Cordy had to accompany me today for a few quick errands – to the post office, and then to my work, to complete a task I forgot to wrap up yesterday.
If there’s one thing this child does not like, it’s running errands. It’s hard enough to run errands with a toddler, but make that toddler an unwilling participant, and it becomes cruel and unusual punishment on level with Gitmo.
First was the post office, to mail some papers that could not wait another day. Walking in the door, I noticed the line, about 4 people deep. Not so bad, I thought, we can make it through this, since we’ve endured longer lines before.
I took my place in line, with my squirming toddler on my hip. Letting her down would be a disaster – she’d be out the door with the next stranger who would open the door for her faster than I could beg someone to hold my place in line. So she is forced to stay in my arms, a fate she normally doesn’t mind, unless we are somewhere she doesn’t want to be.
In under a minute, the boredom was apparent. She threw her puppy stuffed animal to the ground, generally the first expression of displeasure. Trying to bend down to pick up her prized toy, while still holding a protesting toddler and not losing my balance due to my pregnant belly, is quite the task. More people were now in line behind us, and the room was becoming crowded.
Then she shifted to her new strategy. “Help! Help!” she cried to the strangers in line. One more person in front of me, I kept chanting to myself, while trying to shush her in my most cheerful voice in order to convince people this was a normal game, and she was fine. I just needed to get these papers mailed and we could leave.
“Help! Mommy! Daddy! Help!” she continued. Oh great, now people are staring at us, probably wondering exactly what my relationship is with this little girl. I tried smiling at them as I met their questioning glares. They didn’t smile back. Oh, boy. But it was my turn at the counter, so it would all be over soon.
I didn’t realize that sending something Express Mail requires it to be in a special envelope, which the postal worker handed me and asked me to step aside and address. I should have realized the post office would only work to prolong this ordeal. Cordy looked back at the line of people, and gave a quiet, sad, Oscar-worthy, “Help” to the jury waiting behind me, while leaning back against my arm. My back and arm were ready to give out at this point.
Still only having one hand available, and picking up puppy twice while writing, I scribbled the address on the new envelope, trying to keep it passably legible so that this maddening scene wouldn’t have been in vain, while fighting off Cordy’s attempts to grab the pen.
Then she perked up again, and shouted, “Ayudame! Ayudame!” (Spanish for “Help me”) I froze, then slowly turned my head and looked back into the line. Our neighborhood has a high percentage of Spanish speakers, and sure enough, someone understood her. Great, now she’s managed to alienate me to the crowd in two languages. I forced the envelope back at the postal worker, paid for my postage, and turned to run.
Cordy, of course, had to throw her puppy one more time. A nice, older Hispanic man picked the puppy up, and said something to Cordy in Spanish as he handed the puppy back to her. I smiled at him, said thank you (in English), and rushed out the door in embarrassment, not wanting to know what he could have possibly said to her.
Going to my office wasn’t nearly as traumatic. When we walked in the door, I said hi to one of the women I knew, and Cordy once again tried her “Help! Help!” routine. “Sorry, kid, that won’t work on her – she’s seen your picture on my desk, and knows you’re mine,” I told my sullen toddler. Cordy didn’t try it again.
You know, I had planned to be a good mom to her when she was a teen, by doing my best not to embarrass her. But the way she’s been acting lately, I think that embarrassing her as a teen is only fitting retribution, and I will remind her of today when she’s 15, rolls her eyes at me and complains, “But mooooom, I don’t want you to come to the movies with me and my friends! You’ll embarrass me!”
Yes. Yes I will.
Sweet, sweet revenge.
I hear you. I’m totally getting Cakes back.
That’s a great idea… I have LOTS to embarrass them over. Oooohh…. the plots I’m imagining. And I HATE the post office with kids. Next time, ask the lady if she can write it out for you.
On fine spring day after a trying 2 hours of shopping with my toddlers I was loading our groceries in the trunk of the car. My daughter, all of 2/2 at the time yells “Mommy, don’t make me ride in the trunk! You always make me ride in the trunk!” I really wanted to melt into the ground (or make her ride in the trunk!)
Now she is 12 and I am planning on “bustin’ a move” as a chaperone at her V-day dance….
Jennifer
HAHA! Wow, she’s a smart little cookie! 😉 I about spit out my coffee when I read the “Ayudame! Ayudame!” As far as the revenge part, yes… revenge is sweet. My now 19 year old daughter could attest to that. LOL… Especially if you have pictures to help out with visuals and add even more to the embarassment. 😉
We are stockpiling blackmail items right now for Paul. He will never be home late as long as our pictures are backed up.
When did the ‘Mommy Daddy’ aspect of this start?
Oh Christina! I feel your pain! Dawson pulls a little trick in the grocery store (or any store for that matter) where he won’t sit in the cart and when I tell him he has to hold my hand, he drops to the ground and screams “No!!!!!” It’s horribly embarassing because my husband manages a grocery store. I always feel like the Black Sheep Wife or something.
If you start practicing now, you can embarrass her in two or maybe even three languages.
haha, She is a smart little cookie isn’t she!! I’ve already managed to embarrass my 5 year old at school by asking her “Which one did you say was your boyfriend?” her face went bright red and she said “Moooooooom!”
OMG has your daughter been i-Chatting my boys? They do this to me ALL the time.
And THAT is why I don’t take my kids with me to the post office anymore.
Never again.
I had a similar incident with my son at the postoffice when he was about a year old. I remember he wasn’t walking but he was crawling. I was holding him and some packages I needed to mail and he kept kicking his shoes off. When I finally made it to the counter the same thing happened that I needed to put the stuff in a priority envelope and address it. They also refused to take one of my boxes because it already had writing on the sides. So there I was trying to juggle Prince Alexi and stuff the envelope and fill out the forms. Finally I let him down and he crawled around the very tiny lobby floor as people looked at me in horror, sure I was a complete looser of a mom. It was insane. Then I had to attempt to get back out to the car with one of his shoes in my pocket, no idea where the other one was (found it in the car later, PA on one hip and the package on the other.
It’s been three years and I have never taken him back to the post office since! I was sure I was in hell that day.
I love that last line!!! Payback is a bi*ch! *LOL*
They seem to know just the right thing to say to embarass you at the worst possible moment, don’t they?
this is awesome… kids are just too cute.. though i cant imagine it was an enjoyable experience for you!!!! am linking to your post if you dont mind.
Excellent recap. Actually, perfect recap! I also had to go to the post office with my own little bundle of trouble, and had to go through the same (minus the lovely, “help help”) thing. Kid on hip, squirmy kid on hip, balancing eBay package on other hip, writing check with kid on hip, yada yada.
I truly want to believe that if I was in the line behind you, I’d at least have had the guts to walk up to you and make you show me that you had photos of her in your wallet. Some proof that she was really yours. Although I guess I’d have to wonder to myself how smart a kidnapper you were to bring the kid into a Post Office with you.