I recently started shopping at CVS. When I say "shopping," I mean taking advantage of their sales to get things for practically nothing. It's exhilarating, better than the Herbal Essences that I got for less than a buck last week. Granted, I wouldn't stand in the middle of CVS moaning and yelling out, "Oh, yes. Yes! YES!", but it's still a good feeling.
I had some coupons that I really wanted to use the other day, so I ran to the store closest to my house. It was raining, but I really wanted to use these coupons, so I left the kids in the car and ran inside. Before you panic and call CPS, I left all three kids in the car. I'm not in a habit of leaving my two and three year old alone in the parking lot, although there are days I'd like to put them in a box with a "Free to good home" sign. The store was out of the shampoo I wanted to buy, so I came out and got back in the car.
I pondered going to a different CVS. It was pouring rain, nearly dinner time, and the kids had been in the car about 5 minutes too long. I looked at the clock, looked at my gas gauge, looked at the kids and decided to head the two miles to the other store. On the short drive from one store to the other, I passed five gas stations. This information will be important later in the story.
I got my shampoo, and I got it for free. The cashier didn't want to let me use my coupons, so I spent a little extra time in the store waiting for her to get approval. When I finally came back out to the car, I saw Bryan sitting in the driver's seat reading the car manual. Uh-oh.
"Mom, we have a problem."
Remember when I said I passed those five gas stations? This is where that piece of information is important. Go ahead and laugh. You wouldn't have stopped for gas in that kind of downpour, either. Okay, okay, so I know I stopped for shampoo, but I had to prioritize. Free shampoo in the rain is definitely better than $4 a gallon gas in the rain. Well, until you run out of gas.
My husband was not due home yet, so I called his cell phone. I called it about ten times, hoping he'd hear it and answer, so he could bring me some gas. I forgot that he was riding his motorcycle, in the rain, and probably wouldn't be up to chatting on the phone. When I realized that my cell phone battery would probably die like the car had, I decided to call one more time and leave a message, telling him where I was and begging for help. He answered.
"HELLO?" He was screaming because he was at a stoplight, wearing his helmet, in the rain. Oops.
"Hey, can you stop at CVS on your way home? I need help."
"WHAT? CVS?"
"Yes, CVS." I told him which CVS. I gave him directions, including landmarks.
"OKAY. CVS. GOT IT." (Still yelling.)
I had a gas can in the back of my van. There was a gas station about a half a mile up the road, and I suppose I could have hiked it over there and gotten myself some gas, but it was raining. I melt, so that was out. I thought, "No problem, we'll just wait for my honey to come to the rescue."
Foolishness is not an admirable trait. I was now trapped inside a non-moving vehicle with a 14 year old, a three year old, and a two year old. It was now past dinner time, and it was hotter than Hades inside that car. The windows were foggy and we were all starting to sweat. I cracked the windows a little.
"I'm getting weeetttttttttt." Boo. Hoo. I rolled up the windows.
"I'm hooottttttt." No problem. I cracked the windows again.
"I'm getting wetttt againnnnnn." It's a vicious cycle. The only way to stop it is with distraction.
I tried to sing songs with them. We played Let's Watch For Daddy. I briefly considered taking them inside the CVS, but decided that if I did, we would never be welcome back at that store. I had already made the cashier mad by giving her coupons, there was no good reason to torture her with children as well.
"I'm hungry." This came from my older child, who obviously lacks the common sense to refrain from suggesting hunger in front of his younger sisters. That started a chorus of whining. I gave Bryan three bucks and sent him in the store to find something for the kids to snack on. He came back with a giant bag of chocolate chip cookies and two of my dollars. Good job, kid. Good job.
I doled out a couple of small cookies per child and sweetly suggested they stuff them (in their mouths). They wanted more. I tried explaining that after Daddy brought gas, we were going home to have dinner. They still wanted more.
