Warning: Family Outings May Be Hazardous

I’ve got some advice for you: next time you think about taking your kids somewhere, don’t. Trust me when I say it will only end in disaster.

Case in point: earlier this week, the boys and I joined a friend and her 3 kids on a visit to the science center. This involved packing up 5 kids ages 16 mos.-5 years in one minivan and driving downtown. Just installing the car seats was a major feat.

Unfurling the strollers, crossing busy intersections, and gaining admission were no small tasks, either, but things started off fairly smoothly. We got there right when it opened so it wasn’t crowded. The kids eagerly ran around exploring all the cool exhibits.

Then, 45 min. later, things started to go downhill. First, I ran out of snacks. I naively thought that since the baby had eaten breakfast right before we left, a bag of popcorn, some Goldfish, and a granola bar would last till lunch. Wrong. He plowed through all that and was still whining for more.

Then he started to protest being confined to the stroller. Against my better judgment I let him out, whereupon he promptly climbed up on a dinosaur display that was clearly labeled “Do not even THINK of climbing on this.” A chase ensued, followed by a heated struggle to get him back in the stroller. A passerby laughed. Glad I can provide entertainment for you, lady.

Then my friend’s 2 y.o. broke out in a rash all over his face and arms. A freak allergic reaction to the sand in the fossil-finding area? Or maybe the vapor used in the tornado exhibit? Who knows. We decided to high-tail it out of there, anyway. But first we had to feed the troops or risk mutiny.

When I tell you we caused a spectacle in the cafeteria, I am not being dramatic. The 2 babies were crying and kicking in their highchairs, another kid was lying on the filthy floor, and another was sprinting his way toward the exit. Meanwhile, all around us, groups of Stepford children were sitting with their parents, calmly and quietly eating their lunch. What the heck’s wrong with OUR kids?!

When we finally made it home, we were so traumatized we didn’t leave the house again for days. Until I decided to take everybody to the pool.

If only I hadn’t insisted on stopping by the post office first. If only Miles hadn’t worn flip-flips. If only I hadn’t asked him to open the heavy, metal-edged door so I could push the stroller through. Maybe then he wouldn’t have sliced off the top of his toe and launched a medical emergency right there in the middle of the post office.

The place looked like a crime scene by the time I’d quieted my son’s screams and rustled up a band-aid. And no one came to our aid, in case you’re wondering. Except for the nice guy who offered Miles a mailing label as an award for bravery. No pool for us. It was off to the doctor’s instead.

I won’t get into the ice cream outing that ended with a preschooler fistfight. Suffice it to say, we’re staying home and watching TV for the rest of the summer.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Pick a pediatrician you really, really love. I interviewed 3 before my first baby was born. If you’ve got kids like mine, you may see way more of their doctor than your own spouse.

Carseat Kerfuffle

A post this week on another blog got me thinking. About how some things are so much easier said than done. And how we sometimes do things even when we should know better. And about how little kids can throw giant hissy-fits over carseats. It prompted me to dig into my archives for this little gem from when Miles was almost 2:

We have not had a smooth start to the new year. It’s as if the minute the ball dropped, evil spirits conspired to make my life difficult. For one thing, Miles has turned into a Terrible Two virtually overnight. Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that his birthday’s not till June.

It started one day when I was picking him up from the sitter and, instead of running towards me, he turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. This kicked off a fun game of catch-me-if-you-can, culminating in me wrestling him to the floor to get his coat on. Then, once we got home, he refused to come inside. Once in the house, he refused to take his coat off, and so on and so on.

Then came the Talbot’s Parking Lot Incident. Let me set the scene for you: that morning, we’d joined my neighbor and her 2 sons at an indoor playground. I won’t reveal the name of the place, but in my opinion it should have been called Ultimate Lawsuit Zone. It was mayhem, people. Picture hoards of tiny Vikings pillaging inflatable villages. Picture Lollapalooza for kids, with mosh pits and crowd surfing and torn shirts, only with juice boxes instead of beer.

My son, clearly born without the fear gene, took off like a bullet the second we stepped inside. Panicked, I ran around looking for him, only to spot him whizzing down an unbelievably steep slide with his arms up. Not even remotely concerned that no one was at the bottom to catch him. My poor neighbor was trying to keep her 3-year-old from being trampled alive and feed her 5-week-old at the same time. After 40 minutes of this, we’d had enough. Sweaty and frazzled, we parted ways in the parking lot.

But I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I just HAD to pop into the Talbot’s outlet for a minute to check out the kids’ stuff. Let me tell you: no amount of 70% percent off Christmas clothing could make up for the saga that ensued.

Miles started getting antsy in the store, so we left. Once back at the car, however, he adamantly refused to get back in his carseat. Back arched, teeth bared, legs kicking, arms flailing, the whole bit. Although I outweigh my child by over 100 lbs. and can carry a half-dozen bags of groceries at once, I physically could not force his stubborn little body into the carseat. The more I tried, the madder and meaner he got.

