After locating a reasonably clean second pair of jeans for myself, and psyching myself up to a trip to the movies to see Toy Story 3 – in 2D with three kids, six if you count my friend’s kids as well (but she was coming – not just me and six kids. That would definitley lead to homicide of some sort), not being able to find the large packet of chips I’m sure I had stashed away for such purpose and raiding my Coke stash (courtesy of my new contacts with Coca-Cola and Coke Dude himself), Monkey Boy and Godzilla chose this moment to be massive arse heads and cause me, in my already frustrated state, so say stupid things:
“Right, we’re not going!”
Which is actually what I felt; I really didn’t want to take them, but not what I meant to say, because that just leads to a whole heap of shit. Mostly, me feeling bad for having used the Visa card, paid for something, then not actually using what I paid for. Guilt, but not of the Mother kind.
That, and I’d just spent 3 and a half hours psyching myself up for the journey. Wasn’t sure how long it would take me to psych myself back down and decide what I could do all afternoon with three pissed off kids.
After much yelling and extracting of promises to stop being arse heads, we set off to the movies, getting their waaaaay too early, collecting our tickets and texting our friend who was running waaaay too late. Of course. Not being able to coordinate times, it wasn’t the movie theatre I like to attened, but one of those large congolomerates that employ 12 year olds and don’t clean popcorn off the seats and floor between sessions.
We wandered around, killing time and entertaining ourselves by watching Chippie attempt to check himself out in a crazy mirror in front of the Pancake Parlour and smack his forhead into the perspex covering the mirror, and being frowned at by Sanctimummies as we laughed and laughed. It was really funny.
Almost time to head in, friend still not here, so I thought I’d use the opportunity to herd my lot into the loos and wee, “yes, whether you want to or not, because it is a long movie and I’m not walking out half way through so you can go to the toilet”, and just as I’m fashioning myself into that squat position so you’re bum doesn’t touch the seat, my phone rings. Not usually one to answer the phone whilst I’m weeing, I check the caller, see it is my friend, figure I’ll make an exception this time, given how hard it is to coordinate two mums with six kids between them at an overly crowded movie theatre in the school holidays.
Just as I say “hello”, Chippie, who was on an exploratory mission around the room we were in, decides to poke me in the bottom with a very cold finger (and I don’t want to think about where it had been) and reinforcing my rule regarding answering the mobile whilst hovering precariously over a wee ridden toilet seat with my mostly clean jeans around my knees and incredibly full nappy bag hanging around my neck.
Locate friend and associated offspring, attempt to locate end of exceedingly long line so we can walk around it, only to discover it is the line we actually need to be in, stand and mumble swears under our breath whislt attempting to locate a spot for the kids to sit in and be bored and complain somewhere away from us. Friend heads off to purchase popcorn and provisions whilst I save our spot in line and try to contain Chippie, who deems it necessary to pick up and eat every bit of dropped popcorn the bunch of four year olds have managed to scatter over a 3 kilometre radius.
I am now in a position of standing with one foot in the line, the other providing me with additonal reach to grasp Chippie, who is just beyond reach, unless I move other foot from queue, which I’m exceedingly reluctant to do lest I lose my place, then moving second foot to role of stomping on the bits of popcorn Chippie is set on consuming. He then lays on the floor, which I’m sure is marginally worse than him actually eating the popcorn from that location, and tries to retriece large piece from under my shoe, whilst screaming loudly as I try to retain place in line. And my sanity. Eventually, he gives up and takes my lead, wandering around and stomping on bits of popcorn and getting further and further out of my reach.
Finally we are granted entrance to the theatre, where we locate two rows of seats that can cater for the eight of us, and also has exceptional access to the exit in case of Toddler Chaos, which is immenent. Chippie sits placidly through entire movie, reaching into my bag at regular intervals for more food, which had been stored there for the older two but I hadn’t told them about, as well as extra food for the older of my friend’s kids. He then spends the rest of the movie, fighting the sleep he didn’t have before lunch, flopping around on my lap precariously and eating and crumbs he can find as he falls forward, head first onto the nappy bag at my feet.
The movie over, we leave, have a small chat whilst her toddler heads for the open elevator, the older kids to laps of the stairs and disable ramp and my toddler lies in front of the ATM and kicks it. We depart not long after my eldest is located at top of ATM (he’s a climber, he doesn’t know he’s doing stuff till he’s being told off for being up something) and is told off, rather loudly, and my toddler comes close to falling down stairs, thanks to one of the older kids “helping” him, and is only thwarted by my grabbing his hand and nearly pulling my shoulder out of where it should remain.
Toddler screams for more food when we hit the car, arrive home ten minutes later to find he has fallen asleep and spilled the cheese and crackers pretty much everywhere. Which is amazing, given it was only 3 crackers. Inside, we are greeted by refreshed Grumpy Pants who has managed some quiet time to self after coming home from work.
I enquire as to how far through the process of dinner he has got and am advised “Oh, I thought you had it under control.”
Do I look like I have anything under control?