Andrew and Cara’s New York Escapades: The Elevator

My children are big fans of the Disney show Jesse, which takes place in New York City. In typical Disney fashion, the episodes play over and over and over. I could probably recall lines from each one because my children watch them no matter how many times they have played. There’s this one episode that Jesse loses several of the kids on the subway. It’s a funny episode, but not something you want to imagine as a mother happening to your children.

In spite of worries about losing my children in the city, we journeyed to New York City for our summer vacation. And in true life meets comedy fashion, we weren’t at the hotel ten minutes before we had our own comedy episode on our hands.

After putting the luggage down in our room, we headed out for Times Square. While I was trying to pull the room door closed, the kids ran ahead to see who could push the elevator button first. This is a typical competition and that’s usually as far as it goes. No big deal. Our room was near enough to the elevator that I could see them.

Andrew made it to the button first, so in true Cara fashion, she had to beat him. They extended the competition into who could get in the elevator first and press the down button.

Something they’d never done in the safety of our own community where the population wasn’t, oh, I don’t know, a million.

In the meantime, I’d finally figured out the obstacle to closing the room door, and I was half way to the elevator, calling out for them not to get in the elevator. I made it to the doors just as they closed with the voices of my kids behind them saying “Mom’s not here. Don’t press the button!”

They could have thought about that before they’d pressed the button.

I was the crazy woman pressing the button in hopes that the doors would open… they did not, or hoping that the second elevator would open so that I could at least get to the bottom before they did.

Seconds ticked by with my children in the elevator alone, and I pushed the button over and over, sure that the doors would open faster if I pushed it hard enough. Finally, after what felt like forever, the doors opened. I hurried and pressed the lobby floor and remained calm, assuring myself that they would be in the lobby when I got down. Andrew was a smart kid, right? He’d know what to do.

Thankfully, the elevator descended the 22 floors without stopping. I reached the lobby just in time to see the doors of Andrew and Cara’s elevator close with them staring at me.

At this point in time, calmness was giving way fast.

I did have just enough left to stand in front of the elevator doors and wait. I pushed the button for the elevator to return and waited for those doors to open.

I pushed thoughts of all the things that could happen with strangers entering and exiting elevators and stared at those doors.

A hotel employee passed and gave me a strange look and I told him I’d lost my kids on the elevator. Probably not the best thing to admit, but the fact that I was so calm didn’t seem to make him worry.

When those doors opened and two very frightened kids walked off the elevator, all I could do was laugh in relief. I held both of them to me as Andrew blamed Cara for pressing the button, and Cara asked with big eyes if she were punished.

We’re on vacation, who gets punished? But I did tell them that they were to be stepping on my toes at all times, and if they couldn’t stick to me like glue, than I’d be holding both their hands, not just Cara’s.

Andrew says he’d prefer to be on my heels. But it doesn’t matter how grown up he believes he is, holding my hand isn’t out of the question if he gets lost again. Cara held my hand every moment after during the trip. I had to make her let go when we reached the inside of the hotel room. Even Andrew at one point got cut off by a New Yorker, and I noticed some slick moves as he hurriedly got back to the point where his shoes were touching the back of my feet.

I’d say this was one comedic episode that came with a lesson, just like a Disney show.

Up a Tree House Part II

In all the excitement of the tree house, I didn’t plan on one thing. The reaction. My son didn’t react as I expected to the tree house, and that initial reaction incited a reaction of my own that wasn’t pleasant.

His initial excitement of getting a tree house waned less than five minutes after seeing it. At minute six, he began to list all the things he found to be wrong with it. It was too small, it was too girly, it wasn’t what he wanted, etc.

I’ll admit that I lost it at his ungratefulness. Fine, I’d paint it pink and give it to his sister. This prompted him to tell his sister when we picked her up from school that she could have it.

Which, of course, cost him a lecture on how so many kids would be grateful to just have a tree house. I can’t be the only parent to ever use that argument, can I?

