Took the kids to the Lego store last night for the monthly build. We haven’t gone to one in forever (who am I kidding? I’ve never been to one. My sweet husband, who took them last time, hasn’t been in months and probably only went last time because I suggested it). Surprise! The builds are not on Monday nights, they’re on Tuesday.
Tried again this evening (the mall, twice in one week. That was probably my first mistake). My kids were concerned about missing it tonight after missing it yesterday, but they also 1) didn’t get their school work done very quickly and 2) didn’t want to forego playing with friends this evening if they didn’t have to. So, after telling the kids multiple times this afternoon that the build starts at 5:00 and goes until they run out of supplies or the mall closes, we arrive about 7:45. Wrong. The Lego build, which is on the first Tuesday of the month, has very specific hours: 5:00-7:00. Kids cope with having missed it. Not too big a deal.
(Side note: Lego store rocks. Even though the kids were handling the disappointment both times REALLY well, the Lego employees seemed to realize what a loser mom my kids are stuck with. So, they gave us last month’s Lego build set when we arrived yesterday and discovered we were off by a day. Tonight, a totally different employee snuck back and secretly bagged up this month’s build set, tracked my kids down in the store separately and handed them each a bag on the down low. Bless them. They can’t make up for a life time of living with me, but they sure did try).
The kids brought their own money to the mall to buy Sweet CeCe’s frozen yogurt, since I wasn’t willing to spring for it when we were at the mall yesterday. We head there. We debate cup sizes – the “Sweet” size for a flat price or the “Sweeter” size for a price per ounce. My daughter chooses the flat rate and heads off. My son (who thinks ice cream and frozen yogurt are a food group unto themselves) chooses the per ounce cup. This is not surprising. I’m expecting him to gorge himself. It’s his money, so I leave it up to him. I help my daughter get her yogurt and she goes off to add toppings. My son tells me “not too much” as I start filling his. I am shocked. Apparently, he’s really watching his spending.
The problem is, he isn’t actually tall enough to SEE the yogurt being dispensed. So he’s jumping up and down trying to keep tabs on it. During one of his jumps, he reaches out and attempts to give himself a little boost using the tray of the yogurt machine. 10 seconds later, I am COVERED from hip to toe in some combination of Cheerful Chocolate and Vanilla Bean. The trays from the machine are on the ground. I am not cheerful. I have frozen yogurt in my sandals. I am standing in pond of
frozen melted yogurt. My daughter has discovered that the toppings bar has exactly her favorite topping and is excitedly trying to tell me about it from across the way. I am dripping and trying to apologize to the sweet girl running the store. Bless her heart. I nearly beg her to let me help her clean it up. I mean, it is a disaster. And 1 hour before closing time. I’d have hated us. Instead, she is incredibly sweet. My son finishes putting the toppings on his yogurt. He is much more selective than usual. His frugal side is showing. He’s trying to keep the cost low since he knows he’s got to pay for it. Just a few things, and one single piece of cookie dough. We check out. His is actually cheaper than hers. We make a run for it before they kick us out of the mall.
We needed to go by the grocery store on our way home.I’d have skipped it, but we really did need just a couple of things. So, we make our way through Publix, me with one pants leg soaked through-and-through from top-to-bottom with chocolate yogurt and yogurt squishing in the bottom of my sandals, the kids carrying their Sweet CeCe’s so they can finish it up (and head straight to bed when we get home, it’s getting late). We’re nearly done shopping, and rounding the corner to head to a register when my son somehow manages to flip his yogurt cup, with remaining yogurt and toppings, upside down and into the middle of the aisle. Seriously, two chocolate puddles in one evening? My son looks sheepish, but torn. He doesn’t really want to write-off the yogurt and toppings. Head in hands, I send the kids together to the restroom, which is within sight, to clean themselves up and bring me back some paper towels. While they’re gone, I remember there are some wipes in my purse and manage to get it cleaned up. I go to meet the kids at the restroom, holding a chocolate puddle and a mess in my hands, where my daughter is emerging with a handful of paper towels. I explain that I got it cleaned up. She is relieved. He begins to slowly, quietly melt. He glues himself to my side and buries his face. He is quietly crying. Then, not so quietly. Then, full on sobbing. “You’re tired,” I say, “we need to get you home.”
“I’m not tired,” he says, “I’m sad.” “I really wanted that piece of cookie dough.”
We check out, sandals still squishing, and head home.
Photo Credit: Flickr