This daily series of my Mother's Day gift-buying adventure to Victoria's Secret ends tomorrow.Part One is here.
Part Two is here.
###Releasing the car seat (with baby) I placed both next to the hood – where I now remember was where I’d left the Mother’s Day card… That was the “litter” blowing off the windscreen earlier...
Never mind the card, don’t forget the baby.
With No. 1 Son locked in stroller, I grabbed the baby harness my wife wears with ease.Licensed by a car company, it was a bloody straitjacket… I couldn’t figure what was up or down – even when I held the logo out in front like a hood ornament.
I tried one hand here, unsnapping this and grabbing that… but whatever, dude… that thing wouldn’t hold air, let alone No. 3 Son.
Wiping sweat off my brow, I threw the harness back and said to heck with it.I’ll carry baby, roll the stroller and No. 2 Son will follow my sharply given commands.
Off we go.
Ten steps later… after weaving stroller somewhat toward the elevator, I called halt, which three of us did (considering I was holding one and pushing the other.)
“Catck me, Papa. Papa. Catck me…”Stroller wheels locked, baby bouncing, I catch up with the Runaway Son as he turns for level seven...
Bloody Nora, this ain’t gonna work.
Change permutations.Baby in stroller – pull straps TIGHT.
(Remember to scootch him back to center as needed.)
Hold No. 2 Son in manly arms; hunker down for serious eye contact moment with No. 1 Son, (who looks at me in awe for arranging such a great adventure.)
“OK, you’re walking to the store without any shoe–”“COOL!”
“Watch for glass or rocks. If the ground is too hot, let me know.”
He gets my most serious glare.“And, whatever happens, don’t. Tell. Your. Mother!”
“Mama will find out when she reads this…”
“She already knows… plus you didn’t really say the last few lines – I’m using ‘artistic license.’”
Stopping by the elevator, I lower No. 2 Son, and catching my breath, I relax.Nothing could go wrong…
“Ok, guys c’mon, c’mon,” I said nodding thanks to the man already inside as he threw an arm to hold the door.
I looked to my right as No. 1 Son pressed NINE and TEN.
“No, no. ‘G’, we need ‘G.”
I turned to see what No. 2 was doing as our unlucky companion pressed into a corner.OK, good. This elevator has only one bank of buttons. Nothing for No. 2 to press…
Except the emergency call button…
“Light. Papa. Light. On.”
Ring… Ring…“Hello, Emergency Services. Is there an emergency,” said A Stern Voice from the speaker, set about eighteen inches off the ground.
Who puts the emergency thingy on the other side of the buttons???
I’m six-two, so my arse stuck up in the air as I shushed No. 2 Son and talked to Stern Voice.
“No, sorry, it was my son; he pressed the button by mistake…”
“Hello? Can you hear me? IS there an emergency?”
I bent lower – arse goes higher – thinking it wouldn’t surprise me if the guy in the corner jumps on five and walks…
“No emergency, my son pressed the button,” I said – throwing my sweet, button-pressing son under the bus – again.
Great job, Papa…
OK, fine. Be like that.
Arriving at “G”, our new friend bolts.I threw him a “sorry” as I regrouped the troops.
My thirty minutes was dwindling, but there was still hope.
I moved No. 2 son to the lesser of my two burning arms, unlocked the stroller and we lumbered off into the heart of Honolulu.
Next stop: Victoria’s Secret.
The Finale posts tomorrow, Thursday…