Today was one of those days. Gloriously beautiful; crisp autumn air, a magical landscape of colorful trees, the sights and sounds of fall. One of those days were its a crime to stay indoors. One of those days that make you thankful to be alive.
One of those days that will live in infamy.
My husband and I decided it was time to make our monthly pilgrimage to nearby Greensboro to do some serious shopping. Since the weather was wonderful, we decided to bring along our GPS unit and do some
geocaching in between shopping stops. We looked up coordinates, logged in
way points, gathered up
Gryffin, and set out on our day of fun.
How ironic that all seems now.
We hadn't made it to our first navigational coordinates before we realized our GPS unit was on the fritz. Thinking perhaps the batteries needed changing, we did a quick series of U-turns and headed back to the house. Justin grabbed some fresh batteries and we hit the road. About five minutes later we were back at our first spot, hunting through the underbrush on the side of a hill. Luckily no one was about or we would have been arrested for looking like terrorists. However, about ten minutes into our hunt the GPS once again goes belly-up. Realizing that something more irksome than dead batteries must be the cause for the power failure, we decided to ditch the
geocaching and head on to Greensboro for lunch and shopping.
We stopped at the Four Seasons Mall and did our quick shopping (which got us nowhere; they did not have what we were looking for). By the time we left the mall it was around 1:00 and we were ready for lunch.
As is the way with most married couples, Justin and I argued over where to eat. Actually, we argued over who would make the decision about where to eat; each of us insisting that "I don't care, you pick" over and over and over. Eventually, it was decided that
Hibachi Japanese would be a good choice. In order to get to the
restaurant, we had to once again navigate a series of U-turns, sudden stops, and accelerated lane changes.
Now, if you've ever suffered from car sickness, then you know that U-turns, sudden stops, and accelerated lane changes is the quickest way to go from feeling fine to being sicker than a dog. Anyway, as we're negotiating these motion-sickness inducing
maneuvers,
Gryffin begins to gag in the backseat.
Concerned, I looked over my shoulder to ask if he was okay. I timed it perfectly; he
projectile vomited all over the car right when I looked back.
Three minutes later,
Gryffin's feeling better (maybe because he threw up EVERYTHING he'd ever consumed in his life) but Justin and I were feeling decidedly
nauseated. However,
Gryffin was now starting to cry, "Eat! Eat!" and we knew we couldn't wait the hour and a half it would take to return home. We had to find a
restaurant, and fast.
Well, before we could find a
restaurant we had to make a stop at the local Babies 'R Us to buy a fresh change of clothing (stupidly I didn't bring any extra clothes on the trip). Justin stripped
Gryffin down and hauled him into the bathroom for a quick washing while I went to the sales rack and selected two outfits. By the time I finished paying, Justin and a semi-nude
Gryffin (he only had on a diaper) joined me at the front of the store. I held up both outfits and asked which one
Gryffin preferred to wear. He excitedly chose the shirt with the slogan "Little Monster."
Apparently, Babies 'R Us should attach a sticker to that particular garment. Warning: wearing this outfit practically guarantees demonic possession.
We cleaned the car as best as we could using paper towels liberated from the Babies 'R Us bathroom.
Gryffin's vomit-covered clothing went into a plastic bag and we headed to the
Hibachi Restaurant.
Now,
Gryffin's been to a
Hibachi restaurant before. Normally he enjoys the show
immensely. Note that I said 'normally." Today, however,
Gryffin simply wasn't in the mood for manners.
We sat down at the table and the waiter brought us soup.
Gryffin promptly upended his bowl, spilling hot liquid all over the table. When we took the spoon and bowl from him, he began to scream. By this time, people all over the
restaurant were giving us "The Look": that patronizing sneer that practically screams, "You must be terrible parents. Why can't you control your kid?" If not for the fact that we'd already placed our order, we might have left at that point and just gone to
McDonalds. In hindsight, that would have been the wise choice.
Our chef arrived and started the show with an impressive firing of the grill. The flames shot up ten feet into the air, causing all at the table to "
Oooo" in awe.
Gryffin was also enjoying the fire display. In fact, he enjoyed it so much he decided it would be a great idea to climb out of the high chair and go play on the grill. Only with great difficulty were Justin and I able to restrain him in his high chair.
Thwarted in his plans for pyrotechnics,
Gryffin proceeded to scream. Very loudly. He only screamed two little words, but they were enough to garner the attention of everyone in the
restaurant. At the top of his voice he shouted over and over, "Help me! Help me!"
