Tag Archives: mall

Pink Kitty

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Pink Kitty

It’s the end of a long, long day.  My kids and I met my mother at the mall for lunch at P. F. Chang’s and a shopping marathon which involved visits to Nordstrom, Build-A-Bear, Claire’s Boutique, the mall’s play area, Starbucks, Fire & Ice, and Baby Gap.  Lunch was basically me trying to placate my two year old son with carbs so that he would let the nice people two tables away enjoy their business lunch.  We survived, just barely, because the nice waiters kept bringing us fortune cookies.  We took our leftover shrimp lo mein and left with that sated feeling that only a whole lot of sugar can give you.

I convinced my mom to buy a cashmere sweater at Nordstrom because it was coral and half off.  And then, on to Build-A-Bear.   My little dude couldn’t really give a crap by the time we got there, it was past his nap time and he was on his way to Crazy Town.  My three year old daughter doesn’t quite get the concept of money and the power to purchase and began grabbing everything she saw.  She has a Build-A-Bear bunny from a while back and apparently felt the need to increase the bunny’s wardrobe by 200%. My mother kept repeating, “Let’s choose one outfit for your bunny.”  The boy couldn’t have cared less about any of the stuffed animals unless he was allowed to pull them out of the bins and throw them on the floor, but I saw a soft, brown bunny and wanted it for him–and my mom wanted to get one for him–so we left the store with a soft, brown bunny and couple of outfits for both kids’ bunnies.

At Claire’s we found a headband with bunny ears for my daughter, who decided she needed such a headband when she saw a tiny one for the bears at the Build-A-Bear checkout.  Then we took the kids to the play area in the mall, which is poorly ventilated and smells like the feet of a thousand filthy munchkins.  My kids were happy to be with other kids, happy to run around and be allowed to climb on things, so I sucked it up and tried to trick myself into not being as disgusted as I felt.  While my nostrils were continuously assaulted by the foul odors of dirty little piggies, I put on a happy face and chatted with my mom and other parents in the room.  They either didn’t notice the awful smell or were very good at concealing their disgust. Needless to say, I was extraordinarily happy to get out of there.

Shoes and socks back on and hands thoroughly washed, we headed to Starbucks for some iced chamomile tea and a soft pretzel.  My mom and I looked at some Roman glass at Fire & Ice but decided that we weren’t prepared to throw down hundreds of dollars on ourselves, not with my mom only one month into retirement and me being the mom of two young kids with expenses out the wazoo…but it was fun to look at the beautiful blue-green glass and the colorful patina, fun to think about where the glass might have been two thousand years ago with the Romans painted it.

Baby Gap.  My mother generously offered to pay for some Easter outfits for the kids.  I gratefully accepted.  The kids were good sports as we tried various outfits on them.  We found a couple things that fit with some room to grow, and we headed out.  We had been at the mall for five hours and we were all tired as hell.

Back home I knew napping wasn’t an option, so I plunked the children in front of a movie and folded laundry, took care of the dishes, and heated up leftovers for dinner.  My son was so crazed from fatigue by this time that he barely ate anything; he only fussed and slapped his head.  I promptly brushed his teeth and shipped him off to bed.

The hubby got back from work, ate a quick bite, fed our two cats,  gave my daughter a bath, and brushed her teeth while I relaxed for ten minutes.  My daughter came out from her bath and announced that she wanted to relax with me.  She wanted to draw on my phone, so I downloaded a kids coloring app, and this happened:

This is what happens when I collaborate with my three year old.

This is what happens when I collaborate with my three year old.

Today I was a part of the American consumer culture.  Today I wondered if I wasn’t selling my soul by spending money in a temple of consumerism.   Ahh, what the hell…I spent time with my mom and my kids and we had fun together.  A few times, when we were dashing around here and there, I found myself getting tense, and then I remembered to breathe.  If spiritual progress can be measured by one’s awareness of one’s breath, I could say I made spiritual progress today.

And I’m glad I could finish my day with a pink kitty on a swing.  Icing on the cake.

Towson Town Center

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Today I was feeling pretty ambitious, so after I got back home from teaching my morning yoga class, I packed the kids up in the car and drove to the mall. On a Saturday. A mere ten days after Christmas. What was I thinking?

My mom’s birthday was January 2 and I still hadn’t found a moment in my jam-packed schedule to get her a present. We had a dinner reservation in just a few hours so it was now or never. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed to her birthday dinner with some lame excuse about how busy I am, so to the mall we went.

On our way there, my mom called and announced that she was still in pain from a back injury she sustained on New Year’s Day. In addition to her back pain, her car was still covered in snow from last Thursday’s snow storm, it needed to be cleared off before she could drive it, my dad didn’t feel like taking care of it, and she just didn’t have the energy to be out and about–so she would prefer it if we could postpone dinner to another day. Could I blame the woman? It’s winter time, which means that we should all be hibernating. Her back is hurting, so she doesn’t feel like clearing all that snow off of her car herself. No argument from me. “Well,” I said, “I guess I’ll get a hold of the restaurant and cancel our reservation.” We hung up the phone.

I felt really disappointed. This was the second time this week that we’d have to cancel mom’s birthday dinner reservation. The first cancelation happened New Year’s day when my mom threw her back out. Both times I had built up lots of anticipation around spending time with my family and being served delicious food that I didn’t have to prepare myself. Something about becoming a mom and having to prepare meal after meal after meal, day in and day out, has greatly enhanced my appreciation of food that is just served to me, food that I didn’t have to go out and procure from the grocery store, recipes that I didn’t have to select, ingredients that I didn’t have to combine, vigilance that wasn’t required from me to make the dish turn into something edible. Just sitting at a table and having food brought to me is a beautiful, relaxing, precious thing. No restaurant tonight? So. Disappointed.

