Putting Your Money Where Your Loveseat Is

"Someone spilled coffee on one of your loveseats," I informed the saleswoman.

Sensing the possible misinterpretation of my seemingly inappropriate comment, I clarified "In the showroom over there. One of the couches has a toppled coffee cup on it. The brown stuff made a big mess."

Saleswoman (smiling): "Oh, no worries. That's fake. It's there for demonstration purposes. It helps make the point that coffee spills and such are no big deal with our fabulous fabrics, spill-proof additive, and protection plan. It's plastic. Completely fake."

"Right. The real coffee spill is on the same couch as the fake one. There's two," I replied.

"WHAT?!?!? Did someone really spill coffee on the couch? Where? Oh my god? Is it a big mess? I'm going to have to remove it from the show room. Show me!" she reacted.

"Just kidding. Test over," I said as I waved on my way out the door.

Lowering a Toddler's Center-of-Misbehavity

I have been intending to write a post about the stages of a toddler meltdown, outlining the evolution of a real screamer (and by ‘screamer’, I’m not referring to the child). That story will most likely begin with some speculation on prehistoric Cromagnon tantrums and followed by commentary about genetics. It will also probably end with an anecdote involving me, two crying kids, a rainstorm, and a lost boot. Until then, I will briefly share another story that leads me to this post.

Children's clothes should have handles. Nice sturdy, comfortable ones.

Handles would provide parents with the first truly effective solution for comfortably and efficiently removing a mid-tantrum toddler or preschooler from a public place. At least this is what I considered during one of my least favorite activities of sudden-and-immediate child relocation. It's a rite of passage for all parents. Children will test limits and disobey instructions. The growing-up handbook indicates that this should be done with maximum drama and in the most public forum. I am finding more and more justification to take my young children to sporting events where they can scream and kick as much as they want. They could even puke, swear, and throw things at the officials. Nobody will notice.

The most recent edition of tantrum occurred at Barnes & Noble where the crowd usually seems to dissipate and employees begin to whisper upon our arrive. I'm surprised the manager hasn't slipped a bill for lost business into my pocket each time we go there.

As usual, my son (3.5 years), daughter (22 months), and I started at Starbucks to purchase a beverage that would wake-up Daddy. This is part of the preparation ritual and countdown to disaster. While walking towards the coffee shop, I was non-responsive while I prayed quietly that Pumpkin Loaf still be in season. When I neared the counter and noticed that Pumpkin Loaf had been removed from the menu. Unfortunately, my son has yet to grasp the concept of they don't have any right now and therefore you can't have any right now.

I ran interference with a Luna Bar, the whole nutrition bar for women (and toddlers). Shea had to have the same thing. Snack time in the cafe lasted about two minutes before the kids were ready to see books.

With coffee in hand, I led the kids to the children's book section where they promptly ran to the loudest books in the store. That's correct. Because they are kids and reading alone is too quiet, they are drawn to the items that will make the most noise for a normally peaceful activity. If you ever wanted to experience bleeding from the ears, try listening to the cacophony that is the simultaneous playing of Elmo flushing the toilet, The Backyardigans on a friendly pirate ship, the Alphabet Song in Spanish, and Dora the Explorer singing to a sick dinosaur.

After we had sufficiently annoyed some of the other parents by our noise, and hence satisfying the requirements of both childhood and parenthood, I announced that it was time to go. Both of my children followed, but my son was distracted by an alphabet book (this time in English) on the way out of the section. He picked up the book and started to bring it with him. When I told him that we weren’t buying the book, he started to get upset and repeat “But I want the alphabet book. But I want it.”

When I asked him to put the book back or give it to me, he held the book even more tightly. Yet, the game of opposites would not have worked here. I needed to be more firm. I gave him several chances before I took the book and placed it on the shelf, at which point we entered the next stage of tantrum. This phase is characterized by a cry that starts with eyes closed, neck arched backwards, and mouth wide open despite the silent cry. The yawn-gone-wrong then turns into a full-fledged crying fit.

On this particular day, I was not in the mood to negotiate the Great Toddler Pact of 2009. With one arm, I grabbed him by the waist and started carrying him to the main entrance. When I realized that my daughter was too embarrassed by the scene to follow, I had to pick her up with the other arm.

While making our way through the stacks of books, my son was pushing away from me and yelling “Put me down! I want the alphabet book!” Other customers saw us coming and graciously parted like the Red Sea. But, the most challenging part of this was the wriggling, screaming, kicking, crying child. It was quite awkward and difficult to carry both kids with a bag over my shoulder. Fortunately, I had finished my coffee or I would have had to risk leaving it behind again.

