where a kid can be a kid...heh

This summer, Thursdays have become "play dates" for some of the moms and kids at church. This past Thursday morning, we met at Chuck E. Cheese for a couple of hours. Since we had tokens left over from this party or that, I told the kids we would go and play for a while and then come home for lunch.


I'm not as big a cheap skate as you may think. You see, the last time we met there, I ordered pizza and drinks and had a terrible time getting them to stop playing long enough to eat a bite or two. Lesson learned. Besides, I wasn't hungry.


Anyway, W loves this place, and Emily can usually busy herself as long as the tokens are flowing freely. Elijah? He's another matter entirely. On our last visit, he sat happily in the stroller and watched the chaos from a safe distance. The entire time! He is the only one who ate enough pizza to call it lunch. And I actually carried on a grown-up conversation with some friends for more than thirty seconds. You can call that success, my friends.


I guess I felt a little guilty about his sitting for so long, although he was quite content, so this time I didn't even put the stroller in the van. I determined that I would be more attentive and participatory in this supposed fun that is Chuck E. Cheese.


Heh.


Elijah was completely overwhelmed. He stuck to me like static cling for the duration of our visit. He stood on his own feet for maybe five minutes of the hour-and-a-half that we were there. Good times.


"Wanna sit here and ride?"


"AAAAAHHHHH! NAH NAH NAH!"


"Wanna have your picture made?"


"EEEEKKKK! NAH NAH NAH!"


"Wanna ride Mama's hip?"


"Wheeeeee!"


I did manage to chat a little with some other moms while he was either on my lap or perched atop my hip clinging madly to my shirt. After an hour or so, I had enjoyed all the fun I could manage for one day and decided to round up W and Emily and try to escape leave.


W was riding the "roller coaster" so my new appendage and I stood beside him and waited for the ride to come to a complete stop. While standing there, a familiar though noxious odor, began to waft toward my nostrils. Assuming it was Elijah and since we were trying to leave, I just figured I would change him in the van before loading up.


I managed to wrangle W off the coaster, with the baby still on my hip, after threatening his very life calmly telling him that if he left nicely we would come back, but if he continued to scream at me, he would be old enough to work here before I would ever bring him back. And maybe holding a little tightly to his arm.


That aroma I mentioned was beginning to make my eyes water, so I knew we had to flee.


We managed to get past the lady at the door who checks the little stampy things on our arms. By the way, is this to make sure we don't take someone else's kids home? Puh-leez, she needs to make sure everybody takes their own kids home. I personally think they've got it all wrong. But she was very thorough, God love her.


We finally made it out the door and headed to the van for a diaper change.


"Elijah, do you have poops?"


manic back-and-forth shaking of the baby noggin


They lie you know. All of 'em. They can't be trusted.


We reached the van, and I checked him. He wasn't lying. It wasn't him. That could only mean one thing.


IT'S THE THREE-YEAR-OLD! Who is supposed to be potty-training!


AAARRRGH!


"Wyatt, did you poop in your pull-up?!"


"NO!!! I NOT!!!"


"Well, you stink! If you didn't poop in it, who did?!"


"Emma-wee!"


...counting to ten...by fives...


I laid him across the seat which by the way was not meant for diaper changes of any size child, let alone a sprawling three-year-old. Since some of you are not yet parents or have already done your doody duty in this area, I will try to spare you all the gory details. Let me just say...


KABOOM!


This kid exploded in his pull-up. And out of it. Up his back and into his shirt. So much for gravity. Anyway, I used EVERY wipe I had, and he had to ride home in just a diaper.


W expressed his indignation over the donning of the diaper by screaming things like...


"I NOT A BABY! I A BIG BOY!"


...for the entire ride home.


Jay happened to be home this day, and eyed me curiously with what appeared to be a slight smirk, as his son emerged from the van: sockless, shoeless, shirtless, pantless and teary-eyed with me hot on his trail instructing him to go straight to the tub. NOW!


"Have a good time?"


I'm pretty sure I lasered the look of death in his direction as I entered the house.


I can't help but think that this day has forever changed that little ditty they use on the commercials. At least for our family. You know the one...Chuck E. Cheese's, where a kid can be a kid!"


For us it was more like Howdy Doody time.


Just sayin'.