Amber is the star of more than her fair share of my posts, but the girl is a force of nature and one of my best coping mechanisms for that kind of intensity is writing it out. Today's topic: errands with Amby.
The child is a MONSTER of a shopping companion. That's all I really need to say, but I'll illustrate the statement with a florid saga of our most recent errands together.
Wednesday morning Amber and I drove the 40 minutes to Union Gap to run two errands: Old Navy and Costco.
First we went to Old Navy to return an online order. I almost didn't do this errand because Old Navy is so cheap it's hardly ever even worth returning merchandise to, especially with a wild Amber sidekick. As a general rule, I avoid entering stores without having Amber properly restrained in a cart or stroller or straight-jacket. I trembled at the prospect of enduring an already undesirable retail errand with Amber in tow, but I wanted to exchange a jacket for a different size rather than simply return it, so I soldiered on. Amber really is too big for me to cram her into the weird little carts the clothing store provided, so I did the unthinkable and entered the store with an unrestrained, bouncing, excited Amber-balloon tugging on my arm.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Walking across the parking lot on the way into the store, Amber escaped my grip twice, dancing and feinting out of reach until I had to grab her by the coat and hold on for dear life while she pranced through the doorway telling me loudly "LET GO OF ME" and trying to twist out of my radius. Once we were inside the store and the doors were safely closed behind us, Amber broke free again and ran to pet the plastic Old Navy dog mannequin. I decided to see if she would follow me through the store rather than dragging her along behind me, so I set off for the jacket section, trying not to stress too much as Amber zigged and zagged gleefully in front of me, behind me, around me, and eventually out of sight. The girl performed every preposition I could think of--twice.
Thankfully the store had just opened,
- AND was not crowded with just a handful of customers,
- AND the space wasn't too drastically sized for me to worry about losing Amber entirely,
- AND the only obvious exit was back at the front of the store,
- AND I could hear the pitter patter of those personality-laden pink boots pounding down the aisles.
So I was only like 87% concerned that this outing would end in disaster and difficulty. With Amber involved, those are rather good numbers.
I quickly found the jacket that I wanted to get, tried it on quickly, decided it fit, all while asking Amber to stay close and repeatedly scanning the store for her bobbing blonde curls. I tried having her hold the plastic bag with the jacket exchange inside. She handed it back after five seconds saying, "you hold it, Mommy." Then she ran around the corner and disappeared. Peeling off the jacket, donning my own coat, and picking up the bag, I power walked around the corner. No Amby. I kept walking, calling out quietly "Amber? Amberrrr!" I found her at the back of the store, chatting up a patient employee who was busy pricing and organizing a cart full of clothing. I apologized to him for the interruption, told Amber that she really needed to stay with me, and led her by the arm up towards the front of the store. She twisted out of my grasp and darted away again.
Grab, twist, dash, repeat.
Eventually we made it to the front of the store to the check out line. There was one lady with her toddler daughter waiting in front of us, and one person paying at the register. Old Navy places shelves of random merchandise to tempt impulse buys out of customers standing in long lines. Or to tempt desperate mothers to abandon their principles in order to tame their children. In my experience, the only thing those displays accomplish is to make life harder for parents. I am not the impulse buy type. Amber is. She wanted to touch every single little bit of junk they had out. I blocked her from one side of shelves containing chapstick, only to have her dash to the shelves across the isle and start fingering the snacks on display there. I asked her to stop touching everything, and took her hand. She twisted out of my grasp and dashed back towards the shelves.
I grabbed her shoulder. She wriggled free.
I held her arm. She flailed and yelled, then broke free.
I blocked her dash with my legs and somehow got her clamped between my knees in an attempt to hold her in one place, rocking her back and forth in an attempt to make the restraint into a game. She grunted and complained loudly, then went boneless to break my hold. It worked.
She laid on the floor of the store, spread-eagle on her back and scuttle-slid away from me back towards the enticing shelves, propelling her prone body across the floor with her feet. Fully aware (but beyond caring) how bad it might appear to onlookers, I placed my foot lightly on Amber's chest in hopes of tricking her into thinking I'd step on her if she moved. She struggled anyways. I pressed my foot down harder on her chest. Not hard, just more firmly than before.
She screeched and started kicking me with both feet. I locked one of her waving legs between my knees, one foot still on her chest. She continued kicking me with her free leg. I couldn't spare a glance at the people in front of us in line, so I have no clue what they were thinking. I was just trying to keep Amber from destroying the entire store! I could not even pick up Amber and hold her--she's too long-limbed and powerful for that to work, especially since I was already holding some jackets in one hand. For the record, amidst all of the flailing, dashing, and grabbing, I was also trying to access Amber's humanity with words:
"Please don't touch those things."
"If you touch them, something might fall and break."
"Please stand next to me."
"We are not buying Goldfish crackers because we have some in the car."
