So There Was This Monkey and This Banana....

I got the bright idea of bringing the kids to JCPenney to get some pictures taken of them in their Halloween costumes. Mostly I wanted to get them taken to use for humiliation purposes when they're teenagers. I had decided that Tate was going to be a monkey and Nora was going to be his banana. Pretty funny stuff.

So the morning of the photos, Nora woke up at 4:30, slept for about 20 minutes, blah blah blah. Tate woke up crabby and swingin'. I think he was in time out about 34 times before we even left the house. I drove to the store with that feeling of "OhGodIthinkthisisgoingtobenotsuchagoodideamaybeIshouldreschedule". Ever have that feeling? So then you know what I'm saying.

We get to Penney's, and as I park I realize I'm going to be having to do diaper damage control once we get inside. Ok, if you've ever read any of my other posts, you're probably realizing where this is going. Remember, this is my daughter of the majestic poos, and me, the most unprepared person on the planet. So we get inside, check in at the photo place and I take Nora into the dressing room to change her. Oh Lord. This was the mother of all blowouts. Down her legs, into her socks, up her back to her neck...I was shocked it hadn't somehow gotten in her ears. I swear, it's like that girl's intestines just explode and go shooting out of her butt. Do not stop, do not pass Go.

I clean her up and wrangle her into her banana costume and do the same to Tate with his monkey costume. Well, I do the same to Tate after I find him behind the counter opening the dwarers of the filing cabinet. If anyone comes to Penney's to pick up their pictures and gets pictures of some random unknown person instead, you have my kid to thank for it. We go into the photo room, put Tate on the floor, Nora next to him and prepare to take the cutest pictures ever.

Well, except for the fact that Tate refuses to do anything besides pinch Nora, and she refuses to do anything except scream about it. We'd get them in some semblance of a pose and it would last for about two seconds...just long enough for me to run back behind the photographer. As soon as I got back there, Nora would do a faceplant on the floor and Tate would see a piece of Kleenex or a fuzz or something else fascinating and get up to go grab it. When we would get them to sit for more than two seconds, they would reward us by refusing to smile. Tate would just look at us stone-faced while Nora stared at the crazy people behind the camera jumping around and acting like frenzied idiots with her mouth open and a general air of "duh?".

And of course it was 200 degrees in that little cabinet of a room. And according the the photographer lady, Nora "didn't like he costume" and Tate "didn't like sharing the limelight with his sister". Well, gee, thanks lady. Now I know everything that is wrong with my kids, and all because YOU told me!

I finally got to the point where I saw that we got a couple decent pics, and said "ok, done." So then comes the part where we have to sit and wait while they upload the pictures and do all that annoying stuff to them where they add fuzzy borders and fake crap to the pictures when all I want is ONE FREAKING PICTURE of my kids without them sitting in a superimposed pumpkin frame with the caption "The Monkey Loves The Banana". As I'm selecting pictures and deflecting suggestions from the photographer about buying this or that with this $80 frame and getting it as a 20x30 poster size blah blah blah, Tate starts meltdown 10.0.

He gets mad about something, who knows what...probably the fact that his goldfish crackers were broken or something and throws himself on the floor screaming. I try in vain to ignore it but seeing as I'm standing 3 feet away trying to talk to someone while holding a squirming baby, it proves a little difficult. I prevail, though, and push on. Must get this done.

We finally get everything squared away and I'm trying to get Nora in her carrier, the costumes on the hanger, my purse, the diaper bag, and oh yeah, Satan in his two year old form out the door. It was fun. Really. I was that lady dragging her screaming two year old through the store with grim look of determination on her face and the air of "God get me a drink nownownow!" about her. I always swore I'd never be that pathetic mom snapping at her kid to behave in public but there I was. All I needed was some stretched out stirrup pants and a sweatshirt with appliqued kittens and bunnies on it to complete the picture. Cause I already had the screaming kid and the baby in nothing but a diaper to start off the whole white-trash theme.

And then I got to the car, and realized that maybe instead of making my daughter look like Trailer Trash Baby 2008, I could have, oh...I don't know, BOUGHT her an outfit to wear since we were in a STORE? But again, dragging the devil by the hand through a public venue tends to kill a few brain cells.

And that is the story of the moneky and the banana.