At this point I would dearly have loved for an earthquake to open the earth before me so I could disappear from sight. With no such seismic savior coming, Justin and I did our best to calm down our red-faced, screaming, demon-possessed son. He was making so much noise and causing such a scene, our chef actually made a couple of mistakes in his show. I didn't know what was worse; listening to
Gryffin scream or seeing the horrified look on other people's faces. Nothing Justin or I did would calm him down.
We tried to feed him rice, which he normally loves. He responded by throwing the rice across the room. We tried to feed him vegetables. He retaliated by knocking the plate off the table. We tried to give him water. He promptly squeezed the cup until the beverage ruptured out of the top. By this time I was near tears, Justin was red-faced with anger, and our entire table of fellow diners were silently doing their best to ignore the scene coming from our side of the table.
Eventually, the chef gave us the steak and chicken part of the dinner. At last,
Gryffin settled down and began to eat.
Unfortunately, he decided to eat in his favorite manner. We call it the "
wood chipper." He shoves food in his mouth at a
continuous rate of speed, chewing all the while. It's amazing to watch, actually.
Only this time the 'ole chipper didn't work up to speed. He was shoving huge pieces of steak and chicken in his mouth before he had finished chewing the first piece. Pretty soon his cheeks bulged like a chipmunks, his mouth refused to close around the gob of food, and drool was liberally running down his neck and (formerly clean) shirt. Justin and I both tried to get him to discreetly spit out some of the mess, but he refused, screaming through his half-way shut mouth all the while. The screaming attracted the attention of our fellow diners, who glanced his way just in time to see
Gryffin open his mouth and rid himself of the
surplus, half-masticated meat. I do believe the gentlemen next to me gagged on his meal. I know I did.
As soon as possible, we got our check and left. I'm pretty sure I heard the
restaurant applaud as we hurried out the door.
By now it was around 4:00 and we decided to walk through the
Guildford Courthouse Battlegrounds in Greensboro. For those of you not versed in Revolutionary history, one of the
war's deciding battles was fought at the
Guilford County Courthouse. Although small in comparison to Gettysburg or
Chickamagua, the park is beautifully landscaped and even boasts a small ranger station where you can view priceless Revolutionary War
artifacts. Needing a bathroom break, we pulled into the station and headed in to the gift shop. I took charge of
Gryffin while Justin headed to the bathroom.
Although I always feel guilty when we use it, Justin and I have purchased one of those "
kiddy harnesses." It's a backpack that straps across the child's chest and stomach, with a long nylon handle
attached to a clip on the top of the back. In other words, its a leash. I know it looks terrible for us to walk around with our son straining at the end of a rope like an over-eager beagle, but it helps us keep track of him and not let him run into traffic (which I think he would dearly love to do). Leash in hand,
Gryffin and I began to walk through the store. Or, more accurately,
Gryffin began to pull me through the store while I did my best to try and reign him in.
We eventually made our way to the kiddie section of the gift shop. I was specifically looking for a book on ghosts of
Guilford Courthouse, and silently perused the book shelves while
Gryffin poured over the toys in the corner. Since most of these toys were sturdy, wooden replicas of Revolutionary era weapons, I didn't think he could do much harm. Boy was I wrong. Somewhere along the way he managed to grab a pricey little "Junior Ranger" hat. Normally this would be no big deal, as I would just take it from him and place it back on the shelf. However, His Royal Highness decided to make sure this hat was his. He marked his territory by taking a bite out of the hat.
Well, since the hat was decidedly crumbled and wet-looking on one side, I knew I had to purchase the thing. I took it and a grumbling
Gryffin (who was
diligently trying to reach an even more expensive hat) to the counter to pay. By the time the cashier rang up our purchase and I had paid,
Gryffin had decided that the cute little cannon display was his. He claimed this item by screaming loudly, "MINE!"
When you're inside a little store, whispers echo. Imagine a toddler's full-strength scream. I do believe if the acoustics had been a little better he would have shattered glass.
Finally Justin emerged from the restroom and I got my turn. As I pushed open the door and escaped into the quiet sanctuary, I heard
Gryffin screaming "Mommy! Help! I stuck!" Apparently he had managed to climb INSIDE the display cannon and lodged himself in the barrel of the gun. Luckily he wasn't really stuck, but he sure did get a lot of attention.
We extricated our son and decided to call it a day. I must say I've learned my lesson. Next time Justin and I decide to do some shopping, we're going to let the little monster stay with his grandparents.
And speaking of monsters, I'm looking into a class-action lawsuit against Babies 'R Us. They really should have warning labels on their clothing.
