I gasped, clinging numbly to my 31lb. girl.
It says a lot about how much sobbing had already ensued that the mother did not suggest I put Princess down.
During all this time, Spiderman was learning about meat.
"This here is pork. Who can tell me where pork comes from?" the tour guide asked.
From an inhumane farm and a poorly sanitized packing facility, I thought bitterly. I'm not a vegetarian, by the way. At this point, I was just bitter.
"And who wants to see inside the freezer?"
The Highlight! It was so exciting! Spiderman went in with the class while I waited by the potato chips and begged Princess to walk. She was curled on my right shoulder (not left shoulder - we tried that - she disapproved) with her thumb in her mouth and refused to budge. Spiderman returned, shouting, "It was COLD!"
"Yay!" I said. Lock me in the freezer, please? I thought.
"Who can tell me where milk comes from?" Well-Meaning-Employee asked.
Really, now, I thought, I'm pretty sure this is just basic parenting.
[Note: Because I only have time to blog with monkeys hanging over my shoulder, I will be forced periodically to write things which Spiderman dictates. For example, I must now type: LARRY BOY. There.]
We survived, just barely. At one point, Princess did walk for a few minutes. I spent the whole of it in the specially concealed agony of one whose fingers are just regaining circulation. At the end, the gave out the COOKIEs. And gratefully, I took my children by the hands and started to leave.
"Wait!" the guide cried. "Everyone gets a bag!"
It was a pencil pouch, with a pencil. Harmless. The kids were thrilled.
I sighed in relief. Then ---
"And here's a bag of candy for everyone!"
Insult to injury.
[P.S. It has been four days since the field trip, we are out of bananas, and I still can't bring myself to return to Harris Teeter. How long can we survive on what's in the pantry?]
No comments:
Post a Comment