The Mall Trip

I often marvel at how drastically my parenting has changed since my twins were babies. The other day my husband came home to find our two year old wearing her older sister's Strawberry Shortcake Halloween costume from last year. Our conversation went something like this:
Him: What is she wearing?
Me: A Strawberry Shortcake Halloween costume.
Him: Has she had that on all day?
Me: Yep.
Him: Seriously?
Me: Yep.
Him: Wow, you sure have changed!
And the sad part is, he is so right. I would never have allowed either of my first two children to spend the day in a leftover Halloween costume. For any reason. Whether we were going somewhere or not. Just would not have happened. End of story.
But for some reason, this time around is just different. Is it because I'm older? Tired? More relaxed? Less OCD? Or is it just the fact I've come to accept the idea that every day is NOT a Hallmark card in anyone's home, regardless of what they post on Facebook? One can never be sure. But at least I'm willing to admit it. I'm also happy to report that the baby doesn't seem to have suffered any ill effects from lack of proper clothing for an entire day. Her older sister helped her put on the dress, and she obviously enjoyed wearing it. Everybody wins!
Fortunately, I haven't strayed THAT far from my normal state of being. We got ready to go to the mall later the same day and I did make her put on actual clothes. My big girls have been begging us to take them to the mall for at least the last 6 years. It's not that they particularly enjoy shopping. They just want to go to the playground, ride the carousel and the train and that spider jump thingy and any other stupid thing (clothes, shoes and panties for a Build a Bear, etc) they can find to spend Daddy's money on, eat and come home. My oldest (by 13 minutes, and don't you forget it) had been feeling ill all day. After lying on the couch moaning like death was imminent for hours, the moment her ears heard the word "mall" she was miraculously restored to health.
Somewhere deep inside the furthest reaches of my brain, that still small voice kept saying, "this is not a good idea" but I shut it up with cookies and off we went to the mall. We bought the stupid bear clothes, we rode the carousel, the train, and got the kids' picture taken with Santa Claus. And then I said, "I need to run down to the Children's Place for just a sec to get some shoes and jeans." So off we went. Daddy and the baby headed for a bench to wait and the twins and I headed to look at the item I despise more than any other, children's shoes. While we were in the store, the child who had NOT been lying on the couch all day said, "Mom, I don't feel good." Yeah, yeah. None of us feel good. It's winter time. "Mommy, I feel like I need to throw up." What? Oh, crap. Now, in hindsight, Supermom should have simply asked the cashier for a garbage can. Quickly. As it was, I couldn't really decide what to do.
This kid has said something like this before, and no actual vomit was produced. So I figured I had some time to play with. Not so much. I looked at my daughter, whose face had become the same shade as a piece of printer paper and said, "Well, at least get out of the store!" We headed for the exit, and naturally the moment I got within six feet of the door the store's alarm went off. I had forgotten that I was holding two pairs of shoes, jeans, and two pairs of tights.
As I wavered there in the doorway, trying to decide exactly how to handle the situation, it happened. My child puked all over the floor, smack dab in the middle of the doorway to the store. Chicken soup, peas, and carrots in all their glory were sitting there on the floor staring up at me. Now what?
To say that I was feeling a bit overwhelmed is the understatement of the century. I dropped the items I was holding rather unceremoniously on the floor and went to work trying to get my husband's attention. As I was frantically dialing his cell, I could see him standing there talking on the phone. Great. Some woman with a stroller stopped and offered me diaper wipes. As I was wiping the floor and wishing it would swallow me up, it never occurred to me that she had offered me the wipes for my child, not the floor. Poor kid was still standing there with vomit dripping off her chin. About that time my husband got there, so at least I had a fresh supply of wipes. I cleaned up the kid and the floor as best I could, and what has become officially my most memorable trip to a shopping mall was abruptly over.
I'm really beginning to have some doubts about this whole mall Santa thing. The first time we went for a picture after the baby was born, a leaky diaper landed me with a hand full of warm, wet poop in the middle of a restaurant while wearing a new white coat. Then she fell asleep on the way there, so in her first Santa picture she is wearing jeans and a shirt that I dug out of the bottom of my diaper bag and her sleeping head is turned at a completely unnatural angle. It looks like something straight out of "Awkward Family Photos."
Fortunately, the one from this year was taken before the whole barfing incident, but I'm not convinced the two are not related. I think we'll find another place to get pictures taken next year. Nothing personal, Santa.