Catcher in the Wry

I figured it was time for a fun story. Well, it's a story. And .. I'll make it fun.

And a word of warning. I just finished Catcher in the Rye for the first time in my life. It's my new lifelong favorite and he is my new hero, Holden. I'll try to limit the references, but can't be held responsible for what comes out of my fingers. If you want to know the truth.

Where was I? Oh yes. Being funny.

We try to mix it up around here, in terms of playtime. I took my toddler out to a little kid's play place for drop-in play, and he played and had fun. Didn't want to leave. I finally got him to leave by suggesting we go out for a boys-n-Mom date to a little local pastry shop that happens to serve sandwiches. All you have to do is mention "pastry" to my eldest. He gets it.

We made our way down to said pastry shop (that happens to serve sandwiches.) I have my toddler, who has promised me he'll stay with me. I have my infant, too heavy to lift in the car carrier, but loaded in the car carrier. I'm not Super Mom, you know. I need carrying vessels for the ol' out-and-about.

I order us some sandwiches, my toddler and me. Let me take a moment and set the stage. It's a nice pastry shop, in fact it has "European style" in the heading of the store name. It's locally owned. It's close by. And it has pastry. Did I mention that? So it's popular, but not popular with the toddler-set. Popular with the gray-haired and retired set. Not that there's anything wrong with that. They're just a bit more...demure, that we are.

We take a seat, my toddler, infant in car carrier, and me. It's not a big place. But all the tables are full. You know, with the quiet, demure, retired folks. Who are quiet.

They are quiet and my toddler is tired from the playtime. Do you see where this is going? Oh, just fasten in.

The chairs are gorgeous. They have a beautiful little design on the back, which happen to be wrought-iron, and the design includes a little circle. Our sandwiches come. I get my toddler to take a bite. I take a bite. My toddler is up on his knees, relatively safe. (Relative to, say, the elder statesmen nearby.)

My infant squeaks. I bend down to tend to him. At the same time, my toddler sticks his entire arm through the little hole in the back of the chair. He then shifts his weight back, and CRASH!--over goes the chair. But remember, his arm is stuck through it. So his little arm is pinned under the chair, which is knocked over backwards. He starts screeching. I would too, but remember the demure setting I described? Shattered. I'm that Mom.

I jump up, to right the chair as I disentangle my toddler's arm from the hole in the back of the chair. I don't care what everyone thinks. He's screaming, really in pain. I'm thinking of taking him to the emergency room. Then, several things happen.

I examine the arm, which does not appear to be broken. Several pastry shop workers rush over, one with ice, one with a towel. A towel, she explains politely, to mop up the water gushing over the table?

Wait. Water? What water?

Oh, the water that gushed out from the vase of flowers that got tipped over when I jumped up. The same water that is gushing over the edge of the table and into the car carrier, where my sweet, innocent infant is strapped in. Helplessly trapped. The nice, calm pastry shop worker mops up the table, then smiles at me and mops up infant. And his car carrier.

Back to the arm. I'm holding ice to it, and the owner steps out from the kitchen, where she single-handedly made the hurt go away by presenting four delicate little butterfly cookies. Just for him. He takes one, and stops crying because he no longer remembers he is in pain. I check the arm. It's a little red, and they'll probably question my mothering skills at preschool Monday when they see the bruise, but he's okay.

He's okay. I'm okay. My infant is okay, smiling actually, and the butterfly cookies are good.

I don't actually remember leaving. I'm pretty sure we did, though. And I'm pretty certain my toddler got whatever else he wanted that day.