Jingle Hell

When your kids start to out number you, you quickly find that doing stuff you used to take for granted becomes hard. Really hard. Like soul sucking hard. For example, going out into public. I have four kids, so anytime I get to leave the house with just one or two kids, I sometimes get a little cocky. Hey, I've gone lots of places with all four in tow and it was fine ... ish. I mean, no one died, got lost, or got arrested, so that's a success! Right? 

Well, let's talk about my oldest son's Holiday concert. My husband was working, so I decided to take my two youngest with me to the show. My oldest daughter attends a different school, so it was just me and my two little shadows: Thing 1 who is three years old and Thing 2 who is one. 

The concerts at my oldest son's elementary school are held in the auditorium. It is always packed on concert days, so, a wise woman would do well to get there early. Unfortunately, I am not a wise woman, so after parking 2 miles from the school and carrying one kid and dragging the other, I made it into the building. Ok, feeling a little sweaty, but no big deal. Brush it off. You made it! Now, let's find a place to sit. 

I scanned the crowd and actually found two seats near the front! My luck is changing, I thought, as I sat Thing 1 on a chair and put Thing 2 in my lap. Easy peasy. We'll just sit here and enjoy the show. Alas, it was not to be. 

I don't believe I actually saw any of the show. My eyes were fixed on my one year old who was doing her best imitation of Gollum screaming "MINE" every time I tried to take something dangerous out of her hands. Where was she finding these dangerous objects? In my freaking purse. But here's the kicker, I let her rifle through my purse in the hopes that it would distract her long enough to get us through the concert. But once you open Pandora's purse, there's no turning back. I had created a monster. She must have snatched every pointy thing from my bag: my keys, a pen, a metal credit card case. It quickly turned into a game of tug of war. She, trying to pull the bag and its stabby contents to her chest and me, desperately trying to pull it away from her in the opposite direction. She was enjoying scattering my business cards all over the floor and sucking on my keys and was not about to give up the bag. "Why is she so strong?" I thought to myself desperately as I continued wrestling with her. 

It was about this time, that she reached into my bag and angrily pulled out one of the maxi pads I keep in there for emergencies and tossed it across the aisle. She looked up at me with an expression that said, "Your move, bitch." Of course I let go of the bag and scrambled after the maxi pad. 

By this time I am actively sweating. I am faintly aware that my son's class is singing, so I pop my head up periodically to smile at him. He appears to be mouthing the words to "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas. "It's really lovely, but I'm kind of busy whisper-screaming at my daughter to please shut up and sit on my lap. I find myself frantically offering her various bribes, except that's useless cause she's one and doesn't give a damn about anything and cannot be bought. She laughs and gives me a toothy grin as she tosses a business card for a company called "Pure Romance" (don't ask) over her shoulder. I resemble a gopher, periodically popping my head up to smile encouragingly at my miserably singing son or snap a fuzzy cell phone picture. 

Throughout all of this, my youngest son is actually behaving! He's sitting next to me fairly quietly. Thank God for that, right? Wrong. As soon as the show ends, it's his turn to go rogue. As everyone is filing out, he decides that he's mad as hell and he's not gonna take it anymore. He throws himself onto the floor and begins to wail! I have my daughter on one hip and I'm trying to pull him to his feet, but he's gone boneless. He now weighs at least 100 pounds and I can't seem to pull him up. I decide, "Screw this, I'm just gonna leave him there!" and I start to walk away. He is not following me and I'm starting to get the stink eye from other parents observing the scene. The school principal even goes up to my wailing child in an attempt to console him. He looks at me like "Lady, is this your kid?" I avoid his stare pretending not to know the child who now seems to be speaking in tongues. 

After a few more seconds, I decide that I've finally had enough. Even if I have to drag him out by one foot, I'm getting out of there. I don't care who's watching (or judging). As if he sensed the impending danger, Thing 1 stops crying. I pull him to his feet and hightail it out of there. Needless to say, it was not my most successful kid outing! 

What's the lesson here? Kids can be little assholes sometimes and the degree of assholery will increase in direct proportion to how important it is for them to be quiet. Attending a festive holiday concert? Your little asshole might pull some sanitary napkins out of your purse and toss them at the horrified old lady sitting next to you. These things happen people! And...you will get through it. You might have to enter witness protection for a few years, but it will pass. And when they look at you and smile in the way only they can, you'll remember: they will only be this little once.  Enjoy the ride. It goes super fast.