cemetaries and escalators

Oh Sunday, glorious lazy Sunday. I spent a lot of time reading today, and wearing pajamas. At four o'clock I figured I should probably get dressed for supper, so I traded nightie for lounging pants. I admit it. I have no shame.

I could go on about doing nothing all day, but really, nothing isn't very exciting. Instead I'll talk about yesterday! Yesterday we got up with the roosters so we could head into the city to have our pictures taken by my friend Heather. She's awesome, and kindly gave up her Saturday morning to spend 1.5 hours to drive from her area of the city to St. Boniface. Yes, Winnipeg is that big.

We chased the kids around for just over an hour, snapping pictures of them when we managed to get them together, and grabbing a few individual pictures when we'd managed to separate a child from the herd. It was fun. The kids loved running around the St. Boniface ruins and then stompling through the adjoining graveyard.


From there we went to Montana's. The kids love Montana's. As my friend Sonya so kindly pointed out in her blog, Montana's is everything a kid could want in a restaurant - tables they're allowed to colour on, antlers to wear, food that arrives in individual cardboard trucks, multiple mini-cones, and a giant 12 ounce kid cup of pop.

After we left Montana's we went to Chapters, because I love Chapters. It's awesome. What isn't so awesome is that the minute we made it through the doors the boys made a break for the escalators. We yelled at them to come back but they magically turn deaf any time they really want to do something that they aren't allowed to do and know that they only have a few precious moments to indulge in the naughty pleasure before they'll be physically yanked back to their real lives. They made the most of it. They ran squealing up the ascending side and then ran across the second level to the descending side. Oh the joy on their faces as they leaped onto the descending escalator. No parent should be denied the total embarrassment of one moment thinking that the kid will be nabbed after he's exited the descending escalator and before he hops back onto the ascending escalator, only to watch as the bigger, louder boy starts galloping on all fours toward the top of the descending escalator, effectively remaining in the same spot.

You may have to read that again to get the general gist of it.

That's right. The little heathen was running up the wrong escalator - like a treadmill. He was in heaven. At this point I overheard the tail-end of a loudspeaker message calling for assistance at the escalator. Steven was already charging up the other escalator toward the second level of the store, so I did what any good mom would do - I grabbed the girls and we went and hid in the children's book section.

A moment later Steven was beside me, holding two little miscreants by their arms, the naughtier of the two dangling limply and wailing that he didn't want to leave the store, the same limp, wailing, dragging posture he maintained all the way to the van. Elliot followed Daddy and her big bad brothers to the van while Jordan and I perused the book section for a few minutes.

I swear I didn't have to stifle a giggle while flipping very seriously through book series that I knew my daughter would like.

You'd think that would have been enough drama for one day, but no. We still had not encountered . . . . duhn duhn duhn . . . the Snowsuit.


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