Free Range Parenting At Its Best

So the husband made the decision to go missing one weekend. Although I do not recall his precise location, I do believe golf of some nature was involved. In any event, he sadly missed out on the full and amazing demonstration of one of my best and highly recommended parenting techniques - free-range parenting. Now, had he seen it, I'm sure his amazement level would have risen all the way up to having "no earthly idea who that woman is" which is just one notch above his "I will now be going to wait in the car" rank but still one below "I am in the car and leaving without you" level.

While he was gone, the kids and I made the decision that we had to go to the mall to buy a specific Webkin for the son's birthday. Now, we are very committed to joyfully celebrate this birthday event somewhere between January 3rd, which happens to match the date on his birth certificate, and February 28th which happens to match the official end of the post-holiday sales, so we were all very, very excited. Now, it should be pointed out that the son enthusiastically committed to this movable celebration years ago because the son is a clever boy who has wisely bought in to his mother's theory that birthdays should be celebrated when birthdays presents are cheap, cheap, cheap, versus celebrating the same on some rigidly pre-arranged date that may inconveniently fall during the work week, when it is raining, or when a test is scheduled. Nope, it is obviously better to celebrate when one can score a lot of presents bought at a deep discount.

So its off to the mall where we park the car right outside Dillard's. Now, I don't quite get the Webkin, a stuffed toy that also has a virtual family that lives on the internet for precisely one year at which point a Webkin master swoops down and wipes them all out. It's lights out for all the little buddies. Now, if that isn't a heart warming toy, I don't know what is. Then again, I do have to admit prior ownership of a pet rock. But at least it wasn't one of those store bought ones. Nope, it came from the wild, otherwise known as the neighbor's landscape display. Much more valuable that way.

But back to the Webkin. We venture within the store and spot this lovely Webkin display close to the door. I highly, energetically and enthusiastically recommend quickly buying one of them as they meet two critical requirements - 1. they are on sale and are 2. within 200 yards of where I parked the car. And since I didn't bring the stroller or any other restraining device for the daughter, this ranks these particular Webkins as a "Best Buy" for me in the category of "Stuffed Toys That Have Some Sort of a Onine Life."

The son strongly disagrees and points out that the Webkins in question all happen to be shaped as fuzzy pink unicorns and are not, as I insist, the Chinese "Year of the Horse" commemorative Webkin edition. Even the "made in China" tag didn't help my normally awesome persuasive technique. Nope, just not suitable. We must go forth and conquer the mall in search of the Webkin he saw at some store that he doesn't know the name of but can find if we walk the entire place twice with me carrying the daughter who has decided that she no longer will walk even with me dangling cinnamon stick pretzels from Aunt Annie's in front of her as an incentive.

Nope, he has recall and he knows what he wants. He spots the store, lets out a whoop as if he has found the Holy Grail and tells me that the Webkin in question is deep inside this place near the cash register. How he know this, I do not know as the store is apparently for little girl tweens and sells such niceties as headbands, glitter nail polish, midriff tops, hair clips, lip gloss, shoes and on and on and on. A veritable cornucopia of what the daughter thinks she not only needs but is entitled to. This presents an obvious problem. How do we retrieve the Webkin without all hell breaking loose?

Now, the son and I have worked on a pretty good routine for getting the daughter and buggy by any Ballerina/Disney Princess/Barbie displays in stores we frequently visit and have become more than adept at executing the same. In fact, our method rises to the level of community theater or performance art at a bare minimum. After a quick glace at the offending merchandise, a nudge of the elbow, brief eye contact and a quick command by the son of "you be the clown" or "I'll be the clown" we effortlessly swing into action. As one of us hurriedly pushes the shopping buggy as fast as it can go, the other begins performing a song and dance routine that we affectionately call "Hey Mia, Look At This" on the side of the buggy facing away from the desirable goods. She looks, we dance and sing and then we are in housewares. Works every time. But alas, this time we find ourselves facing an entire emporium of goodies without a houseware in site.

