Yesterday I took the girls on one of our traditional mall outings. While I found a couple of cute shirts at Gymboree (how I love that store –I swear they have the best quality cotton kids clothes ANYWHERE) for Claire and Kate that were DIRT cheap – like Wal-mart priced, but Gymboree quality – we spent no money on our little adventure. I warn the kids over and over about two things as we’re getting ready to leave the house, as we’re driving to the mall, and as we’re entering the main doors:
- You MUST stay with me, at all times. If I tell you to hold someone’s hand, you must do so immediately. I must be able to see you EVERY MINUTE. This is a matter of safety; it’s not optional, like picking which undies you want to wear in the morning. This is absolutely, unequivocably non-negotiable. And yes, I do use THOSE words. If they need a refresher on any definitions, they know to ask. I use my Very Serious Mommy Voice to deliver this message, the one that says, “don’t even TRY to disagree with me, because if need be I will set your Barbies on fire before your very eyes to make you understand how important this is.”
- We are NOT here to spend money. AT ALL. FOR ANYTHING. Do NOT ask me to spend money on an-y-thing. We can browse and admire and examine without needing to purchase. And if everyone behaves like she should, we will have a lot of fun, without spending any cash.
Yes, I consider these field trips to the mall, which I take with them probably about 3 – 4 times in the winter, and 2 – 3 times the rest of the year, to be equal parts of two life lessons. First, that as much as we can love our neighbors and friends and schoolmates, there ARE dangerous people in the world. We don’t have to think about them often, but we do have to remain aware and do things that will keep us all safe.
[Ed. Note: So sorry -- I cannot figure out for the life of me how to make the item below #2! Please use your imagination on this one, OK?]
The second life lesson I’m referring to with #2 is the relationship with money that I want to cultivate in my children. Up until about 2 years ago, I was a shop-a-holic of the worst proportions. I made Rebecca Bloomwood of Confessions of a Shopaholic look like an amateur (though I have NEVER cared about brand name/fashion labels). It’s still a weekly challenge, to live within my means, but I am doing it. I want my girls to see that a person can go to the mall, spend nothing (or very, very little) and still have fun. I want them to completely grasp the idea that you can enjoy and appreciate nice things, without needing to OWN them. Though owning a few that fit within your budget is just fine. I want them to see that for all the variety there is in any given shopping center, their beautiful Claire/Kate/Amy uniqueness is truly enough.
I really would like to think they are picking up on all these important cues and subtle clues, but I am not so far gone as to think that I am effectively counteracting all the other social messages they receive, like Shopping is Good, and Spending is Fun, and Shopping and Spending will Make You Happy, and Your Resources are Unlimited with a Credit Card in Hand.
A lofty goal, you’re thinking? Yes, I know. I tend to do that a lot, actually – be completely idealistic and occasionally irrational — in these kinds of areas. But I’m in to dreaming big, so leave me alone.
Anyway. We get to the mall, find quite a good parking place, and I get my entire tribe inside without major incident. I think somebody (Kate?) stepped on somebody’s (Claire’s?) shoe, but since I cannot recall any more detail than that, the incident couldn’t have been too injurious or remarkable.
First we wandered through Barnes & Noble, looking for more Skippyjon Jones books. I had picked up one of these at the school’s Scholastic book fair after parent/teacher conferences last month, and I gave it to Kate as a reward for her excellent report card. Claire found a few books that she tried using the “buy it for me please” body language (head tilted back a little, direct eye contact, slight slouch, grimace, solid whine to the voice, etc.), but I reminded her that birthday is in less than a month, and perhaps she’d get them for her birthday. (Lesson: delayed gratification) I read each Kate and Amy a story on the little wooden stage-type thing each B&N has, and then we browsed the kid’s kit and how-to corner.
After drooling over a cool origami kit and an awesome set of soap crayons the length of an adult hand and about an inch wide (how fun would THOSE be??), we shuffled our way back into the mall proper. This is when we stumbled upon the great Gymboree sale (did I tell you what I think of their cotton’s quality?? Amy is wearing clothes that look almost brand-new today that were once regularly worn by each Claire and Kate), and the girls sat in front of some cartoon in the store’s kiddie section they have set up in the back of the store.
