Stein Mart Mania

I took the kids with me today to Stein Mart (proud Recessionista!) to find a dress for several upcoming events. A few minutes before we loaded up in the car, Charlie fell and scraped his knee. This was going to slow things down a bit. You see, Charlie has some very predictable behavior when it comes to the slightest of booboos. First, he cries until we make sure there is no blood. If there is blood, or even a visible scrape, he begins screaming at the top of his lungs as if he is being tortured Medieval-style. That dies down as soon as the booboo is under cover, where it must remain at all times. Then comes the limp. But this isn't just any limp. Somehow, this handicap is tied to thoughtfulness, meaning he limps when he thinks about his booboo. And this only really happens when I am in a hurry. So, we make it to the entrance of Stein Mart just fine with nary a sign of limping. (He is distracted by the nearby fountain.) Then we reach the double doors, and he remembers. It then takes us 15 minutes to travel the 12 feet from the entrance of the store to the women's section.

Finally inside, Anna sat quietly in her stroller while Charlie played peek-a-boo with her as I quickly searched the racks for even remotely attractive dresses in my size. I knew my time was limited and the beauty of their current behavior would not last long. I must say, in the end, they impressed me...but the upcoming chain of events left me with a migraine that I still can't shake.

After collecting about 12 possible dresses, (and, for the sake of my sanity, ignoring the only 6 items at once in the dressing room please sign) I wheeled Anna's stroller into the handicapped dressing room and wedged it in front of the mirror (she's a little vain). Then Charlie squeezed in behind me and I began the daunting task of undressing. It was around the time that I pulled off my last article of clothing and had one foot into a dress, that he began the dance. You know, THE dance. The "I-didn't-have-an-inkling-of-a-need-to-go-to-the-bathroom-when-you-asked me-as-we-left-home-2-minutes-ago-but-now-if-you-don't-take-me-I-am-going-to-pee-all-over-myself-and-the-Stein Mart-floor-and-someone-will-probably-call-DSS-on-you" dance. Of course. So I put the dress back on the hanger, collect my original clothes, throw them back on, unwedge the stroller from in front of the mirror, and head out for the bathroom. After wandering for a few moments, an unenthusiastic employee informs me that it is on the other side of the store. Of course. And then Charlie remembers to limp. Of course. And then we reach the restroom and Charlie takes one look at the potties and says "I don't need to go." OH, you're going. And you will enjoy it, too.

So we finish up there and head back across the store (limping) to the dressing rooms. The next several minutes pass in a hellish haze as I try dress after dress, only to be disappointed. Then I finally find one that looks decent, wrap the sash around my waist, and it rips. Clothes back on, kids back out to look for another one in that size. No luck. Kids back in dressing room, continue trying on dresses. Anna finally has had enough of the stroller at this point so, out of desperation, I put her down on the floor to crawl around while I try on my last option. I love it! The only problem is that my underwear line shows terribly. So, just to make sure so I don't have to return to this Hell to exchange it, I slip my underwear off and run out to the three-way mirror to make sure I like it. Thumbs up. Thank heaven this is about to be over.

So I head back into the dressing room where Anna has, once again, found herself in the mirror and Charlie sits in the corner digging through my purse. Sane enough. I put the dress back on the hanger, slip on my tee shirt, and reach for my underwear. Hmm. I could have sworn I threw them right there...

A frantic search ensues. The dressing room is not that big. I was only down the short hall in front of the mirror and would have seen if someone went into my dressing room. Besides, what could even the sickest freak want with a dirty pair of ratty Old Navy maternity underwear? (Laundry day.) I pull each dress off their respective hangers and shake them, crawl under the bench, and even search the stroller basket. Nothing. The thought crosses my mind to call it a loss (and not a very big one at that), put my jeans back on, and head out. But then I have a vision of me walking out of the store at a very slow limping pace, while a clerk chases after me, holding my underwear a safe distance away from her body between her index finger and thumb shouting, "Miss, you forgot your panties!" Ouch.

Just as I am about to completely lose my sanity, Anna comes crawling toward me from her corner of the dressing room, where her back had been turned to me, cheeks bulging. For a second I actually think "What the..." and then I recognize the small amount of fabric hanging from her mouth. She crawled happily towards me, humming a muffled little ditty through a mouth full of granny panties. That's right. She. Ate. My. Underwear.

One day she will hate me for this.

After spending 15 minutes, naked from the waist down, in a tight space in which one entire wall is a mirror, I grabbed a pair of Spanx on the way to the cash register.

And then we limped out...