Up the down

Recently I needed to run to the sporting-goods store in our local mall. I had my 4- year-old son and my neighbor's 2- year-old twins with me, and I planned our trip so we would arrive right when the store opened. That way, the store would be empty except for us.

While we were there, my son begged for a ride on the escalator to the second floor. I figured it was fine; after all, the twins were small for their size and lightweights to boot. We approached the "up" escalator and my son hopped onto the step in front of me. Then I simply lifted the twins by their hands as we stepped onto the escalator. We had a thrilling ride up through the kayaks and golf clubs.

Apparently the ride was exciting enough for my son to warrant a trip to the restroom. After taking care of business, we returned to the down escalator. The twins were ready for another thrill ride, but my son showed apprehension for going down first. Where did my little daredevil go? I instructed him to follow directly behind. Then I turned and executed the "lift and step" with the twins again. I didn't see my son hesitate behind me.

"Mom!" he cried out.

I looked up to see him rooted at the top of the escalator. His face was a mask of desperation. I glanced down at the twins and then up again, startled at how fast I was descending. And I couldn't do anything about it. I called out something reassuring to him. Then,

"MOM! Come back!" he screamed. A teenage boy got onto the escalator and watched the drama unfold. I could tell that he was torn between amusement and the desire to help.

"MOM! DON'T LEAVE ME!" his poor little voice cracked and, despite the silly nature of the situation, I felt the fight-or-flight instinct stirring.

I had about five seconds before I hit the bottom of the escalator. I had to decide. Do I circle back around to the up escalator? I would risk leaving his line of sight and frightening him more. Plus, that screaming would probably escalate (ha, ha!)

I scanned the base of the escalator and saw a brightly colored display of sports equipment nearby. That might keep the twins occupied long enough. When we arrived on solid ground I led them to the display.

"MOM! I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU!" He was downright pitiful by now and his voice was echoing through both levels of the store.

I whirled and faced the down escalator. For the love of all that's mine, I thought. Here I go. When I jumped the first step my toe caught the lip of the stair and I stumbled. But I steadied myself on the railing and got into a proper rhythm.

I figured my progress would be slow, but the screaming made it agonizing. I fixated on the stairs in front of me and ran as fast as I could. One, two, one, two... as I approached the top, I looked up to see that I had an audience. Of course! People must have heard the drama and come running. So much for an empty store! I was mortified. Most of their faces registered amusement or concern; a few, disbelief.

My son jumped into my arms when I was close enough. And I couldn't bring myself to look at the spectators. I simply turned around and ran down the stairs to the twins. I'm sure the incident took less than thirty seconds, but to me, it was interminable.

I took them all by the hand and rushed out of the store. I couldn't bear to make eye contact with any of the store clerks as I bolted through the doors. After all, those employees would likely be watching the security camera footage later. For a laugh. During lunch break.

Spectacle

My three boys are noisy, boisterous, messy types. I love them and they love me, but man, they are a handful. They haven't seemed to notice the attention they draw when we go out in public. Granted, I try to keep our public appearances to a minimum.

But they do need to eat. I usually dread visits to the grocery store or Costco-type places. The noise seems to echo and there is always a large audience for their shenanigans. I have become very efficient at getting in and getting out. They have learned to never ask for something because I won't buy it for them. I am a woman on a mission, and that mission is to get out.

Despite my efforts, there are times when we are stationary for a moment. This gives people time to pause and make comments to me. Usually they are funny or sympathetic. Every once in a while I get a critical remark that I simply do not acknowledge. But the boys are oblivious. Or so I thought.

Recently we were in a store and I was doing my utmost to keep the gaggle in line while shopping. I had ::cringe:: paused in my deliberations as a man approached us. He smiled and said, "Boy, you've got your hands full!" I gave my usual ha-ha-aren't-you-clever laugh and turned back to my shopping. Then, my observant eight year old asked,

"Mom, why do people always say that?"

I guess they listen more than I thought they did. If only that would work for their chores...

Euphemisms are for sissies

When we had our first child, my husband and I made a decision about names. No, I'm not referring to those that end up on birth certificates. I'm talking about what to call ::ahem:: those all-important parts that are supposed to stay covered up. We were going to teach our children the true names. No euphemisms for us!

We knew that we would be opening ourselves up to embarrassing situations in public, but we were prepared for it. Who cares if the stranger in the next stall hears our child use an anatomically correct term? We're in the bathroom for heaven's sake! I've heard a few giggles over the years. Then came one Sunday.

We were sitting in an oh-so-quiet congregational meeting when my two-year-old son grabbed at me and yelled, "Nipples!" Those around me tried unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter. So much for my pride.

And with three sons, we hear a certain non-euphemism on a regular basis. For the most part, we have de-mystified the term and it is used without giggles or hush-hushes. However, these are BOYS we are talking about.

Sometimes I wonder what my children hear when I teach them a new word. My youngest son has learned that the brown delivery truck is called the "Yoo Pee Ess" truck. He loves to see and hear it go zooming past our house. It doesn't matter that it rarely stops to deliver a package; it has wheels and rumbles! Sometimes he waves through the window, an unseen greeting. Not this time.

The truck had stopped at a neighbor's house. My little guy ran to the door and threw it wide open, greeting the truck and driver with a loud and gleeful, "Hi, _____ truck!"

I'll let you fill in what you think he said. But I'll give you a clue: this anatomically correct term was definitely not a euphemism.

Worst. Mom. Ever.

The youngest of our three boys, "L", is one tough cookie. He is pummeled and pushed and whacked on a daily basis. This treatment comes mostly from his five-year-old brother who has impulse control problems. (The eight-year-old carries the rest of the blame.) I try my best to intervene but thankfully "L" has grown quite a thick skin.

As a parent you learn that your child's response to an injury directly correlates with your reaction to their tumble. It took me a little while but I have learned to keep a neutral face when my children fall or otherwise injure themselves. Ninety percent of the time, after checking your reaction, they jump up, dust themselves off, and go right back to what they are doing. It saves so much energy and emotional effort.

I took "L" to the mall to run some errands. As a treat for sitting patiently in the stroller, we stopped by the indoor playground to wreak havoc for a while. At the playground, there's a lot of screaming and running involved, and every imaginable surface is thoroughly padded. It's like a mental institution, minus the sedatives (although I can't speak for all the parents there.)

The kids must remove their shoes so you've got a bunch of stocking-footed munchkins tearing around the place like there's no tomorrow. On one side there's a 12-inch wide balance beam that is a favorite of the smaller kids. That lovely padded surface, though, is remarkably slick and leads to many a fall. I watched one child after another clamber on, stand up, and ::pffth!:: Down they go. It was mildly entertaining, until "L" came along.

He followed the drill but when he stood up he was just on the edge of the beam. His stocking feet slipped dramatically and he fell full-bodied onto the floor, his head slamming against the edge of the beam on the way down. I tried to school my expression as he lifted his head to see my face, but I failed. Instead, out burst

"Ha ha HA haha ha!"

Mine was a full belly laugh that came out of nowhere. I tried to check myself but it didn't work-- and then "L" hopped up and went right back to what he was doing. There! My lack of impulse control had a purpose! Except... I suddenly noticed that several moms within earshot were staring at me in horror. Yes, that's right! I am the worst mom ever because I laugh at my child. Gimme a break.

I turned away, hid my smile, and controlled the impulse to laugh at them.