Fast forward twenty-four hours later to when he’s had time to think about it some more. I picked him up from school, and he tells me he’s changed his mind. He does want the tree house. I asked him what made him change his mind and his response was, “Because I probably won’t get another one.”

Probably? That would indicate there was a chance he’d get another one. There was no chance in hell that I was buying or putting together another tree house. Of course, the “good” mother part of me just nodded and said no, this would be the only tree house.

Then his grand plans for the tree house began. Now that he had accepted the tree house as is with all of its faults (I thought it was great myself), he had to plan out the details to make it completely his.

He made a shopping list.

You mean I’m not finished spending money on this thing? I now have to decorate the inside? Did I invest in a second house instead of a tree house in my backyard?

It may have been better when he didn’t like it.

Saturday I took him to the Dollar Store to check off the things on his shopping list. He bought rugs for the floor, a table for their things, a string of lights for the ceiling, small battery fans to ward off the heat, command strips to hang the lights, and let’s not forget the batteries. (We did and had to return for them.)

He hauled it all up the stairs (which on the first night he wouldn’t climb due to his fear of heights. He certainly got over that fear as now he is jumping off the top as I yell in protest.) The new decorations prompted an argument between brother and sister about how it was all for a boy and not a girl.

Go figure.

An Announcement

As all good stories with my children seem to begin, we were in the car. Andrew and I were going pick his sister up at school when I noticed that he was dancing and singing along with the radio in the back seat.

Now for most kids, that wouldn’t be a big deal, but this is the same kid that covered my mouth when I would sing to him as a toddler, and today tells his sister that he’s going to vomit if she doesn’t stop singing or dancing.

I let him know I had seen him with a smile (aka huge, goofy grin), expecting him to stop as he’s always done in the past. Oddly, he asked me what bus he would have to ride when I changed his bus.

“No idea, Andrew,” I said still smiling, thinking he was trying to change the subject.

“I hope it’s bus 42. If it is, I’ll be in heaven.”

Heaven from riding the bus? Did he have fever? A head injury? First singing and dancing and then the bus? This was the kid that groaned every time I mentioned the words riding and bus in the same sentence. Something was certainly wrong.

“Why?” I asked, trying not to let him know that I thought he’d hit his head and was suffering from some sort of concussion.

“Because the girl I like rides that bus, and I’d get to ride the bus with her every day.”

Insert heart palpitations, then goofy laughter, then wild exclamations. “Really? You like a girl? A girl at school? What’s her name?”

“I’m not telling you, and you better not tell Cara.”

And so it begins. Where did my little boy go that said he never wanted a girlfriend and he was going to live with his mother forever? Will he really be ten years old in a few short months?

Eventually, I stopped the laughing and began interrogating my poor child about this unnamed girl. He then proceeded to tell me that this was why he hadn’t said anything. Well, then. How come I was supposed to answer all their questions when I was interrogated? I kept my questions to myself though, but not before asking if she liked him back. His response was how was he supposed to know. I didn’t say he could just ask. I don’t think he’s ready for that. At least I hope not anyway.

Then it dawned on me that some girl would probably break my son’s heart one day; some girl that wouldn’t love my son as much as I do. Oh, I’m so not ready for that.

My babies aren’t babies anymore. If I needed any more proof, my daughter brought two books tonight to read at bed time, but tonight she read them to me. When did that happen? I’ve read books to her since she was old enough to blink in response. I appreciate that she has become a fluent reader in first grade, but that was kind of my territory.

I appreciate their growing independence, but it’s bittersweet. Before I know it, they are going to be complaining that I share their stories with everyone, (Let’s keep the girl story to ourselves. I did promise not to tell anyone.) and who knows how many more of these silly stories they will provide for my (and your) entertainment. Guess that means I better enjoy telling them while they are still happening (especially before they realize that I share them with everyone).