Oy, what an afternoon.
So, obviously the kiddos had a birthday recently. My mom wanted to get them a good present, and decided on this outdoor playhouse. Looks like fun, durable, good for a number of years. Great gift.
Except, she lives 1,000 miles away from us. So, she figured she’d order it online and have it shipped.
Except, shipping was anywhere from $80 to $150. So, she figured she’d buy it from Sears and have me pick it up at the store.
Except, they were all out of stock because it’s the end of the season. So, she finally found it at a Toys R Us in Manchester, New Hampshire. About 45 minutes from my house. I said I could drive up there this afternoon post-nap, so she called the store and had them set one aside. Of course, it’s not like they could have sent it to a store closer to me, and of course they wouldn’t let her pay over the phone. So, off I go, 45 minutes with the kids in the car to buy the present my mom wants to get them. Fine.
Except, maybe two exits onto the highway and traffic is all but stopped. At 3:45 in the afternoon, nowhere near the city. And Rebecca is hungry/thirsty but refusing her sippy cup of milk. And Daniel is throwing crackers on the floor. So they’re both screaming. I’m regretting the trip already, and I’ve only been on the road 15 minutes. I’m considering just turning around and calling my mom and telling her to think of some other gift. But I call M, who checks the traffic report, and it looks like it should clear up. Fine, whatever, I’m already on the road. After an hour, we finally make it to the Toys R Us in New Hampshire.
Except, the woman at the service desk keeps calling the guy to check the customer hold room, and he’s not picking up the intercom. And they can’t for the life of them figure out how to spell or say my last name. Fine, whatever. 25 minutes later (oh, and the kids are no longer in their carseats, but now in the stroller… not a whole lot happier), he finally wheels out this enormous box and I pay for it, and he helps me out to the car.
Except, as we walk up to my van, we both know it. The box just isn’t going to fit. Even with the seats down, even if I didn’t have the kids with me (it was tempting to just leave them there and come back later), it was too big. He asks me if I have a truck (um, no), or if I want him to try to strap it to the top of the car (um, I’m 40 miles from home, I’m not driving back on local roads at 25 miles per hour). I thank him for his effort, but apologize and say I have to walk back into the store and return it, less than five minutes after I bought it. It was all I could do not to burst into tears. The kids beat me to it.
Everyone back in the car, time to go home. I called my mom to let her know what happened, and she started talking about my uncle’s truck and waiting until it comes back in stock at Christmas time. I’m not sure why she’s so attached to this play house, but frankly, I could give a shit. If it shows up on my doorstep, great. We’ll love it. But there’s no way in hell I’m crossing state lines for it again.
We finally arrived back home, more than two hours after we left. The kids had been strapped into either their carseat or their stroller the whole time. I think they were just relieved to climb around the kitchen while I got them some dinner.
Thanks, mom, but maybe next time just get them a DVD or something.