It was silly, really. But any of you with kids know this. That sometimes the silliest little things set them off.
Like tan pants. That don't go all the way down to one's feet.
The kpkrew was admiring the Muppet fountain. It is pretty neat. Especially, for Piper, the money at the bottom.
At home we called her the magpie. Because of her penchant for stealing, er, collecting, shiny things. For a while I had to hide my jewelry box. Not that there's anything of value in it, except sentimental. That phase coincided with her phantom sketcher phase. In which we'd turn around and find, on a wall or door or leather chair (ouch) a ballpoint pen-and-ink sketch of Piper. Preschooler style. Big circle to represent both head and body. Four lines sticking out equaling arms and legs. With little circles on the ends of those to represent hands and feet. Little circle in the lower half of the big body/head circle. That would be the bellybutton. (Did you know that the navel is one of the most important body parts, to a preschooler? Yes. Because to a very young child, they are the center of the universe. And their own navel is the center of their own being, and therefore the very very center of the universe. Its true.) The phantom sketcher did some damage, until we trained her to make her mark on the foggy bathroom windows, with her finger. Instead of on the leather. With ballpoint pen. She also gathered quite a stash of coin, during the magpie stage.
Which was why she was behind me, trying to squeeze up toward the edge of the fountain.
And when I stepped back to make room for her, I stepped ON her. Knocked her down.
Yes, she was THAT close. Like, she was an iron-on patch on the back of my pants.
Tears and protests ensued. She was scraped. There was blood. Scant blood, just a flesh wound, but she was royally mad.
Because apparently, I am the meanest mother in the world. To go about flinging my children on the ground. On purpose.
The time came for the next show, and she was still pouting. Didn't want to go. She was just being "that way." Parents of four-year-olds, past or present, raise your hands. You know.
I wasn't about to drag her in there, to ruin it for everyone.
EVERYone, everyone. Not just our family, everyone. So Doug came to the rescue and volunteered to sit with her. So the rest of us could go.
My hero!
Don't forget, though, that he's handicapped. Can't see the Cheap 3D Tricks anyway.
But he still gets big points for ensuring that I don't miss my beloved Muppets.
I was bummed that the drama made us miss the "holding pen" time. The time to explore the holding pen area. Check for the key under the mat. Find the Net Full of Jello. Take photos of ourselves in our 3D glasses. We were ushered almost instantly into the theater. The fee-ay-ter. Sydneyism. All the way to the end of the row, as per Sam the Eagle's instructions.
Click HERE for how to get into the fee-ay-ter
Conor, predictably, loved this show. What's not to love? Except Bean Bunny. He's not a real Muppet, in my humble opinion. And he's a whiner, to boot.
When we exited the theater, no Doug. No Piper. They have misappeared. Sydneyism. Actually that one might be a Piperism from a couple of years ago.
Search high, search low. Search the dump shop, then high and low again.
They're gone.
And of course my phone battery is dead.
Strike up a conversation with a nice dad who's watching over his stroller, with a fast-asleep set of twins in it. He benembers seeing our beloveds. Sitting and pouting.
I finally decide that we will hang tough and wait for them. They must've gone into the theater after us.
When they finally reappear, there are smiles galore.
Doug's mad parenting skills had saved the day.
Also known as "How to Use Guilt and Shame to Your Parental Advantage."