"Look, there he is!" My knight in shining armor, flying down the road on his motorcycle. Approaching the parking lot. Going past the parking lot. Driving out of sight. Crap.
Molly was poking Abby in the face with her shoe, Abby was trying to bite her in return, Bryan was yelling at them both... and I was rethinking walking in the rain to the gas station. Maybe on the way I'd get picked up by a trucker with a chainsaw or something.
"We want more cookies!"
"Fine. Eat them all." They took me at my word. Super! Three kids on a sugar high in a confined space with no air conditioning! It's every mother's dream.
Three minutes later, my husband called. "Honey, where are you?"
"I'm still at CVS, still sitting in the van, still waiting for gas. Where are you?"
"I'm at CVS, too. I don't see you."
"Yes, sweetie, I know. I saw you drive right by us. You're at the wrong CVS."
"Oh. Ummmm... am I in trouble?"
I must be a bad, bad wife. My poor husband was drenched to the bone, driving around trying to find me because I was dumb enough to pass FIVE gas stations without stopping for gas, and he's worried about being in trouble? Hell, I was worried he'd give me a lecture about not letting the tank go lower than an eighth before filling up. He turned around and came back, and rescued us with a can of liquid gold (aka gasoline). My hero.
The next day, the kids wanted to go to CVS again. I decided to pass on the shopping expedition. It was hours from a mealtime, sunny outside, and my van had gas in it. I mean, where's the challenge in that?
Showing posts with label rainy day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rainy day. Show all posts
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
A wet welcome to the World Part 1
One of the advantages of living in Florida is our close proximity to Walt Disney World. That combined with the fact that we get the 100% cast member discount on admission (thank you, honey) means we hit up the parks fairly regularly.
This last week my mother-in-law was visiting. We struck up a discussion about the World. She was telling me how she had only been to WDW once, when she was a very young child. I scratched my head for a bit, doing some mental math.
"How young?" I asked.
"Two. I must not have liked it much, because I don't remember a single thing about it."
It didn't take rocket science for me to figure out that someone had been misleading her about her Disney experience. She could see it on my face.... I knew something that she didn't want to hear. She reluctantly asked me what I was thinking about.
"Well, it's not possible that you went to WDW here in Florida when you were two. It didn't open until 1971."
What followed was not pretty. I suppose realizing that your parents have not been quite honest about an experience like Disney is a bit shocking to the system. I instantly felt a great sense of remorse. Why, oh why, couldn't I have just let the delusion of childhood bliss continue? She was like a child who just realized that there is no happy puppy farm in the country. I've never felt so terrible.
I decided to fix the situation that I created. "Let's go to Disney. It's only noon. We have a good part of the day left to see things."
Oh. My. God. She was like a kid who had just heard about Santa for the first time. My middle-aged mother-in-law jumped up and down, squealing and clapping her hands wildly. I felt a huge sense of pride and accomplishment, that I had repaired the broken dreams of her childhood. Oh, if I had only looked out the window and before I made the suggestion. I would spend the rest of the day cursing my aversion to watching the news.
This last week my mother-in-law was visiting. We struck up a discussion about the World. She was telling me how she had only been to WDW once, when she was a very young child. I scratched my head for a bit, doing some mental math.
"How young?" I asked.
"Two. I must not have liked it much, because I don't remember a single thing about it."
It didn't take rocket science for me to figure out that someone had been misleading her about her Disney experience. She could see it on my face.... I knew something that she didn't want to hear. She reluctantly asked me what I was thinking about.
"Well, it's not possible that you went to WDW here in Florida when you were two. It didn't open until 1971."
What followed was not pretty. I suppose realizing that your parents have not been quite honest about an experience like Disney is a bit shocking to the system. I instantly felt a great sense of remorse. Why, oh why, couldn't I have just let the delusion of childhood bliss continue? She was like a child who just realized that there is no happy puppy farm in the country. I've never felt so terrible.