"Please don't hit me. Hitting is sad."
"Do you want the Goldfish I packed you? Then stand by me and stop touching that stuff!"
Finally it was our turn to go to the cashier. Amber stood up and I held her hand, gripping everything else in my other hand. The minute I let go of Amber's hand to take care of business at the counter, Amber started darting around, touching things, punching buttons on the credit card machine, and generally stressing me out. I kept starting to do something with the exchange-check-out process, only to stop partway through to grab Amber or stop her from destroying something. The cashier was not very sympathetic. She just stood there staring while I did a comical back-and-forth routine between Amber and the counter. I could feel each of my nerves fraying one by one every time I turned my head between the counter and Amber's latest antic. I kept reminding Amber that if she wanted the Goldfish snack I packed for her in the car, she needed to be STILL and good in the store. Stupid bribery does not work with Amber unless I deliver the goods immediately.
Finally, Amber stood slightly more still next to me at the counter, only darting her hands out to punch buttons on the credit card machine every ten seconds. I was able to finish up the transaction quickly after that. At LAST we walked out of the store. Amber broke free and paused to pet the plastic mannequin dog again on the way out. I gripped her coat while she capered across the parking lot, nearly tripping me every time she galloped in front of my feet. Once we were in the car, she asked for her Goldfish. I did not think she deserved them, but she had calmed down at the very end of the ordeal, so in hopes of reinforcing that 30 seconds of good behavior, I gave her the snack.
I was completely exhausted, but our errands were not done. Two more stops: gas station and Costco. Sitting in the parking lot, I paused to text a friend a desperate "my child is a monster in stores!!" message. Her reply helped me see the humor in the situation: "how long before you start charging bystanders to see your circus?" She has twins so it was generous of her to allow that a mother with a single child in tow could even possibly have a hard time in a store, haha.
We rolled our last two errands into one and got gas at Costco. Of course Amber unbuckled and romped around the van while I filled the gas tank. She kept punching the automatic sliding door button on the side with the gas cap. It won't open when it is blocked by the open gas cap, Amber was delighted to discover that the door beeped a warning every time she punched the button. It sounded like she was going to fry the poor door's electronics with all of that beeping button-pushing! My pleas to desist fell on selectively deaf ears. Then she opened the other sliding door on the opposite side and tried to escape. Thankfully I finished getting gas and corralled her back in the nick of time.
When we parked at Costco 2 minutes later, you'd better believe I grabbed the first cart from the nearest cart corral, scooped my massive writhing messy-haired 4-year-old up, and dumped her unceremoniously in the double-wide Costco cart kiddie seat. Containment, at last.
"OW! YOU HURT ME!" she accused [loudly].
"You hurt my feelings when you don't listen," I snapped under my breath.
We headed inside. Silver lining: we had a well-sprung new cart that didn't list to one side or grind gears when pushed. We also got a good parking spot and the store itself was less crowded than usual. Small joys in a bleak sea. Thankfully Amber did not try to climb out of the cart (been there, done that) while I was pushing it around the store, but she did sit up high on the handlebars of the cart, facing away from me so her head 'o static curls tickled my face for half of the time and covered my line of sight for the remaining time.
We filled our cart to a modest $123 and moved through the checkout line. It was nearing lunchtime, so when Amby asked for a "hotdog and lemon juice," I wheeled our cart over to the line at the food kiosk and got her lunch. I decided that the benefits of feeding her right away outweighed the negative of indulging the youngest child with a special lunch. It was also worth filling her belly so she would not demand loudly for food and water the entire 40 minute drive home. The Shaina of 5 years ago would be utterly aghast at this apparent rewarding of bad behavior, but the current Shaina cranked up an audiobook, opened a new bag of sale-priced chocolate almond Bark Thins, and enjoyed a relatively peaceful drive home. But I'm getting ahead of myself again. We still need to get out of Costco.
Once we had Amber's hot dog and lemonade, we joined yet another queue of carts, this time to exit the store. When we reached the "bouncer" at the door she took our receipt and gave it a thorougher-than-usual inspection. Then she turned us back. We got bounced by the Costco bouncer! The cashier had neglected to scan the massive heavy [highly visible] 40-pack of water bottles that I had left in the bottom of the cart. It cost $2.99, and let me tell you, the effort to push that heavy cart against the flow of exiting customers all the way back to the other end of the store was worth waaaay more than $3 of my time, effort, and patience. I should have cut my losses, dumped the 50 pounds of water on the bouncer, and made my escape. But I do not think quickly under pressure and when the lady told me to go back, I went back, trying not to feel like a kid sent to the principal's office and trying to avoid the curious scrutiny of the other people in the line. I did not try to steal anything, so stop your judgy stares and scootch your big cart over so I can get through!
