Outerspace

Details.
It’s all in the details.

Yesterday afternoon I made the last-minute decision to haul all the kids to the grocery store for a quick trip to get non-perishable food items. For Bunco we were collecting for a Thanksgiving-donation to the food bank, and the classes at school are collecting for the local rescue mission.

We’re loading into the Monkey Bus. I’m deciding where to go… WinCo. WalMart. WinCo. WalMart. WinCo. I finally decided on WalMart.

We were very efficient, going up and down a couple aisles, grabbing a few of these, a few of those, one of that.

We zipped into line. I purposely chose the lane we were in. It was smack-dab in front of the Family Fun Center… the mini-arcade for kids. That way, as I waited in line, I was able to send Blessings #s1-5 into game room where I could watch them while they played. (Hmmm… this reminds me of another time when B#3 climbed the wall and snuck into the childcare center at Fred Meyer. You can read about that here.)

I watched, counted heads, loaded canned food and ramen noodles and beans onto the conveyor belt, watched, counted heads. So as Miss Cashier Lady is scanning my food, B#2 comes out of the room and over towards me, followed by B#3… and B#1… and B#4… and B#5. Someone has just taken B#3’s coat, B#2 informs me. I ask a couple questions, send them back to the room, tell Miss CL, she calls for a Customer Service Manager, I pay for my food, I tell Miss CSM that someone has just stolen my son’s coat from the play room. Miss CSM gives me a look- the whaddayawantmetodoaboutit look.

So here’s the long story shortened but still long:
I describe in great detail B#3’s brand-new Spider-Man coat. Reversible. Fleece on one side. Navy. Spider-Man wording and pictures stitched on both sides. His name written along the waistband of one side.

I describe in great detail the details my sweet, sweet Blessings have told me. A man, or he could have been a teenager, B#2 tells me, came in and picked up the coat B#3 had set down behind the car. (Yes, they all saw him, but, no, they didn’t say anything. They’re kids, I keep reminding myself. Kids are hesitant to speak up.) The man took the coat, went back through the lanes and into the store. So Miss CSM gives all this great detailed information to the Crime Prevention Dudes in the back. Mr. CPD watches the video surveillance from the game room, gets a description of the man who snatched the coat, and sends out his undercover dudes to roam through the store in pursuit of the man with my son’s coat.

This whole process takes quite a while, as it takes time to relay messages, scan video footage, and find this man shopping in WalMart with all the other WalMart shoppers. All the while, I am reporting the theft of this winter coat to the police department just for the principle of it all. Sure it’s like “whoopti-doopti,” but that’s what I was told I needed to do.

So I describe in great detail to Miss Police Officer all about the Spider-Man coat, the when, the where, the how… all of it down to the minute. I describe the man’s clothes… well, as best I can. (B#1: I think he was wearing red. B#2: No, it was blue.) Because that’s what she asked for. Because that way the police department can review the videos.

I give her my name, my address, my phone number, my birthdate. In the meantime, my monkeys are getting restless. B#4 stands on the hood of the car ride. (Get down. Now.) B#5 has found toy containers that come out of the bubble gum machines… and he tosses them out of the room and into the aisles of the checkout lanes. (Do not throw those! Go pick them up. Right now.) B#s 1 and 2 are hovering, listening to every word that is spoken.

Miss CSM walks over to me, but I have her wait as I am in a very important conversation with the law enforcement. “Is that your son?” she finally asks. I turn and look. He has climbed up on top of the basketball game to get down a stuck basketball he saw. He’s like ten feet up. I am seriously looking like that mother. Yeah, that one. The one with the out-of-control kids. Except for B#6 who is amazingly still asleep in the carrier after this extended shopping trip.

Miss CSM brings Mr. CPD over to tell me the news. They found the man on the video. They followed him from the store and into the parking lot. But of the kids’ coat in the basket, the Spider-Man jacket was not there. No, the jacket in his cart was really more of a sorta-purple coat, he says. “Well,” I sigh, “that wouldn’t be it. The Spider-Man is definitely not a purple coat. It’s red and navy.” This, of course, they already know, as I have described the Spider-Man coat in great detail several times.

We leave the store and walk out to the car. As we’re trudging across the parking lot, fighting the wind and rain, I hear B#4 ask which coat was taken. B#2 says, “It was the one Moma and Daddy got him.” “No,” I say. “We didn’t get him that one. It was the one Gamma just gave him for his birthday.”

“No it wasn’t.”

Huh? What? Well which one was it?

Turns out, it wasn’t the Spider-Man coat at all. Why no one bothered to tell me this when I was explaining it in such great detail to the WalMart people. And the POLICE.

ARGH!

No, it was the one we got him. The one with the navy and khaki and maroony-purpley.

ARGH!

So, we turn around and go back to the store. I have them track down Miss CSM for me so I can tell her that I’ve actually mistakenly described the wrong jacket. To which she informs me of the sad truth that, in fact, that was the coat they saw in the man’s cart.

ARGH!

Then I realize I must call the police officer and let her know that I’m a complete space cadet and have given the wrong information in this case they’ve opened on behalf of my son’s stolen coat. “Yes, I just talked to you about the stolen coat? Well, in fact, it was not the Spider-Man coat, but it was a hooded coat/winter vest combination thingamajigger… and it is not navy and red and reversible. It is khaki and navy and maroony-purpley.”

ARGH!

We re-leave the store and re-walk back to the car. I am on the verge of tears because I am so frustrated. I’ve spent an hour dealing with a stolen coat and would’ve had the stinkin’ thing back if I’d actually given them the right description.

But we turned it into a big learning opportunity.

-You never set down anything when you’re out, or someone might grab it.

-If you see someone taking something of yours, speak up and stop them.

-If you are going to report a theft to Customer Service Managers, Crime Prevention Dudes, or Police Officers, make sure you have the correct information.

So this morning, as we’re heading out the door to school, I run upstairs to bring down B#6. As I’m coming out of the bedroom, B#3 is coming up the stairs, excitedly shouting, “It wasn’t the one you gave me after all, Moma! Look, Moma! It’s still here! I wonder how that happened!”

Apparently, B#3 is in left field and can’t remember what he was wearing. In fact, I don’t think he was even wearing a coat yesterday afternoon. And I have filed a false police report.

Apparently, I’m in left field.
Humiliation, I tell ya.

On the lighter, less-humiliating side:

-B#2 came downstairs this morning and asked for help with her jeans- she was having trouble getting her pockets tucked in. (Hmmm… I wonder why?) I first took a picture and then told her what her problem was!

-B#3’s birthday is Friday, so he is the class VIP for the week. On Friday, he brings snacks for the class, and if he can bring snacks that start with the letter of the week (I) that’s good. Other than ice cream, I thought of nothing. So we scratched that. He can also bring snacks that have to do with the theme (Indians and Thanksgiving). So I made pilgrim hats. I’ll have to label the container to make sure the teacher knows what they are, but I thought they were pretty cute.

-B#3 made the newspaper Sunday.

-B#2 keeps asking me if she can eat her NuttButts she got for Halloween. She has shortened Nutter Butters to NuttButts. “Only if you call them something else,” I say. Which she does not understand. “It’s just a shorter way to say it, Mom.”

-B#4 keeps talking about putting B#6 in the booby. I have no idea where this came from. “It’s called a walker,” I say. “I call it a booby, Mom.” Which I do not understand.

I’m not sure which is worse: NuttButt or Booby.

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