Cha Cha Cha

A few years ago, when Biscuit was about eight or nine, he and I went through a phase (one of many) during which we would follow each sentence with the phrase "cha cha cha". It went a little something like this:

"Biscuit, what do you want for dinner? Cha cha cha."

"Um, pizza? Cha cha cha."

"No, we already had pizza this week. Cha cha cha."

"But we love pizza. Cha cha cha."

"Yes, but too much pizza isn't good for you. Cha cha cha."

"OK, how about hamburgers? Cha cha cha."

Silly, right? Sometimes it would happen during coversations we were having very quickly and it sounded even sillier:

"Biscuit, get your shoes on! We have to leave right now or you're going to be late for school! Cha cha cha!"

"I'm tying them as fast as I can! Cha cha cha!"

"Well you need to tie them FAAAAASTER! Cha cha cha!"

You get the idea. It made no sense at all, neither one of us knew why we did it, but it was one of those things we did that's a funny memory now. As the Beans are growing and changing daily, they're beginning to do funny things that I hope we remember, though I'm sure we'll forget more than we keep stashed away in the files alongside the "cha cha cha" phase and the time Biscuit accidentally sprayed Uncle Poopypants square in the face with a mouthful of milk (in Biscuit's defense it was a complete accident on his part, and Uncle Poopypants acknowledged that he had pretty much brought it upon himself, though that didn't diminish the gross-out factor-- but, moving on...). Today each one of the Beans did something hilarious. Naturally, Hubby missed both of them but hey, at least now I know a blog can be good for something other than an alternative for therapy.

The Beans and I went to Target together today. It was just the three of us and I expeced the norm-- lots of oohs and ahs and "Oh, they're so cute!"s. That didn't really happen today. Why? Because Pipsi saw shoes and was not allowed to eat them. Woe was Pipsi! And she decided the whole store, nay, the whole universe should know how displeased she was with Mommy's coldhearted unwillingness to allow her to eat all the pretty shoes.

That was the quickest Target trip we've taken in the Beans' time here on Earth. It was also the loudest, with the greatest number of people looking at me with a mixture of pity, annoyance and revulsion. Yes, she's a tad upset! We'll be leaving now!

We arrived at the register and the clerk immediately dropped the bottle of Clorox I was intending to purchase smack on the floor. She picked it up and dumped it onto the counter, where it dribbled miserably all over the place.

"Ew! Um, this one's broken. I can sell you it but maybe you want another one?" The inflection in her voice made it sound like a question but the syntax was really better suited to a statement, however, since one of my Beans was still playing Wahmbulance and managing to squeeze out a couple of almost-real tears, I decided not to point out that sometimes a person can truly enjoy a mellifluous agreement between syntax and inflection and that the two, when used well in conjunction with one another can vastly improve one's communication skills. Instead I flipped the (jogging, fortunately) stroller around and spun off back into the Aisle of Cleaning Products to procure a new bottle of Clorox that wasn't in need of a diaper. Because I don't want to have to diaper anything else in my world. There is, after all, only so much I can take.

Pipsi was pleased by the quick-moving ride and offered everyone in the store a respite from her malcontent and I am forever grateful to Dan Dan the Trainer Man's Pilates class for the fact that I made it halfway across the store and back at a jog and arrived back at the register not even breathing hard. Huzzah!

But wait, what was this? Alas, the clerk was checking out another customer. My hurry had been in vain. Drat! Foiled again! Maybe I should have stuck around and offered the lecture. At least I would have enjoyed it.

"I'm just checking her through? She only had cards?"

Oh, God! I couldn't take much more of it!!!

"No problem," said I, standing laid-back and carefree at the foot of the register with my now-mellow Beans.

Lady With Cards was finished and the Beans and I returned to the batter's box after our first foul, ready to knock this one out of the park and get the hell home.

"Oh, um, this one doesn't have a tag? Do you remember how much it was?"

Finally! A real question! What?

"Oh, yes. That's nine ninety-nine."

The Asker looked at me dubiously and returned her gaze to the item in her hand, an item I could not simply forego because it was part of a gift and I had no idea when I'd again have time for another Target run.

"Well, I'll try to put it through but I don't know if it will?"

The knot in my back up near my left shoulder blade was getting really tense. I was hungry, the Beans were sleepy and The Asker was wearing on my very. Last. Nerve?

I bit my tongue very hard and ran the card through while The Asker watched her screen really hard, frowning with effort. After a second she heaved a big, dramatic sigh.

"Sorry, you need another one? With a tag?"