I decided to fix the situation that I created. "Let's go to Disney. It's only noon. We have a good part of the day left to see things."
Oh. My. God. She was like a kid who had just heard about Santa for the first time. My middle-aged mother-in-law jumped up and down, squealing and clapping her hands wildly. I felt a huge sense of pride and accomplishment, that I had repaired the broken dreams of her childhood. Oh, if I had only looked out the window and before I made the suggestion. I would spend the rest of the day cursing my aversion to watching the news.
A wet welcome to the World, Part 2
In Florida, it rains a lot. Most of the rain is sporadic. We rarely get days where the rain lasts all day. My husband's favorite saying when discussing the weather here is, "If you don't like the weather, wait 15 minutes."
Today, that would not be the case. We walked outside the hotel to pile in my husband's heap (my minivan is out of order) and drive to WDW, and were greeted with threatening skies. I stopped dead in my tracks and thought for a minute. "Eh, it will pass." Wrong-O, but I didn't know. We head out. About 5 minutes into our journey, the first telltale drops of water hit the windsheild. I reach for the wiper knob, and it's missing. I vaguely remember my husband mentioning using a pair of pliers to turn the little stick, so I begin a frantic search for the pliers while hurtling down the road at 50 mph in the rain. Yeah, I know, not smart, but never fear... my mother-in-laws frantic screams to pull over alerted me to that fact rather quickly. I found the pliers and continued on in the rain, expecting it to stop at any minute.
The biggest clue as to what was in store for us should have been when we entered the Magic Kingdom parking lot. We drove past empty lot after empty lot until we were directed into a space within eyeshot of the ticket and transportation center. We were so close to the front that we laughed at the sign alerting us that trams don't run in that part of the parking lot. It never crossed my mind that this was a bad sign, that perhaps all the other potential Disney-goers that day had watched the weather report and knew that we were in for a flood.
We ran through a sprinkle to get to the monorail, slipped and slid through a sprinkle to get to the entrance. We were happy and laughing. I stopped for a stroller, and as I was buckling the girls into it, I heard this whooshing sound that is unmistakable to anyone who has ever been rained on. I turned slowly to see - wait for it - rain. Buckets of rain, so much rain that we couldn't see down Main Street USA. No biggie. My MIL was clapping and squealing again, so I pulled the last bit of optimism from the depths of myself and trudged on.
One hour later, we were huddled under a covered area in Tomorrowland, trying to decide if it was worth the race toward Space Mountain. This is what we saw:
Not cool. We spent $30 on ponchos, which I have never done - I am the queen of preparedness, and a firm believer in the dollar store poncho. We spent about two hours in the park, did exactly three things, and decided we were too wet to stay.
Fast forward to the ticket and transportation center, where we were to return to the car. We came out and stood looking at the parking lot. "Do you remember where we parked?"
"Ummm, no, don't you?"
Oh, no.
I vaguely remembered the "no tram" sign, so I knew it had to be close. The path around back to the parking lot looked soooo long, so we decided on a shortcut. There was only one row of hedges between us and the parking lot, and we were going to brave it. We raced across to the bushes and located a sparse spot. It was slightly downhill, and covered with wet leaves. We were all in flip-flops. This should be fun. I grab Abby's hand and lead the way, shoving branches back and mucking up the wet leaf carpet. Abby stopped every six inches to look at something. Leaves, bugs, sticks, BIG bugs. I stopped, screamed, "This is NOT a nature trail! MOVE IT!" and continued on. We broke through the hedge, excited to see the parking lot.... on the other side of a green fence that was beautifully hidden behind the bushes.
Seriously? Okie dokie, then. We followed the fence to an opening, which led to a path. That path was about 6 inches underwater, so we swam waaaaayyyy down to the end of it until we found an opening. There was a huge sign that said "Cast members only" at the opening. MIL was concerned that we'd get in trouble, as if tearing apart the hedges wasn't something that we maybe shouldn't have done.
