A Nice Little Saturday

“…I’m CALLING SANTA!!”

………………………………………………..

We made it through the gym without issue. All boys survived the childcare center without hitting, biting, or pooping. And the hubs and I each had a bit of decompressing time. It was all just delightful. And I think I was a little smug in my mind, look at us rocking our little Saturday. Three kids ain’t got nothin’ on us. So onward and upward… Off to Target. 

The hubs and I each treated ourselves to our first Starbucks drinks of the season {because dairy is baaaaaaaa-ack y’all} and we snagged a couple of hot cocoas for the boysies. It felt all so festive. And then we set out to divide and conquer. I needed to get some last minute items and they would lock down Christmas Love. 

And that’s really where it broke down. Where the wheels started to fall off. Because hot cocoa before lunch… Sugar in an empty belly… For Jonah… That’s a rookie mistake. Because Jonah gets hangry. Not just like irritable … Like head spinning, pea soup spewing HANGRY. Like get-this-kid-an-IV-of-somethin’ hangry. And we’ve come to know this. We know the warning signs. The behavior that ensues. But we let our guard down in the guise of the nice little Saturday. 

So I should not have been one bit surprised when I heard, from across the store, the shrill, familiar, screams of my endearing 3 year old. As it got closer, I realized the severity of the situation as he flailed about in the cart. And his face was splotched with tears and hangriness.  And I knew, we were gonna have to ride this out. Because he was past the point of no return. People were staring. The Target lady flashed her stickers, to no avail. And while we were unwilling to compromise on what he wanted because that would have made us weak-ass parents, we did try a few different tactics to tackle the tantrum. At one point, he was released from the cart and bolted for the wherever he could run to. And that was all she wrote. Adam then retrieved him, slung the screaming toddler o’er his shoulder, and began his exit from the store. 

As the other boys and I finished paying and began to leave, I noted that Jonah and Adam had left a steady dribble of hot cocoa from aisle 10 all the way to the door. And they were calling for a clean-up ASAP. Perhaps the hubs was concerned I may not find my way home otherwise. Just icing on the cake of a horrendous hangry event.  

As we walked, I thought about how bad I felt that the middlest was rocking such a ‘tude. Because the middlest is becoming much more even keel these days for the most part. Or at least, keel, I suppose. But when the hangriness takes hold, its grip is tight. 

By the time I reached the car, Jonah was thrashing and screaming. Adam was putting items in the back. I asked Jonah, calmly at first… And then less calmly, to get himself up in his car seat. And then, before I even had time to think about what was about to fly out of my mouth, I was saying it. And then I couldn’t go backwards. Shit. 

“I’m going to count to three. And if you are not in your seat… … … I AM CALLING SANTA {whilst holding my phone in my hand, swiping from left to right, and being very official}.” Who have I become?! What did I just say?! 

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

And up to his seat he went. Still somewhat begrudgingly. But he went. 

And then B piped up…

“You have Santa’s phone number?!”

“I have a number for people who know Santa.”

“You do?!”

“Barrett. Not now.”

We made it home in one piece. I never had to actually dial-a-Santa. And we’ve not had to revisit the topic since. 

And just like that. Santa. I know him.