I also found myself repeating the same words, “We aren’t buying a book today.” I have found that fatherhood involves a lot of repeating oneself too. Many fathers before me have experienced this and jokes about pre-recordings and signs printed with common dad quotes are not new. However, I really wish that my mouth had a repeat button that required little or no energy from the brain after the first issuance of a dad ruling.

I finally got the kids in the car and drove home. I have since developed this concept of the Toddler Handles. As I mentioned, the grips would be sturdy and comfortable for those long journeys through the IKEA, CostCo, or Disney World. Carrying two children by handles would be much more comfortable for the arms and a shoulder bag would be trivial.  Lowering the center-of-misbehavity offers the upper body much more flexibility and the agility required to make a quick exit.

The kicking legs and swinging arms might still be an issue, so these handles should have Spiderman-like retractable netting that could blanket the child and their limbs before pulling them inwards and closer to the aforementioned center-of-misbehavity.

The handles would also be large enough to accommodate a small digital sound system. A series of push buttons would activate manufacturer-installed pre-recordings that would include:
“We are not buying that today,”
“If you don’t start cooperating, you’ll have a timeout,” and
“If you keep doing that, I’ll take away the kitchen knife.”

For the nostalgic, pre-recorded classics might include:
"What? Do I look like I am made of money?,"
"I'll wash your mouth out with soap," and
"If you don't behave, I'll take you back to the Sears Surplus where you came from."

To appease the more PC types and psychologists in the family, you might hear:
"Connect with your inner emotions and release the poisonous naughty child inside of you,"
“Please don’t project your emotions onto me, young man,” or
"A little cognitive reframing would do you some good, mister"

Another button would play a child’s voice with statements such as “Excuse me, please” and “Thank you” that would be most helpful while exiting a store.

Needless to say, Toddler Handles would make millions. This new product, which will be advertised as the solution to getting a handle on the situation (“Get a grip!"), would also include a built-in IPod for when you simply need to tune in to tune out.

"Mattress Giant Parking"

I drove past a Mattress Giant store yesterday.  The marked parking spots around the building, located on a small plot next to a main road, were empty in the middle of the business day.  I don't know who the Mattress Giant is or thinks he is, but it is clearly impossible to park at his store given that all of the parking spots are reserved for him.

I Should Have Bought the Robots a Nightlight Too.

Yesterday morning during work hours, I went to Lowe's on the way to visit a vendor.  Our $6 million robotics platform just wasn't complete without a light timer. We don't need it for a light, but are considering it's application in the timed on/off operation of critical instrumentation.

As I'm sure most people do, I choose Lowe's over Home Depot because when the day comes that I get lost and can't find the exit I would rather be spending the night at Lowe's.  I think that the pervasive orange color at Home Depot would keep me up all night.  And if I actually did get to sleep (in the carpet section of course), my dreams would probably be orange. Unless my dream was about eating oranges in my orange pajamas at my orange alma mater where the mascot is an Orangeman, it would be strange.

At Lowes, I typically rely way too heavily on the signs at the end of each aisle.  I paced back and forth in the electrical section, wondering which aisle would have my light timer.  This took at least as much time as it would have taken me to walk all three aisles.  But, I didn't want to be too far from the exit so late in the day (11am).  

While pacing, I witnessed an altercation between a store representative and a customer.  The store representative, who looked and acted a bit scatter-brained and anxious, stopped the customer near the front of the store and reprimanded him for opening product boxes and taking out only the parts he needed. The customer denied it at first, but couldn't explain the item in his hand that looked identical to the item displayed on the box now being presented by the store employee.  Once the customer confessed to his crime, the store employee calmed down and realized that the fun had just ended.  I agreed and committed to an aisle.

I found the light switches and only the best would do for our $6 million robotic system.  It cost $15 and has two settings and a digital display.  The robots will be happy. In a pinch, we could also borrow it to automatically turn on a light when MIT closes for the next holiday. 

I decided that while I was there, I would ask someone if they sold peristaltic pumps.  You do not need to know what a peristaltic pump is to understand the rest of this story.  

I didn't think that they would have them, but I always wanted to kill two birds with one stone.  I turned to find assistance and guess who I found.  The scatter-brained and anxious store rep was placing now-complete and sealed product boxes back on a shelf.

First, I thought God don't let me get caught overnight in this place with him. Anyone but him.

Having forgotten to turn off my idiot magnet that morning, I approached him.

"Do you sell peristaltic pumps?" I asked.

"A what?" he replied.

"Peristaltic pumps," I replied.

"What are they?" he asked.

While making a circular motion with my finger and assuming that he heard me say pumps twice, I explained,"They move liquids from one place to another." I was trying to avoid explaining the application for which I needed one.

"You need a bucket," he promptly replied.

