A trip to Crazytown, AKA Thursday

I spent yesterday living in my car. While it was moving. We went here, there and everywhere and by our last stop, I was so done, I was ready to camp out in the lobby so I didn't have to drive home. Again.

I had to run an errand for the community band which involved driving an hour (with two children) to wait for 5 minutes and be done. So since I had to go all the way to the "big city," I tried to make the most of it with a few extra stops. And then we still had Hubby's concert to go to. This is what I learned.

Forced nap time inside a moving vehicle is still almost as peaceful as the rare nap time at home. Except that I couldn't nap too, or risk driving off into a corn field.

An hour nap when they normally get nothing will not make children sweet and docile at the mall. It will turn them into screaming, running banshees, much like how they act with no nap. Blink. Blink. Figure that one out.

Clothes shopping for Mommy with two fully mobile children who understand what it is you are attempting to do is like shopping with that Verizon Wireless guy. Except instead of "Can you hear me now?" you hear:

Mommy do you like this one?

Mommy do you like this?

Mommy, do you like this?

Mommy how about this?

Clothes shopping for them isn't any better.

Mommy is this my size?

Mommy is this my size?

Mommy is this my size?

Mommy is this my size?

Being "allowed" to run willy-nilly through a mall means the children will spend the hour drive home making strange, disturbing noises and giggling like they're about to pee their little pants. Oh, my kingdom for earplugs.

It is not a good idea to wear light-up shoes to a concert in a dark auditorium, especially when the wearer is physically incapable of being still and wants to "clap with his feet." Halfway through the second song I made him take them off. Those dang things are bright and I was pretty sure the ladies sitting behind us were one clap away from seizures.

A resealable bag of bear crackers is a perfect oh-crap-I-need-snacks-but-we're-already-running-late find, but the squirming will reach its breaking point during the absolute quietest part of the song and will be the loudest treat known to man. Ever.

And then the snack cups will be dropped, twice, and small bears will be crushed underfoot in a place where you weren't supposed to have food or drink.

When one child needs to pee, both will. This meant I missed a 70-bar piano solo of one of my favorite jazz songs. Yes, 70 bars is a LONG time. And they have very tiny bladders. How is that possible?

But the moral of the story is, we all survived. The rugrats got to watch Hubby play, they did NOT in fact shout his name at an inappropriate time during the concert and were out within 30 seconds of the final drive home.

Still, I'm not doing it again anytime soon.