We went to a computer desk by the food service counter and waited. Nobody was there. Soooo am I just supposed to stand here with my cart in this sea of people with carts and hope that an employee notices me? After a few nervous glances around, I finally saw a guy in a red HOW CAN I HELP YOU vest wending his way through the crowd towards us. I explained what happened to him and he scanned those cursed water bottles. I paid my $3 and did my best to accept his cheerful apology for the inconvenience. I was feeling too emotionally drained to spare his feelings with a cheerful reply and instead settled for a bland "it's ok."
Another journey back across the store to the exit line. The bouncer lady at the door had clearly already forgotten me. When I said "I'm back," she just held her hand out for my receipt. Then she saw her own handwritten note on the receipt and recognition dawned. I'm sure she had seen dozens of people in the ten minutes since my first exit attempt, but still. I was feeling maxed out and not up for brainless banter. The apologies I had received for this oversight felt half-hearted at best and accusatory at worst. It wasn't my fault! Swallowing frustration, I accepted a lukewarm afterthought of an apology from the bouncer and dredged up enough goodwill to reply "well, this has never happened to me before and I guess it's bound to happen to everyone at least once."
AT LAST I was allowed to leave Costco. Amber had finished her lemonade and claimed to be so thirsty she needed a drink of my water. Not happening. The only thing this outing needed was a bathroom emergency! Thankfully we made it home without any other mishaps beyond Amber refusing to eat her hot dog because she didn't like the bun. EYE ROLL. I stooped to new depths when we got home and peeled the bun off, reheated the hot dog, cut it up, squirted a circle of ketchup next to it, and returned it to Amber. The whole point of buying lunch on the go was to avoid having to prep it and clean it up at home, daughter.
One of the few times that a picture does not say a thousand words. I wish I had managed to take a picture of my foot on Amber's chest back at Old Navy. But if I had been able to manage that feat, I probably would not have needed to use my foot to control my child.
I know this whole saga sounds so anti-Amber, but she is still my Amby and I love her in spite it all. I need long breaks of alone time in a silent room after intense moments like our errands, but Amber is always waiting for me on the other side. Two days this week she sat and listened to me read stories to her! Quentin Blake's Treasury is full of the most fun stories with his signature quirky artwork. I love it. Amber appreciated the silly pictures. I took some surreptitious pictures after I finished reading and Amber took the book saying "now I read to you." I NEED these kinds of pictures with Amber to get me through the less-photogenic times.
Black and white suited these sweet pictures best because it's hard for a cell phone camera to record accurate colors with a big window behind the subjects. My click and hope photography method yielded some pleasing results this time.
A quick shot in color because her eyes are such an interesting shade of gray-blue-green.
Now that our hearts are all warmed back up from these happy pictures, I have to finish the Wednesday story. Sadly it did not end when the errands ended. Later that evening I had to drive Jay and Rose to the church for their activities. Since Jeff was still at track practice, Amber had to come with us. She refused to let Jay help her buckle and started kicking and hitting him when he tried, poor guy. So I unbuckled, got out, opened the sliding door, and buckled Amber myself, telling her off for kicking her benevolent brother. She kicked the back of my chair for half of the drive. At the church, I pulled up to the sidewalk by the door. Jay and Rose jumped out and ran to the door. Suddenly Amber was at the door with them. She had unbuckled and jumped out at the same time as the did!
I rolled down the window and called to her to come back to the van. She ignored me. I asked her to come back again. She refused. Jay and Rose tried to herd her back to the van, but to no avail. I tried showing her that we were leaving by driving around to the side of the building, but she gleefully kept running. So I put the van in park, got out, and went to retrieve the child. She saw me coming and ran for it. Back and forth she ran across the side of the church, back and forth. When I got too close for her liking, she dashed into the parking lot. ARG!
I kept talking to Amber while we circled each other, trying different phrases in hopes of accessing her deeply buried humanity. But if there's one thing Amby loves, it's a chase. She's just like Mercy Watson. She wanted to turn this showdown into a game. I did not. I strained a muscle in my lower leg while running on rutted ice on Tuesday, and I did not want to run on it. But we were getting nowhere. Finally I walked up behind Amber and broke into a run the same time she did, sprinting wildly across the parking lot, back onto the sidewalk before getting close enough to grab her shoulder. Amber is FAST. Once I had her, I loaded her back into the van, buckled her forcibly, and left.
The whole final showdown at the church lasted a mere ten or eleven minutes, but it felt like hours and it put me over the edge after my draining morning of Amb-wrangling errands. We picked Jeff up from track practice on our way home and I was totally deflated. It was such a relief to tell him all about the difficulties of the day. At one point I told Jeff "You deal with hundreds of teenagers all day every day, and I only have ONE FOUR YEAR OLD. How come it's so HARD for me?" Jeff's response was that he gets a different set of teenagers every hour, so it's not the same type of entrenchment that I experience with Amber, and none of the teenagers are Amber.
So true, husband.
There is nobody in this world quite like our fierce wild Amber-child.
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