(insert sound of nighttime crickets here)

"No. It's a pump and it moves the liquid automatically through a hose or tubing," I said.

"Aaahhhhhh. You don't mean a peristaltic pump. You mean a drill motor pump." As he said this and started leading me deeper into the store, he was laughing in a way that indicated that he thought I made up the word 'peristaltic'. I was tempted to explain that the word also described the wave-like motion his digestive tract was doing with that slice of Cranky Pie he must have eaten. Instead, I followed quietly.

He handed me a drill pump, which works by peristalsis but is done manually with a hand-operated drill.

"I want something that I can plug in and will pump continuously and automatically," I said once again.

"Ohhhhhh.  You mean a peristaltic pump."

I paid for the light timer, found the exit, and got out safely.  I didn't have to spend the night, but it was too close for comfort.

Collection

To The Management of the Natick Collection:

Please accept this letter of apology. During your advertising campaign last summer, I unjustifiably ridiculed your decision to rename the Natick Mall. After your first plan to name the mall simply "Natick", you chose an even more laughable title with "The Natick Collection." According to a local news brief, use of the word Collection to attract upscale stores, sophisticated shoppers, and oblivious tourists is popular in getaway destinations such as Bellevue, WA and Troy, MI.  With this, I considered my research on absurdity to be complete.

I scoffed at your suggestion that this name would be more appropriate for the upscale stores. A collection? It sounds like something that might collect dust, no?  Besides, it's the Natick Mall. It will always be the Natick Mall.  You may have built a new fancy wing with a glass ceiling providing sunlight for your new fancy shoppers, but the "old section" (as it is now called) is still windowless and so 1990s.  Feuds between eternal enemies, mall rats and mall walkers, may flare up as they struggle to claim new turf (albeit marble instead of linoleum) in the new expansion wing.  That is, if they dare venture into the sunlight.  

However, I must give you the benefit of the doubt.  If I were filthy rich thanks to oblivious tourists and image-conscious shoppers, I might actually buy or create enough malls to call it a Collection too.  This leads me to wonder if I would get together with my mall-collector friends and trade?  

Hey, let's flip malls!   We'll each toss a mall towards the wall and he or she whose mall lands closest, keeps both malls!  Or we can make it easier and I'll trade you my Natick Collection for your Troy Collection AND your Bellevue Collection.  And I'll just GIVE you my "Starta Collection" trademark. My lawyer said it wasn't a liability. Or did he say asset? Aw heck, who cares. It's yours. That's what best mall-collector friends do!

I laughed even harder the first time I went to the Collection. I discovered that it had actually gone upscale as intended and attracted a few customers that will at least pretend to shop at those high-end stores. They even turned their noses up at my kids who were joyfully playing on your upscale couches.  The venue's new image even gave the security guard reason to be a snob, lecturing the kids about how not to touch the water fountain or make fun of his career choice.  

We did venture into one of your new stores.  The very serious staff at the chocolate store, which has since closed, were far from family-friendly.  As we stood in line pondering what $6 piece of $1 chocolate we would split four-ways, our kids started to explore the empty store.  They were in fact, extremely well-behaved in that moment.  As my daughter approached a comfy chair, the manager ran interference and explained that he didn't want a mess on his furniture.  He must have seen my son try to write his name with jam-covered fingers on the leather couch near the Concierge.  Is there really a concierge at the mall? I digress.  We left annoyed and disappointed that we didn't get to taste rich people chocolate.  However, it all worked out in the end because we needed the $6 for the valet tip.

You must be wondering when the apology part of this letter will appear.  A recent news story explained that you are filing for bankruptcy.  Therefore, I sincerely apologize for lampooning the name that you selected for your beloved mall.  The Collection was not a silly name after all.  In the end, it was actually quite forward-looking.  

Sincerely,

A Mall Rat from Framingham

Air Mommy

Yesterday, my kids were behaving so well at the grocery store that my wife and I decided to give them each a balloon.  While paying for the ingredients for our Potato Leek Soup, my wife made a joke about double-bagging the Leeks just in case....well you know.  Although she couldn't evoke a laugh out of the cashier, who probably thought they were mutant scallions, my Inner Humorist was pleased. 

While looking around to see if the joke was overheard, my son accidentally let go of his balloon.  Just as I turned, I noticed my wife leaping high into the air with arms outstretched in an attempt to catch it.  This quick-thinking mommy got major air.  I suspect that she put one foot on the bottom rack of the grocery cart and got more traction on the candy rack on her way up.  Or did she? 

Unfortunately, the balloon had different plans and floated to the rafters.  As my wife consoled our son, the cashier ordered another balloon (less helium this time).  All in a day's fun.