In spite of our crimes, we had finally reached the parking area. Wooohoooo! Unfortunately, we were about three lots from where the car was, and it took us another 20 minutes to locate it. I was more than a little unhappy. The kids were unhappy. My mother-in-law was glowing. "That was FUN!"
I love her, but I suspect that the woman might possibly need medication for her delusional disorder.
Today, that would not be the case. We walked outside the hotel to pile in my husband's heap (my minivan is out of order) and drive to WDW, and were greeted with threatening skies. I stopped dead in my tracks and thought for a minute. "Eh, it will pass." Wrong-O, but I didn't know. We head out. About 5 minutes into our journey, the first telltale drops of water hit the windsheild. I reach for the wiper knob, and it's missing. I vaguely remember my husband mentioning using a pair of pliers to turn the little stick, so I begin a frantic search for the pliers while hurtling down the road at 50 mph in the rain. Yeah, I know, not smart, but never fear... my mother-in-laws frantic screams to pull over alerted me to that fact rather quickly. I found the pliers and continued on in the rain, expecting it to stop at any minute.
The biggest clue as to what was in store for us should have been when we entered the Magic Kingdom parking lot. We drove past empty lot after empty lot until we were directed into a space within eyeshot of the ticket and transportation center. We were so close to the front that we laughed at the sign alerting us that trams don't run in that part of the parking lot. It never crossed my mind that this was a bad sign, that perhaps all the other potential Disney-goers that day had watched the weather report and knew that we were in for a flood.
We ran through a sprinkle to get to the monorail, slipped and slid through a sprinkle to get to the entrance. We were happy and laughing. I stopped for a stroller, and as I was buckling the girls into it, I heard this whooshing sound that is unmistakable to anyone who has ever been rained on. I turned slowly to see - wait for it - rain. Buckets of rain, so much rain that we couldn't see down Main Street USA. No biggie. My MIL was clapping and squealing again, so I pulled the last bit of optimism from the depths of myself and trudged on.
One hour later, we were huddled under a covered area in Tomorrowland, trying to decide if it was worth the race toward Space Mountain. This is what we saw:
Not cool. We spent $30 on ponchos, which I have never done - I am the queen of preparedness, and a firm believer in the dollar store poncho. We spent about two hours in the park, did exactly three things, and decided we were too wet to stay.
Fast forward to the ticket and transportation center, where we were to return to the car. We came out and stood looking at the parking lot. "Do you remember where we parked?"
"Ummm, no, don't you?"
Oh, no.
I vaguely remembered the "no tram" sign, so I knew it had to be close. The path around back to the parking lot looked soooo long, so we decided on a shortcut. There was only one row of hedges between us and the parking lot, and we were going to brave it. We raced across to the bushes and located a sparse spot. It was slightly downhill, and covered with wet leaves. We were all in flip-flops. This should be fun. I grab Abby's hand and lead the way, shoving branches back and mucking up the wet leaf carpet. Abby stopped every six inches to look at something. Leaves, bugs, sticks, BIG bugs. I stopped, screamed, "This is NOT a nature trail! MOVE IT!" and continued on. We broke through the hedge, excited to see the parking lot.... on the other side of a green fence that was beautifully hidden behind the bushes.
Seriously? Okie dokie, then. We followed the fence to an opening, which led to a path. That path was about 6 inches underwater, so we swam waaaaayyyy down to the end of it until we found an opening. There was a huge sign that said "Cast members only" at the opening. MIL was concerned that we'd get in trouble, as if tearing apart the hedges wasn't something that we maybe shouldn't have done.
In spite of our crimes, we had finally reached the parking area. Wooohoooo! Unfortunately, we were about three lots from where the car was, and it took us another 20 minutes to locate it. I was more than a little unhappy. The kids were unhappy. My mother-in-law was glowing. "That was FUN!"
I love her, but I suspect that the woman might possibly need medication for her delusional disorder.
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