Ever since my kids were little, I've been taking them to the movies. It started when I had a 2 year old and a 4 year old. I was thrilled that I could bring them someplace and they would be mesmerized - and quiet - for almost two hours.
Throughout the years, more movies - and children - came along. I have these great intentions that going to the movies with them will be an easy, low-key parenting activity. I have been proven wrong more times than I can count. And it's usually the youngest two, Chloe and Wyatt, who throw a wrench in my plans.
Several years ago when Chloe was about 3, I took the girls to a movie. She sat on my lap for most of the movie. At one point she said "I don't feel so good." A big ol' warning light should have gone off, seeing as she mentioned it earlier, too. But I just snuggled her closer and kept watching the movie. A few minutes later I felt her body do the unmistakable heaving motion of getting ready to puke. I remained absolutely still for a split second, thinking "This cannot be happening."
I was wrong. It was.
She heaved again and I heard the splat of barf hit my feet. As luck would have it, I was wearing flip-flops. I scooped her up and ran up the aisle. When I got to the door of the lobby, I had to kick it open, Rambo-style, so I could get her into the bathroom and clean us both off.
Months later we were all at the movies again. And again she was sitting on my lap. This time she was feeling better, and proceeded to talk non-stop throughout the entire movie. It was a family movie, so the parents around me weren't too disturbed at first. But she just kept talking and talking and talking. Finally I had had enough, so I grabbed her elbow and did the mother hiss into her ear: "Chloe Louise, you hush up this INSTANT." She slowly turned around and said matter of factly: "First of all, your eyes are scaring me. Second of all, your breath smells."
Chloe - two. Mom - zero.
When my son Wyatt was maybe 2 years old, I decided to take all four kids to another movie. And in a moment of complete delusion, I told the two older girls they could bring a friend too. What was I thinking? As soon as I parked the van, everyone took off running to the front door of the theater.
"Wait!" I yelled. "Stay together!" They all stood impatiently by the concession counter. I was at the ticket booth, paying for everyone, when Wyatt grabbed on to the velvet rope in the lobby. You know those thick ropes that are held up by those brass, heavy columns? He leaned on to the rope, which caused the brass column to swing around and connect right smack on his forehead. Instantly blood started gushing out. He started crying immediately, I let out a "Holy shit!" and the other 5 kids scattered like alley cats into the dark theater. Two hours, a trip to the emergency room and six stitches later, he was fine.
One of my most memorable trips to the movies with the kids was a couple Christmases ago. I took three of them to see "Marley and Me." Spoiler alert if you haven't seen it or read the book, but the dog dies at the end. And in hindsight, maybe not the best movie I could have brought them to... especially since our own family dog had died a year before. Toward the end of the movie, during a very touching scene, I noticed Wyatt sniffling and burying his head in my lap. "It's okay, buddy. It's just a movie." Pretty soon the lights came on and I started ushering the kids up the aisle. It wasn't long before I noticed Chloe was crying. A little quietly at first, but by the time we were streaming out of the lobby she was sobbing. A few movie go-ers waiting in line for the next show looked at me with eyebrows raised. "Guess we all know now what happened to the dog," I said, trying to make light of it. By the time we made it to the van, all three children were wailing. It was like those Iranian women on the news when they're publicly mourning a death. When I pulled into the garage, my husband and their older sister came out, because they could hear the crying from inside the house. The kids piled out of the van, snot running down their faces, clutching their left-over movie popcorn. Not one of my most proud mothering moments, but funny as hell.
So now when I get a rare adult only trip to the theater, and I see a mom struggling with trying to get her children to be quiet, or balance one baby on a hip while she's trying to pay for a box of Junior Mints and wrangle a pre-schooler away from the velvet ropes, all I can do is shake my head in sympathy and solidarity.
I feel your pain, Sista.
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