I totally understand. Her face was etched in my mind the moment I first saw her fourteen years ago. Well, technically, it was the fuchsia dress she was wearing, but that's a different story altogether.
Turns out she's still driving the boys crazy.
But I'm not jealous. No sir. Not one bit. I'm too exhausted to be jealous.
Mini-Me and 'The Wubster', though? They've got the greenest blue eyes I've ever seen.
The other night was supposed to be a fun, treat-filled, quality-family-bonding kind of evening. Mini-Me read (was read) forty books, completing the local library's summer reading program, and we wanted to celebrate. Plus, he didn't cry when I dropped him off at the sitter's. It was a good day!
Turns out the boys had other plans. They were blood thirsty. They were ready to divide and conquer. They were hell-bent on waging warfare on hallowed grounds.
"This is exciting! Mommy hasn't been to the library with us, yet. You can show her where all the books are."
[Ten years in the area and we just got library cards this summer. This relationship was long overdue.]
"Why?"
"Well, she just hasn't. She has to work during the day when we've been going."
"Why?"
"Mommy's not a teacher. She doesn't get as long of a summer vacation as I do."
"Why?"
Hindsight has proven this interrogative style to actually be a code system more complex and difficult to break than that used by the Wind talkers of WWII. Mini-Me was positioning himself for battle while distracting us with redundancy.
Inside the serene lobby of the library the subterfuge continued.
"Mommy, this is where we return our books. I can do it!"
"Mommy, this way…this is where they keep my books."
"Mommy, here are the Thomas books."
Rach and I looked at each other and shared a "Wow! What an independent, responsible boy he's becoming. This is fun!" moment. It was a fleeting moment.
Hearing the code words "Tank Engine," 'The Wubster', a tank engine himself, toddled his mommy towards the non-fiction books and out of Mini-Me's sight. This could be post-traumatic stress talking, but I'm pretty sure he was laughing deeply and maniacally at the time.
"Where's mommy? Mommy! Mommy! I want mommy!"
"Shhh, buddy. She's with 'The Wubster'. She'll be right back. Shhh. We're in the library; we have to be quiet."
"WAAAAAAAHHH!"
[That font's called 'Matisse'. I was looking for 'EarPiercingScreamWhenIReallyHaveNoReasonToScreamInAPublicPlaceExceptToMortifyMyParents'. It must not have transferred over from my old computer. ]
"I WANT MOMMY! WAAAAAAAHHH!"
"Buddy, please! Shhh. Let's go get your reading prizes."
'The Wubster' toddled Rach back into sight wearing an 'I've-got-mommy-and-you-don't' smile. Mini-Me, content that mommy was nearby, focused his attention on his reading prizes, especially the day-glo green book bag that was too large and therefore sure to eventually cause issues on top of the jealousy. It did.
For the time being, though, I perused new picture books, Rach sifted through board books with 'The Wubster', and Mini-Me quietly loaded up his new bag with Bob the Builder books. It was another fleeting moment.
"Whoa, buddy! You've gotta lotta books there! Why don't you just pick two of those so other kids have some to choose?"
"Why?"
"Because ten Bob the Builder books are too many."
"Why? I want all of them! WAAAAAAAHHH!"
'The Wubster' looked up from the board book he was chewing on, realized Mini-Me was stealing the show, and sought his own glory.
"Unngh unnngh unnnngh ennhh Ennnhhh EnnnnHHHH!"
"WAAAAAAAHHH!"
"EnnnnHHHHH!"
"Mommy I want up! WAAAAAAAHHH!"
"Hey! Why don't you go with the sacrificial lamb mommy and pick out two DVDs. I'll take care of the books."
They did. But it wasn't easy. Nor was it quiet. The book bag became an issue.
Finally with tears wiped and books and DVDs in hand, we headed for the front desk. 'The Wubster' sensed time was running out to make his presence known, so he made his presence known. Rach escorted him out of the building before Marian could offer a single shush. Turns out Mini-Me's incredibly attentive.
"Where's mommy? Mommy! Mommy! I want mommy! I WANT MOMMY! WAAAAAAAHHH!"
"Buddy! It's the library. You can't cry in the library. They have signs about it."
*sniff* "Where?"
"Up there." I pointed to the arched entry over the children's area where the word 'Kids' is written in at least ten different languages. It was worth a shot.
Mini-Me paused briefly as he looked up.
"I WANT MOMMY! WAAAAAAAHHH!"
Rach heard the tantrum from outside, came back in and, from 100 feet away, gave him a look that grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out of the library. Kicking and screaming, of course. I was left alone in line, wearing my cloak of mortification and drowning in the now awkward silence.
"Why's that boy crying, mommy?"
"He must be tired. He's had a long day."
If only they knew the Trojan War brewing in front of their eyes.
If only we were smart enough to go straight home.
"Let's run to IGA real quick."
"I want to go in!"
"Only if you promise not to cry."
"I promise…"
[Twenty feet into the store later]
"Unngh unnngh unnnngh enhh Enhhh EnHHHH!"
"WAAAAAAAHHH!"
"EnHHHHH!"
"Mommy I want mommy! WAAAAAAAHHH!"
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