The other day, we were in a gift shop in Mammoth Lakes. I was already on edge because it was nearing nap time and my kids were becoming more unpleasant by the second but also because the gift shop contained glass items which are not kid friendly. Ricky was on the prowl for sweatshirts for the kids. This meant that I was left to fend for myself with my two little monsters. I realized 5 minutes in that I was holding my breath and should probably start breathing regularly lest I pass out and break all the glass trinkets myself. Maia had found a stuffed animal section while Noah was darting between clothes racks hiding and screaming for me to find him. On one particular pass, I get a whiff of something quite unpleasant. I call him over so that I can do a diaper check but he disappears under a rack. I quickly scoop up Maia and run to catch my son. She flails about in my arms nearly falling to the ground, angry that I would remove her from her precious plush toys. Meanwhile, with my other hand I catch Noah by the arm, sternly tell him to come when I call him, and attempt to do a diaper check as he tries to make a getaway. What a sight I must be pulling at my kids diaper trying to look down his pants while he screams, "I DON'T HAVE POOPS!" Sure enough, I see and smell the nasty substance in his diaper. Then, as if right on cue, Maia's face turns red, and she displays "the look" that says, "Don't bother me, I'm concentrating on pushing something out." Great! I put her down so as not to squish the icky substance which will only make the clean up worse. I am now holding a kid in each hand by the wrist trying to get them out the store. Both are very unhappy with having to leave and are letting everyone in the store know their sentiments by screaming, crying, throwing their heads back, and holding their feet up. I am dragging both of them by the glass trinket section, holding my breath, making threats through my teeth, and smiling at all the staring people hoping that they do not notice the nervous neck twitch that I've developed in the last two minutes . At this point I am wondering where the heck my husband is when I notice him out of the corner of my eye, discreetly making his way to the front of the store with me but keeping his distance so as not to be associated with the crazy lady with the smelly devil children.
I finally make it out of the store, shoot my husband a death glance and take my best shot at changing the two nasty diapers in the front seat of my truck while the kids complain about the seat belt buckle stabbing their heads. After I am done, I wipe off the poop that actually got on the seat (oops), and ponder on the fact that 3 years ago I was in this same town drinking coffee and reading a book next to a peaceful lake. I had my hair, make-up, and toes done nicely and I was well-rested and had not a care in the world. Now I am wiping poop off of my front seat and recovering from a traumatic and embarrassing public tantrum throwing session. Oh the joys of motherhood!