I stopped and took a deep breath. Passersby were staring. I feared someone would call Social Services. Fine, I thought, have it your way. So I let Miles run amuck in the car. He crawled into the front seat, beeped the horn, turned on the windshield wipers and generally had a grand old time. After awhile, I tried again to get him into the carseat. Same scenario. By this time we both had scratches on our faces and were out of breath. I yelled, he screamed. Neither of us was giving in.

Finally, in desperation, I called C. at work: “I am stuck in a friggin’ parking lot with your stubborn son and you better come get him into his damn carseat before I leave him by the side of the road!!” He did.

At this point, Miles was sobbing and heaving hysterically. He smacked away anything we tried to give him -- a drink, a snack, a toy. Thinking it might soothe him, we headed for the Chick-fil-A drive-thru. We sure as HELL weren’t letting him out of the carseat again! Waiting for our food, I saw a woman walk by with a baby on her hip and 3 other children under the age of 6. Calmly, peacefully, all holding hands, like it was NO BIG DEAL. I hated her on sight.

Since that day, the carseat showdown has become a near-daily experience. Once, I bribed Miles with an old cereal bar that had probably been on the floor of the car for 6 mos. Another time, I sang "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" and tickled him. I even called my mom and tried to get her to distract him over the phone. Some things worked, most didn’t. All I know is, this year can only get better.

Worst-Case Scenario

I once read somewhere that the best way to deal with irrational fears and anxieties is to walk yourself through the absolute worst-case scenario you can imagine. The theory being, I guess, that once you see how ridiculous and unlikely it is that that scenario will occur, your fears will subside. OK, let’s give it a shot!

I am afraid that I will go into labor suddenly and early. Like, say, in the middle of Target. I can’t decide if it’s worse if it happens in public or when I’m by myself, but either way I’m afraid it will happen during rush hour when my husband’s at work over an hour away. Maybe, to add to the horror, my water will break and gush all over, causing my shoes to squish when I walk, as happened to my friend L.H.

[Perhaps I should make this a choose-your-own-adventure story: “You are in a very long line at the supermarket. Your water breaks. Then...

A) Your toddler son, who is with you, takes off down the candy aisle and refuses to listen to your increasingly urgent pleas to follow you out of the store.

B) You run out into the parking lot and discover you’ve locked your keys and cell phone in the car.

C) You forget entirely about your toddler son, who is waiting alone and un-mittened outside his preschool in the snow.]

Never mind, that’s too hard. So, anyway, I’m afraid I will be caught unprepared and alone (I just decided that’s worse) in sudden labor. Even though last time I was in labor for a bazillion hours and it took me DAYS to get to 10 cm, this time I’m sure I’ll be like one of those women you hear about who give birth in the back of a taxi. I won’t have time to wait for my husband, to arrange childcare for my son, or to get an epidural.

Also, I’m afraid that if I go early, I won’t even have had a chance to pack my bag for the hospital or install the infant car seat. There I’ll be, with my poor little taxi-cab newborn, shivering and dressed in rags. Or at least in an unflattering hospital gown.

In my worst-case scenario, my husband gets stuck in traffic, or maybe with a flat tire, I can’t reach anyone on my I’m-in-labor phone tree, and I’m forced to leave Miles with our scary neighbor. He is subsequently scarred for life and forever associates the birth of his sibling with being abandoned by Mommy. No amount of therapy can cure this.

As for me -- if I do make it to the hospital, that is -- I get stuck again with the mean midwives who tell me I’m “pushing wrong” and no one to hold my hand or feed me ice chips. Worse, someone has got the radio tuned to an easy-listening station (Kenny Loggins – aahhh!!!) and I’m too parched to protest.

Then, if and when the baby is finally born, since my husband is still MIA and I’m out of commission, one of the nurses will randomly assign the baby a name and my child will be forever branded “Walter” on his birth certificate.

As you can tell, I have plenty of irrational fears and anxieties about the impending birth of my second child. And in fact, instead of putting me at ease, this little exercise has stirred up some new ones. What if a mean and/or incompetent doctor is on call that night? What if they discover at the last minute that I’m actually having twins? What if they mix up the charts at the hospital and in a case of mistaken identity I get deported to Mexico and never see my babies again??

Clearly, the person who came up with this “worst-case scenario” exercise did not have someone like me in mind.

RECALL O’ THE WEEK: Did you all know the peanut butter recall includes Clif Bars, Lara Bars, Luna Bars, Famous Amos and Keebler cookies? Check out the growing list of recalled foods here.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Our good friends’ 11-mo.-old son badly burned himself on an artificial fireplace at a friend’s house. The doctors said tons of kids come in with 3rd-degree burns this time of year because the glass fronts of gas fireplaces can reach 400+ degrees. Here’s some more info to help you protect your kids.