clearance at Target

Okay, Jayster -- this one's for you. For requesting a Lizzy story, that is.

Matt's been in Vegas since Friday afternoon. That's right -- Sin City. I'm not so much worried about what he might do -- he's not really into doing anything stupid -- I guess I'm just mildly alarmed at the possibilities of what his friends might get into, and what he might feel obligated to do to get them OUT of trouble. But, since 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,' I'll probably never know one way or the other. He called me a few hours ago -- he sounded like he was having fun. He and the friends were on their way to their umpteenth breakfast buffet. In response to 'what's the craziest thing anyone's done yet,' he said, "Well, I'm not sure if this is true or not, but I hear that Nick (his goofball younger brother) ran across the street with his pants down at some point." Okay. That's fairly innocent. Heck, the way he wears his pants most of the time (Kids these days! Tsk), it's a wonder they ever stay up at all.
And, as friend Stacy pointed out, "You've got to get into a LOT of trouble in Vegas to get put in jail." So my fears that Matt will have to bail people out are probably unfounded.
He called to ask if a "black Harley/Las Vegas t-shirt" seemed an apropos gift to bring the Lizzard. I said, um. Ooookay. Can't wait to see what he brings me.

But back to my Lizzy tale: So, Matt's been out of town, and my parents left on Saturday afternoon. So it's been "girl's night" for the past couple of nights. On Saturday, I had a couple things to get at Target, so Lizzy and I trucked over there. I might look like a bad parent here by admitting that we watched "The Incredibles" that afternoon. Hey -- she wanted to see it. And, I sorta forgot about the inappropriate violence and shooting and death implied and shown in the movie. Oops. Otherwise, though, it's really great. If you haven't seen it, you should. One of the more realistic family portrayals I've seen in a cartoon, if not THE most. And very well, er, computer animated, and a great plot. Okay. Enough of a plug.

So Lizzy decided that Daddy was "Mr. Credible," and I was "Lastigirl," and she was the daughter, Violet. So I had to call her Violet. There must be a point at which Elastigirl (the mom) carries Violet in her arms with both arms straight out in front, and Violet doing a dead man's flop. Lizzy wanted me to do this in Target. I said, Hey, kid. I'll carry you, but in the usual on my hip, so as to save my arms from undue stress, position. Be happy with that, you almost 40-pounder. But she wasn't. She loves to push what's allowed past the point that we're willing to go, and then throw a fit and see if she can't get her way after all. So she collapsed in a dramatic, sobbing heap about 20 feet into the store. I said, Okay -- you don't want to come with me, stay there. Bye! See ya! Usually, this will send her shooting after us in a panic, or else she'll lie there and sob, in which case I go pick her up and ideally carry her the way I wanted to in the first place. (and, no, she won't ride in the cart. Too easy for everyone to do THAT.) But this time, I looked back, and she was gone. GONE. No sign of her.

As my friend Liz said, well, at least we comfort ourselves with the thought that if some stranger tries to carry our little darling off, she will scream bloody murder and we'll hear it. That was the weird thing -- there was no sign of her. No crying, no laughing, no nothing. I looked all around, and eventually saw her quite far from the starting point. I said, "Lizzy! Come here!" and she bounded away laughing, then only the slap-slap of her receding sandaled footsteps were my clue where she'd gone. I heard slap-slapping from the kid's clothing section, but it turned out to be another sandaled munchkin. I truly had no idea where she was. And the crushing realization of how enormous a Target store is really bore down on me.

It felt like one of those super silly crises -- probably nothing is wrong, probably it will be fine in two minutes... But what if it's not?

I get weird in times of true trouble. Really calm and reactionless. Very clear-headed. Usually, my thought is, "People aren't going to take me seriously unless I'm reacting more than this." It's the smaller things that have me freaking out. Especially if there's a time crunch involved. But losing my kid? Eh.

I actually got the items I went to Target for, then alerted the guy at customer relations that I had lost my 3-year-old daughter. A lady issued a 'code yellow' into her walkie-talkie. I paid for my items, and as the cashier was handing me the receipt, another young woman walked over to the walkie-talkie lady with Lizzy in tow. "Is this her?" Walkie-Talkie asked. Yep, that's her. Dry-eyed, looking a little wary, but my Lizzy.
I couldn't believe she hadn't been freaking out. This kid has been glued to my leg every moment that she's not in day care... Always. Unless there are other kids she knows to play with, and then only if she knows exactly where I am, or can see me.
We've turned a dangerous corner. She's growing up. It's kinda wild. At least now I know not to play the 'dare her' game any more. I knew she'd outgrow it sooner or later.
Darn.

I feel somewhat bad that I didn't show more gratitude to the Target ladies. I think I mostly felt foolish. "Hi! I'm the mom who can't keep track of her kid!" I did say thanks, but could've been more showy about it. I hope they knew. Maybe I'll drop the manager of the store a note this week.