I send the son on a reconnaissance mission to determine if the Webkin in question is still residing in the store while I point out the shoes on passersby to Mia. If there is anything she likes better than glitter nail polish, it's shoes so that works well. After getting a positive report and directions as to which Webkin I am to purchase, I instruct the son to stand at the entrance of the store with the daughter, to stand within my view, and for him to point out and hold forth a discussion on the desirability index of the shoes of passersby, unless they turn to come into the store at which point he is to redirect Mia's attention. He gets it and in I go. I grab the toy, run to the register and get in the line with only two folks in front of me figuring I have 3 minutes tops until I get out of the store. Not so. Now, I'm sure the girl working the register was truly a nice person but for crikes sake I have never seen anyone so confused and confounded by a cash register. Ever. A one handed monkey smoking ganga would have been a significant improvement. Really. So I continue to stand and engage in communal eye rolling with the other folks in line while whipping my head around every 15 seconds to make certain I don't need to go kill someone for bothering my children.

And then it happens. The son starts gesturing in a manic manner and I ask the gal in front of me to hold my place in line as if the line was really going to move and dash to the entrance to slay anyone who might be causing the difficulty. The son indignantly informs me that no one is bothering them but that the daughter had touched the bottom corner of a poster after he told her to stop. More than three times. Now, the son knows the rules, so I commend him on his attentive watchfulness but spy a manager with a decoder ring coming to help out at the register. I need to dash back in so that Webkin could be his. We agree and off I go.

I pay for the toy and begin walking out victorious when I notice that the humongous window display seems a bit odd. Aiming for simplicity or just being cheap, the store has gone for the minimalist look and has hung one huge 10' by 20' sign saying CLEARANCE! in each window. And, the sign on the right side of the store, which was hung on the horizontal now seems to be hung diagonally, a fact that begins to cause a bit of cognitive dissonance for me. Sign? Poster? What is the difference really?

I approach slowly to see an glowering employee pulling out a ladder to fix the sign which somehow has been lifted up on one side and fallen off the hook it was hung on while the son just kept shaking his head. Doing what any parent in my situation would do if given the advantage of being several shades lighter than the kids, I quietly walked right by them and whispered for them to meet me next door using the Webkin as bait.

After rendezvousing two doors down, I learned that the daughter had decided that being part of a window display was a bit more interesting than shoes after she watched them for the first 10 minutes or so. Now, although I certainly can't condone her behavior, I do appreciate the creativity of thought and do wonder how many people jumped when she moved and they realized she wasn't a mannequin. Would have been fun to see.

So I Finally Let Them Watch "The Christmas Story"

Good thing I didn't let them watch it when it was the dead of winter now isn't it?

When an Airbag Hits You Up Side the Head

Well, I found out what happens when you total your car and an airbag hits you upside the head. One becomes just a tad surprised and a wee bit disoriented what with the car crumpling into you and all. As you sit there wondering how you will get out of the vehicle which has locked you in place via seat belt, you marvel that you chose a Range Rover over all other options to whack with a car that isn't really yours - it's your employers. Or, more accurately, it was. And, given that a Range Rover weighs approximately 17.23 tons and a Chrysler Sebring doesn't, you are glad that you didn't hurt anyone in the Rover which, not surprisingly, just got a bit teed off and allowed it's bumper to dent. A little.

And, as one would certainly expect, I managed to pull this little stunt in front of 12-20 paparazzi. Those fun folks who also go by the name of teenagers and who were waiting for their school bus in a little shelter. Couldn't have planned it better - I nailed a Rover right in front of a reviewing stand. Don't know how many people can say that. Gave me the sensation that I was the star in some perverse North Korean weapons day review for gosh sake. And, apparently due to the regulation that all teenagers are required to carry some type of cell or I-phones for just this type of event, I had my picture snapped over and over while I was being extracted from the car by kind folks wearing those paramedic uniforms. And then I was photographed again and again while being strapped to some board like the one used to restrain Hannibal Lecter all the while yelling "but I'm not dead yet" in my best Pythonesque imitation of a British accident. Alas, the reference was lost on the paparazzi who were at least 25 years away from being a twinkle in their parents' eyes when Monty Python and The Search for The Holy Grail came out. Fortunately, this reference was also lost on the nice EMS folks who restrained themselves from whacking me over the head. And, of course, telling me "now you are."

So, after being awarded the Miss Crash Test Dummy title complete with a seat belt bruise sash for a couple of days and the inability to actually use my arms neck and back for a bit, life is good. And I even learned a few things. 1. They will not turn the siren on for one's amusement even if it is rush hour traffic 2. Crumple zones work 3. My purse apparently weighs enough to fool a car into thinking it is a passenger as it got and nailed with an airbag too and 4. Some things are better learned from other's experience.