The only thing funnier than getting Bugaboo from the bus this afternoon and finding out he chucked one of his $$$ special shoes (for his turning-in issue. Like, as limber and agile as the kid is, they actually wanted to break and reset his leg at one point. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!) is going to the shoe store and trying to replace them.
I grabbed the Teenager-Babysitter and decided to set out during rush hour traffic, before the kids have eaten, before I started dinner. Before Bugaboo had his daily bowel movement. Before he had his sleepy time meds. It went about as well as you can imagine.
I know the girls they hire there are all either in high school, fresh out of high school or on their way to college. Between the gum-chewing, eye-rolling and feigned interest in my children’s feet, we managed to get them to fetch a few pairs. But Bugaboo insisted on climbing on the damn fake train to get his feet scanned (even though the last time we went and they scanned his feet he acted as though they were dipping his feet in hot lava and did his cat impersonation and leaped to the ceiling and velcroed himself to the top of the train) while another child was on there. This is while Bug Boy took three hours to put his socks on (SOCKS! I HATE SOCKS! I WANNA WEAR FLIP FLOPS AND CROCS! CAN I GET THESE SHOE CHARMS?). And then I showed Bug Boy thirty pairs of shoes and he told me, “These are girl shoes. Those are brown. I hate brown. I am not tying my shoes. I want velcro…” and so on, and so on. While this was going on, the teenager did her best to chase Bugaboo around the store, while he catapulted himself over benches and shoe racks and scaled the ladders (WHY DO THEY HAVE LADDERS IN THAT STORE????). Then he did the flop-and-drop when I tried to get shoes on him and refused to take them back off, even if I did forget to take all of the paper out of the shoe. Meanwhile, Bug Boy found a red pair of shoes (CLEARANCE! THANK YOU!) and decided he’d begin working on me to get shoe charms (Apparently, NO NO A THOUSAND TIMES NO is not an acceptable answer). And Bugaboo darted off to leap over a bench and climbed the ladder (and apparently, the salesgirl missed the part where I said he was autistic and that I’d do my best to redirect them but her yelling at him ain’t gonna help much) and Bug Boy chased after me while I chased after the teenager and she chased after Bugaboo to try and get him down. It was like a three-ring-freaking-circus (don’t forget, there are others in there shopping for back-to-school shoes and were giving dirty looks and wouldn’t GET OUT OF MY WAY WHEN I WAS TRYING TO CATCH HIM).
Then I told the teenager to take Bugaboo to the car while I paid for the shoes (and grabbed one more pair. You know, in case he decides to throw another pair out of the bus window tomorrow) and Bug Boy walked around the store, pushing every single box to the back of the shelf. As in, the shelves the associates just fronted? Yeah. He pushed back all of the boxes. ALL. OF. THEM. Naturally, the associate snapped at him and I clenched my teeth and told him he was to get back over there and put the boxes back THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Meanwhile, Bugaboo climbed out of the open van windows and did his own Chinese fire drill in the middle of the Old Navy parking lot and tried to go into his hair dresser’s (even though he just had his haircut two days ago).
Is it beer-thirty yet?