Violet put on a Christmas sweater this morning that her grandma gave to her 2 two years ago and unsurprisingly, it looked two years too small. Both of the girls began begging me for new Christmas sweaters and I told them that after swim school we’d get WINTER sweaters (not a fan of Christmas clothing or music).
Because I needed to get the kids lunch and look for sweaters, I decided to do the unthinkable and take the kids to the mall during holiday shopping season. As we wandered up and down the endless rows of cars looking for parking I took the time to review with them what to do if they got lost in a crowd and what my first and last name was. We talked about it until I was sure that they knew to find “a grandma or mommy with children”.
“Why not a man?” asked Violet.
“Uh, because…men don’t know what they’re doing.”
Sorry men, but it’s better than the truth.
We finally parked and, yes, I gave in and I let them sit on Santa’s lap for the $25 photo package with their new WINTER sweaters, and then I bought them veggie corndogs on a stick.
On the way back to the car I let myself get suckered into the VERY expensive skincare store to test out eye cream, because after swim school and the mall and saying no to 10,000 things and enduring the food court and repeating that I did not want the Santa photo package add-on snow globe, I thought I deserved like, a free sample.
The gleaming white and gold shop was filled with bejeweled women who had stopped in after dropping a grand or two at the Apple store across the way. Their arched eyebrows looked at my girls warily as we entered and so I whispered emphatically when I told Violet and Hazel to have a seat in two swivel make-up chairs and not to move for one full minute.
I was staring at the ceiling while my undereye was being slathered with an unguent so expensive that it could have provided for an entire family in much of the world for a full year, when I heard a small cry from Hazel’s direction.
A gallon of pediatric hork, dyed pink by ketchup and Hotdog-On-A-Stick’s red lemonade, burst out from Hazel’s head, propelled by the centrifugal force of the swivel chair that Violet had been pushing with playground-level energy. And it kept coming. It nearly filled up the container in the work station that held all the Q-tips. It slid down her new winter sweater and bounced on the white marble flooring. It oozed in between the cracks of the ivory leather chair.
It didn’t take long before the smell and ensuing chaos drove out all the store’s potential customers, leaving the poor sales girls not only without holiday season commissions, but with the task of scooping up mounds of kiddie disgorgings with mini make-up removal towelettes.
And so I bought the $350 eye cream. Hey, today was a special! It came with free serum (reg. $250.00 retail price). Totally worth it.
(Hazel, withered in empty store, post clean-up)