Fitting In.

The Parakeet had two trips for business this month.  They were her first over-nights away from Little O.  The hilarity came, however, before she ever left Chicago.
Naturally, she needed new clothes for this type of thing.  She is her mother’s daughter in that regard. She is also her mother’s daughter in that she was able to pack in a color scheme with two pairs of shoes for the whole affair, but that’s another post. 
Time in which the Parakeet had the magic three before her trips was sparse.  The Magic Three?  A Car, Daytime hours, and no Owen.
So…in a desperate attempt two days before the trip to find just one more thing or two – she took Owen in the stroller to Sears. (it’s walkable and rumor had it there was a sale).
She took a bunch of business-y clothes into the dressing room with a toddler who had already been yelling “all done” for five minutes as he continued to get stuck in the way-too-close-together racks of this barely a department store’s clearance sale.
The Parakeet groaned in the frustration of being too big for one size and too small for another while O sat on the bench and played with a toy from his diaper bag.  For thirty seconds.  Then, he had to wiggle down and “explore” their little room while Mommy squeezed herself into something else. 
Then, he found the door.  The Parakeet had locked it, of course, but Little O wanted out and to ‘balk wound’  (walk around).  He pulled on the handle repeatedly yelling , “help,  help”
The Parakeet shushed him, told him he was fine and said all the other things you say to a kid when you want him to stop acting like a kid because you have your own s**t to attend to.   No one could blame O with being bored of his surroundings – especially as it was approaching five o’clock – the child’s witching hour.
He continued this repeated one word phrase over and over “Help! Help! Help! Help!”
A woman a few stalls over said,  “You might want to do something.  People are going to think you’re hurting that kid.”
oh jeez.
That hadn’t occured to her.  She was much more focused on whether black pants or a black skirt would be better with a lavendar top.  Ugh.
“O” she said sternly.  “Sit there and play with this truck. We can’t go anywhere for just a minute.  Your mommy is in her underwear.”

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3 responses to “Fitting In.

  1. LOVE IT. Been there–done it.

  2. Did he vomit? Eat a dead bug? Stick himself with a pin? Consider yourself lucky…

  3. Oh the judgments … they start immediately and never stop.

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