I’m driving in the car turning things over in my mind. Really? My dad doesn’t want to clean the snow off the car? Well, I’m not going to see my mom tonight, so why should I bother dragging the kids to the mall and looking for a present? If I do get her a present, when will I actually be able to get it to her? Maybe I won’t go to the mall after all. This is pointless.

No, we should go. We’re already halfway there. 

When we got to the mall’s parking garage, I drove around a good while looking for just one little parking spot, and could feel my blood pressure rising with each passing second. I was growing more and more irritated and disappointed about having to call the restaurant and cancel a second time. I was pitying  myself for having to make alternate dinner plans. And people just ahead of me were getting all the good parking spaces, leaving nothing for me–ME with TWO children! I see able-bodied lads hop out of the cars they parked in the convenient parking spots that were clearly meant for me, and I begin to grumble. Goddamned post-Christmas returns. Goddamned winter weather driving everyone indoors. Goddamned everybody taking my parking spot. Goddamn.

I finally found a place to park, dialed the restaurant, and canceled the reservation. The woman who answered the phone was sympathetic about my mother’s situation and wished us well. I managed to get the second-born child into the stroller, and the firstborn’s hand held tightly in my own, and we slowly made our way into the mall, which has been synonymous with hell, for much of my life.

I generally don’t like crowds. I like to wind my way from point A to B with speed and strategy, and I find crowds to be slow-moving amoebic masses that pose a great impediment to my plan of getting things done quickly. My type A personality doesn’t handle people on cell phones not noticing that I’m trying to get somewhere with two kids, three coats, a diaper bag, a purse, two sippy cups, one stroller, and a PMS induced bad attitude. After decades of feeling inwardly anxious, impatient, and doubtful of humanity’s inherent goodness whilst doing my business in these crowded centers of commerce,  I have decided there must be a different way. Something healthier, more enjoyable. In recent years I’ve slowly learned to approach the mall as a fertile opportunity for self-reflection.

A lot of the time I’m successful in reminding myself that waiting behind a slow moving mass of people is an opportunity to step back from my normal frantic pace, to radiate good will toward my fellow human beings, to take in all of the rich sights and sounds that a palace of commercial delights can offer. But sometimes I end up feeling just really damn annoyed. When that one person steps out in front of the stroller and just stops to talk to their friend, or look at their phone, or rummage in their purse–it makes me want to scream “DON’T YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE?”

Ok, so mall yoga. That happened today. After we finished lunch and I got the kids moving in the direction of the jewelry store, a young dude stopped right in front of the stroller without warning, causing a mini collision. He didn’t appear to notice that I had rammed one of the stroller wheels into his left ankle.   He just sauntered off in another direction talking to his buddy, laughing and pointing at who knows what. I didn’t bother to apologize for my part in the collision.

All of a sudden, I became aware of the tension I was holding in my body. My shoulders were hunched up close to my face, and as I looked ahead of me, scanning a path through the sea of bodies, every other person in the mall had become a human obstacle. My jaw was set, and I was fuming.

Breathe now. Let your shoulders relax. Take another deep breath. Walk gently.  Acknowledge the presence within these beings around you. All of them want happiness. All of them have friends and family. All of them experience joy and pain.

I slowed down and stopped fighting. I went with the flow. I was still my vigilant, strategic self, winding myself, the stroller and the kids through the crowd, but I was no longer looking at people as if they were deliberately trying to piss me off. I just saw people, sharing this mall space with me.

I felt more relaxed as I found some pretty citrine earrings for my mom, and then a couple of birthday cards. I didn’t react to my three year old’s impulse to touch every single thing in the store; I merely reminded her to look, but don’t touch. I applauded myself for being patient with her as we went through the never ending bathroom routine . My son’s diaper was wet, and I sang to him and goofed around as I changed it. No hurry. This moment. I felt calm as I got the kids back into their coats and car seats. I only fussed a little bit at the obscene mass of traffic waiting to get out of the mall parking garage.

Out on the road, I got my dad on the phone and announced that I was coming to clean off Mom’s car.

It’s a good day. I survived the mall. Why not keep up the momentum?

Thirty minutes later, I picked up my parents’ mail from the top of the driveway, and my mom came out to meet us. I gave her two birthday cards, two earrings, and one big hug. She gave the kids some chocolate.

It took me about ten minutes to clear the snow off of the car. I watched myself feeling judgmental about my father not stepping up and just taking care of it, and then I realized that regardless, it feels really good to help, and that I don’t have this opportunity to show up for my parents so often. I asked my mom to wear her earrings the next time I saw her, if she could remember. She laughed quietly.

On the drive home, sun shining directly in my eyes and illuminating the road with a golden fire, I felt this distinct sense of completeness. My son was snoring softly in his seat, and my daughter was quiet, watching the suburban landscape fly past her window. I reflected on the inner challenges I had confronted today. To an outsider, getting the kids to the mall, having lunch, and purchasing a gift might not seem like such a big deal. Coming to the aid of one’s parents following a snowstorm is to be expected. Such simple experiences, however, when viewed through the lens of self-awareness, can be the greatest of teachers. Where situations seemed so dark, and impossible, and heavy, now they are simple, workable, and light.

If I keep this up, maybe I won’t need to walk through the mall any more. Maybe I’ll levitate.