Happy to move away from The Asker's presence the Beans and I traipsed (did you know it's possible to traipse in a gigantic red jogging stroller? It is, just in case you ever need to do it) back to grab another one of the tagless items and in so doing, flew through the shoe section.

Oops.

Pipsi saw all the rows and rows of unattainable, pretty shoes again and remembered that she was pissed off at the whole entire world for keeping her from eating the beautiful shoes of nummy goodness. A couple of whimpers gave me false hope that she wouldn't crank all the way back up to full amperage, but no, we weren't getting out of that so easy. We sped through to the other department and took the longer way through the store back to The Asker (because at this point, she and I needed a little time apart) and along the way, every other human in Target got to think, "Wow, I'm SO glad that's not MY kid." Yes, yes, good for all of you. You'll have your turns! I was just happy not to have TWO screaming simultaneously. See? Always looking on the bright side!

We returned to The Asker and she quite ungraciously took up the tagged item, scanned it, plopped it in the sack, asked me the total, "Thirty-seven fifteen?", and once she took the receipt and dropped it in one of the bags, she simply turned around and walked away.

I couldn't have been happier. It was the perfect ending to our dysfunctional relationship.

I went to grab the bags but noticed the pungent scent of bleach and a wet spot on the counter and realized that The Asker had set the bags in a puddle of bleach. Lovely. I dropped the bags inside a couple of others (sorry, environment, but I can't bleach the Beans!) and we were off.

Pipsi was finally happy outside. She was happy getting into the Starship Margaret. She was happy while I loaded Parki, even holding hands with her while I stowed Big Red (the stroller's name is actually Willa, but she's kind of proud of the "Big Red" nickname) and we were finally off on our way home.

"Did you have a good time, Pippers? Sorry you didn't get to eat the shoes," I didn't have to console her any longer. She was a happy little Bean.

"Nayimyimyim. Yablekablugblugyuerg," Pipsi said to herself.

Pause.

Then she laughed.

"Yigayigayigayigurarararara,"

Pause.

Chuckle.

Pipsi laughed at her own joke.

And, as often happens, one Bean laughing gets the other Bean going, so pretty soon the back seat was full of giggles, punctuated by Parki barking like a dog and Pipsi joining in. It was pretty cute.

We stopped at Mimzi's to pick up the extra two gallons of milk that live in their garage fridge when space is at a premium in our own and got home, changed diapers, had a bottle and the Beans were down for Happy Nappy. Parki didn't sleep as long as Pipsi, so by the time dinner rolled around, Parki's patience was coming to an end. It wasn't all giggles, sadly.

The Beans eat "dinner" in their high chairs-- usually a couple jars of veggies, then they retire to the family room playard while Hubby, Biscuit and I try to distract the Beans with Baby Einstein long enough to eat our dinners (you know, food on plates). Hubby and Biscuit usually finish first because the Beans insist on consuming what they feel is a fair share of what's on my plate.

Tonight was no exception. I could see that Parki was getting full and sleepy because she was doing her usual I-thumb-my-nose-at-you-and-your-silly-food-Mommy thing when I offered her a bite and I knew I shouldn't have snuck that last one into her mouth. Pipsi was just graciously accepting my offering when Parki toddled over to my side of the playard, her eyes fixed on me, mouth working on something. This was not going to end well for me. I sighed.

Parki approached the end of the playard, brought her pretty, petite little hand up to her face as her tongue ejected the contents of her mouth into it and as she arrived at the wall, she threw a sticky, soupy handful of chicken and rice right at me, landing with a soft, splendid SPLAT! right across all five of my bare toes.

Then she looked up at me and let loose with a big, bawdy laugh, like it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. Well, maybe it was.

It's days like today when I realize that the reason why I've probably forgotten more about Biscuit's little childhood than I remember is because I was probably a little crazy then, too. The Asker ordeal is funny now because in the hours since it happened I've happily forgotten how irritating those five minutes were and how agitated I felt when Pippers wouldn't stop screaming at the top of her lungs in a public place. It shows just how close I live to insanity's abyss. But it also gives me a little insight as to how I turned out (and continue to evolve) as the parent I am. A long time ago I read a paragraph in a parenting-advice article that one of the best things a parent can do is "keep it light", and during really stressful moments when nothing is going right and I'm perilously close to a poop catastrophe, public meltdown or temper tantrum, there's nothing like a good giggle to break the tension. Yes, there are moments when levity is entirely inappropriate, but there aren't many of those; the majority of time spent parenting is much more quotidian than anything else, but that doesn't mean it has to be boring or drive one insane.

Because if the Beans and Biscuit have taught me anything at all, it's that there's always something happening at any given moment that can make somebody laugh. If not, make something up. Cha cha cha.