Chasin’ Kids….

This morning I decided to make a quick trip to the store. That should be your first clue that all this breastfeeding I’m doing is killing my brain cells.  A “quick trip” anywhere with four kids is like sucking jello through a straw. It sounds easy enough, but there is always that chance of it getting blown out your nose and really, is that the way you want your image to be remembered?

I get everyone ready.  Snowsuits, boots, mittens, hats… this takes roughly two hours… because once all the snow gear is on, two of the kids have to go potty. It’s like they are auditioning for a twisted Japanese game show called “POTTY MONSTERS”.

The prize is who can make Mommy down the bottle of tequila first.

Bonus points for who gets her to lock herself in the bathroom and shout, “GIVE ME JUST TWO MINUTES FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY!”

We now  are ready to go to the store. I base my store pick not by the sales or the price of meat, but the store that has the PLAYLAND. The boys will be able to play which will leave me with the two girls. Angelin is seven and too old to enter Playland, and the baby is much too young.  The boys LOVE Playland so I sign them in and the girls and I begin our journey of shopping.

Ten minutes into our venture I hear a voice on the loud speaker “Jaime Chase, please come to Playland.  JAIME CHASE come to Playland PLEASE.”  Panic fills me.  I rush over to be greeted by the woman in charge of Playland with an exasperated glare.

She doesn’t waste a minute and before I could ask what the problem was, she snaps, “Jacob has decided he doesn’t want to follow the rules.”

“What did he do?”

I don’t hear any crying.  I see kids playing and all seems happy. HAPPY.  Happy Kids… happy happy happy!  Isn’t that what PLAYLAND is all about? HAPPY KIDS?

“Jacob doesn’t want to keep his clothes on, well, Jacob doesn’t want to keep his pants on.”

To my horror, my eyes find Jacob. He is wearing a shirt, boots, and his baseball hat.. but no pants.  No pants… and to make matters worse, he’s wearing his “cape”. The cape is a blanket that acts as a “Superman Cape”. This makes perfect sense because his brother is Spiderman.

Jacob is standing on top of a table with his little “ding dong” exposed for all the world to see.

Yes. I said DING DONG.

“Look, Mommy!  I can fly!” My thoughts are interrupted by my pantless son.

“HI Mommy!”  He says this with all the sweetness a kid who actually has on pants would sound. If I close my eyes, I could believe he had on pants, because wouldn’t kids with pants on in a public place sound so sweet?

I ask, what I think is a logical question, “Jacob, where are your pants?”

“Pants?”

He is of course, puzzled. Pants? One must wear pants? Oh, you silly woman, how I must humor your lack of intelligence!

“YES! Your pants! Where are they?”

“I don’t know!”

“Jacob Connor, put your pants on right now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You will!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

I realize I am arguing with a pantless two year old and could feel a growing audience behind me. I grab his pants and in one swift moment (Before you could say DING DONG) I put his pants back on his little legs.

This is where the fun starts.

My two year old son lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

“NO PANTS!  MY PENIS IS HOT!  IT NEEDS TO BREATHE!  MEAN MOM!  MEAN MOM!  MY PENIS IS HOT! BLOW ON IT! IT’S SO HOT”

He is SCREAMING this mantra loud. Huffing and puffing to cool down the penis that is surely scorching from the heat of his underwear AND pants.

Whilst I can understand his two year old speech, most of the people standing around can only decipher, “PENIS IS HOT.”   For added effect, (as huffing and puffing wasn’t working) he starts fanning himself between his legs and tries to rip off his pants.

Despite his fire hot penis, once we are at home, he rips off his pants, and sure enough, after he carefully examines his penis, he lets out a sigh. “OH! IT’s okay!”

With my two year old son, happy, pantless, and with a cooled down penis, I tell my husband the story of my day.

I’m tired.

I think I need a hug.

Perhaps even, a double dose of sympathy in the form of wine in a chilled wine glass.

Instead, my husband snickers and says, “Well, jeez, Jaime, the kid’s penis was hot, what did you want him to do?”

Ian says he didn’t mean to sound insensitive.

Just like I didn’t mean for the book to fly out of my hand and hit him hard in the head.

My hand got hot.