UGH!

~
My kids and I were having a good morning the other day.

We went out for breakfast.

We saw the Easter Bunny.

We did some clothes shopping.

And then we went to the Disney Store.

We stumbled into a Minnie Mouse Party - looking almost afraid to hope, my daughter asked if we could stay. Once I verified that there was no charge and we didn't need a reservation, I said sure.

So she skipped off, happy as a clam, to watch a Minnie Mouse show, color pictures, decorate princess crowns, and basically get to do what she called "grown up girl things" while I chased her brother around the store.

And for a while, that was okay. He and I played with the toy airplanes, shopped for pajamas, and looked around for ideas for Girlie's birthday. I tried to get him interested in the show and Minnie Mouse party, but he wasn't having any of it.

And then he found the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

I hate the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

He took one out, studied it, and as the "Don't you dare --" was leaving my mouth, he chucked it across the store, screaming "Catch!"

I caught that bad boy like an outfielder for the Giants, deposited it back into the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls, and took my son's hand: "NO!" I said firmly. "No throwing balls inside! If you do that again, you are going in the penalty box!"

My son glared at me so I decided to move him away from the free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

Five minutes later, as I was paying, he skirted around me, grabbed a ball (which were convienently set up right next to the cash register), and threw it on the ground to watch it bounce.

"That's it," I said firmly, grabbing his arm, "You are going into the penalty box."

"NOOOOOOOO!" he screamed, throwing himself on the floor, kicking and screaming.

Guess what he kicked over?

Uh-huh. The free standing, metal bin full of bouncy balls.

It was madness. Balls were everywhere. My son was screaming his head off. I didn't know whether or not to scoop up the balls, scold my son, or hide in the dressing room.

Disney store employees offered to pick up the balls while I dealt with the demon who was my son. I got right in his face and angrily whispered: "You will stop this right now! We are going home! I have had enough!"

He seemed to realize that he was lucky there were witnesses around and morphed back into my sweet, loving child.

However, I had said we were going home, so home we had to go. I grabbed him by the hand and turned to get my daughter.

"Sweetie," I told her. "We have to go."

"No."

That was it. Just no. Like she was in charge.

"Yes," I said firmly. Well, it would have been firmly if I wasn't struggling to hold onto my son who was fighting to get out of my grasp. "It's time to go. I'm sorry we can't stay longer, but Brother is misbehaving and we have to leave."

I know, I know, I know I shouldn't have said that last bit. I know I shouldn't have blamed her brother. But the words slipped out before I could stop them.

The Disney Store employees were super nice. They gave her the prize for coming and a sticker for being so brave and listening to her mom.

She didn't really notice though, because she was busy wailing that it. wasn't. fair. And that she wanted to stay.

I finally got both kids out of the store and headed to the car. One was still screaming because her fun party got ruined by a misbehaving little brother. And the little brother was suddenly listening to me and being as sweet as can be because he knows he had better be good or angry mommy was going to make another appearance.

And I was fighting back tears because I felt awful - for my daughter because her activity was spoiled, for my son because I was blaming him, and, lastly, for myself.

I was almost crying because I felt like an awful parent. I couldn't control one child so I lost it with both of them. And because I couldn't control my son, my daughter was punished.

How do people have more than one child?