Adventures with Minigun: IKEA

So when you have a child that's going through an unpleasant phase, the key is to never assume they're out of it or God forbid say it aloud to anyone (unless you actually enjoy it when the universe proves to you that you're clueless). We had a few really decent days, maybe even a couple weeks with Vin, then after I answer "I think so" to someone's asking if he's grown out of his asshole stage, (and as Emeril Lagasse is so very fond of saying) BAM.

It was at IKEA, and things began innocently enough. It was just him and me, cruising around in a cart, counting all the clocks, having a great time. All of a sudden, in the middle of the bedroom display section, he OUT OF NO WHERE smacks me right across my rack, open palm. I wasn't ignoring him, I wasn't annoying him, there were no other children there to take away my attention, he just did it, I assume to get a reaction. Which I provided.

ME: Um, NO. We don't hit. And you NEVER hit me.

VIN: (giggles)

ME: (scowl) You think hitting is funny?

VIN: Yeah.

ME: It's not funny. Hitting hurts people. Don't ever do that again.

I take two steps and BAM, smacks my business again. I stop the cart and hold his hand away from me, as I see he is fully winding up to do it a third time.

ME: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? NO! NAUGHTY! NO HIT!

VIN: (giggles).

Again we start walking. Again he makes as if to slap me. I anticipate it and take a step back from the cart. He does not appreciate me one-upping his bastardly little two year old bullshit, and screams, loudly.

Now first off, none of my other kids ever tried to mess with me physically, not ever. And if they did, telling them once to knock it the fuck off would have been enough, but this is MINIGUN I'm dealing with here, so the only course of action I really had was to either completely distract him from the tit-slapping game he was so enjoying or to wheel him the hell out of that place; I initially chose the latter but since the remodel they did maybe a year or two ago, I had no idea where the Christ I was and was stuck going through the entire loop with no shortcuts because I didn't know where any were, all the while, stopping and backing up each subsequent time he tried to smack me (again) or catching his hand each time. He was being a complete little fuck and I was extremely mad and embarrassed. When we get about halfway through the loop and I finally begin to recognize surroundings, he gave up a little and started counting clocks again, on his own.

VIN: CLOCKS! CLOCKS, MAMA! NOTHER CLOCK!

ME: (under my breath) Fuck your clocks. You broke my heart, Fredo.

VIN: I'NA EAT! I'NA EAT!

Okay, so he was hungry. I whipped out the bag of trail mix I packed for him and let him have at it. We make it to the lower level and I find a couple of curtain panels that were on clearance. I stop for approximately eight seconds to check them out and he upends the baggie of trail mix onto the floor. Cashews and craisins are everywhere (as of course he's already eaten the mini-marshmallows first), so I quietly take the bag, hand him the curtains to look at, and scoop the rest off the floor. Luckily, this entertains him, and we see the big, big fans, get to the check out, buy the shit and leave without any further incidents.

And as I'm wheeling him through the parking lot, he suddenly gets this look on his face that is the very definition of the light-bulb-going-on-look and SMACKS ME IN THE CHEST, AGAIN. As we were outside, and I had pretty much had it (and there was no one really around to hear me) I finally said what I'd been meaning to say all along . . .

ME: OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT? WHAT THE HELL? STOP!

VIN: (responds with a combination of Mickey's smirk/shrug in Snatch when he knocks the first guy out in the ring and a few seconds later Darla's creepy psycho-laugh in Finding Nemo when the dentist tells her he's giving her a fish for a present). After I get him strapped into his car seat, I just stood there and stared him down, scowling. He looked back at me the whole time, like "what?"

He's woken up a few times in the middle of the night the last few (which I thought we were over), managed to destroy at least two florescent light bulbs in the last week, flushed a pull up down the toilet, and pulls B's hair on average thrice per hour. But he also sings, plays legos with his brother, draws (scribbles), hugs, screams in excitement anytime football is on, and loves to read. You know damned well that in a year's time I'll think everything he did was adorable.

In the meantime, I'm not saying dick about any more of his phases.