After purchasing a couple of extremely low-priced items, I retrieved the girls from the little mini couch in the rear of the store, and we soldiered on. At this point it was about 12:30, and though the girls had had breakfast much later than usual, their tummies were telling them to hound me for food. When the Food Court revealed that what once was a Mickey D’s is now a Burger King, we decided to simply munch on a cookie and share some milk to tide us over until we got home. Amy of course had to find something not to like about it – yes, she will even fight WITH A COOKIE IN FRONT OF HER if there’s nothing else handy to start a confrontation with/about. After about eight minutes of her complaining that she got an M&M cookie instead of the chocolate chip cookie, I told her that if she didn’t stop making such a racket that I was calling Santa on the way home so he could pick up the toys she got and recoup a little of his money on ebay. This didn’t mean much to my 3-year-old, but it definitely hit home with the 5-year-old and the 8-year-old. And lucky for me, the stunned and scared looks on their faces motivated the youngest one to shut up and eat nicely. Let it never be said that I don’t have outstanding persuasive skills.
From there we briefly walked into Build-A-Bear, but we didn’t last long there. Next was Pottery Barn Kids, one of my all time faves for window-shopping babywear/gear. The embroidered quilts and the retro kiddie appliances and the real wooden dollhouse and the perfectly muted pastels – these are so much fun to look at and talk about. For our last stop before we worked our way back to the other end of the mall (where our van was parked), we did one of the girls’ most favorite things: we walked into Yankee Candle so they could go sniff all the votives. Hey, it might sound silly, but they are in HEAVEN while identifying their favorite and detested scents, sharing them with each other, then changing their minds and starting all over again. If Yankee Candle Company ever wants to make money on me, they’re gonna have to start charging admission to their store.
By this time, window shopping was growing old, as evidenced by Amy starting to beg to go home. So, we started heading back to where we had first entered the mall. I, too, was happy to be leaving; I was approaching sensory overload, and I never did like the feel of mall air in my sinuses.
Oh! I almost forgot: we did find one last little teaching moment: you are never too young to learn to respect others’ choices, even if you wouldn’t necessarily make those same choices yourself. We were getting onto the elevator in Boston Store, and we followed what looked to be a mother with a very new baby girl and the baby’s grandmother. The little one was so tiny, and so beautiful, I couldn’t help admiring her out loud. When the new mother proudly told me her bundle of joy was not quite 4 weeks old, I turned to the girls and told them that, in fact, they were each that little once. I then turned back to the mother and asked the baby’s name. “Her name is Kinseley,” her mother said proudly as the elevator doors opened to let us out. I motioned the baby’s family to get out ahead of us, and right as they stepped off the elevator and we proceeded to follow them – they’re about a foot in front of us at this point– Claire turns to me with her eyebrows furrowed and her nose wrinkled and says, quite loudly, of course, “Mom, is Kinseley a real name?” To complete the experience, the very nice new mother turned around and gave me a look that was part sadness, part indignance. Ugh.
All three had been quite well-behaved to this point, and even Amy asking to go home wasn’t obnoxious right away. We wove and dodged our way through the last of the crowds, and by the time we reached the door where we were going to exit, Kate started giving me a hard time. I handed her her jacket and asked her nicely to put it on; she gave me her angriest pout and refused, throwing in a foot stomp in case I didn’t think she was serious. I was firm; she grew more stubborn. I threatened; she chose obstinance. I employed my Very Stern Mommy Voice; no dice.
And then, a gentleman with a small bag in his hands walked past us, through the security sensors. When he passed the security sensors, the alarm started ringing. All three girls immediately looked at me in askance, and I decided that The Creator had handed me a way to move Kate’s butt. I told her that she was caught on the Naughty Little Girls hidden camera, which meant that the police were coming to get her. Claire, who was standing behind Kate at this point, cocked her head as if not ready to believe that. I gave her the evil-don’t-say-a-word! eye, and quickly ushered the other two twerplets – suddenly Kate had no trouble getting her coat on –out the door. Kate did not hesitate or resist for so much as a split second.
Some days I feel that mothers are the best at demonstrating the Darwin Natural Selection theory. I mean, really, don’t you think so, too? After all, Darwinism is simply adapting to an unfamiliar situation and using all the resources at hand, even if you use those resources for uses they weren’t originally intended for. Yep, just another Day in the Life of Me a Mom. The position may not come with any disposable income, but we moms DO receive an excess of teaching moments and (mostly) willing students nearly every day.
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