McDonald's and Minivans and Malls (Oh my!)

       Yesterday was our first day back from a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend in warm, sunny Florida, and North Carolina welcomed us back with a vengeance: it poured all day long. In the morning, desperate to get four cranky kids out of the house, I headed for the Health Adventure, a kind of children's museum that recently relocated to a mall near our home. (I use the term "children's museum" grudgingly, since when I was a child, even the word museum made me grumpy with tired feet.) I had just bought a year's pass, anticipating lots of cold, wet winter days cooped up inside with four kids, and I wanted to get a good start on getting my money's worth. I pulled into the parking lot already despairing. The rain showed no signs of letting up, and I saw no way of unloading all four kids and shepherding them safely inside without drenching everyone in the process.
     "I don't want to go in there!" Clayton piped up from the backseat. He was just being grumpy and oppositional, but for once I agreed. "I don't either," I said, pulling back out onto the road.
      Instead, we headed for the mall across town, where there is a covered parking deck and an elevator that deposits you, conveniently, right near the kids' playground in the middle of the food court, not to mention the handicap access button that automatically opens the double doors.
       Twenty minutes later all four kids are playing on the kiddie playground. Dee Dee, especially, is in heaven. There's a soft, padded bridge that she climbs up and then slides down again and again, oblivious of the older kids who narrowly miss her as they race by. Clayton is chasing a couple of older girls who seem to have generously incorporated him into their game, although when they put their hands together for a "team work" cheer and tell him to do the same, he starts up with the baby talk he falls back on whenever he's unsure of what to say. Even Sylvia gets in on the action, cruising around on the play structures and even venturing into the little play house on her own. I sit on the bench that encloses the playground and take a deep breath. Dee Dee beams at me from the top of the bridge before careening down onto the padded floor, and I am struck, not for the first time, by how perfect this place is for still-crawling, year-old babies-- not to mention their older brother-- on a rainy Monday.
      I must admit it: having three kids has given me an unexpected appreciation of many things that I might once, in my younger, determined-to-be-out-of-the-mainstream days, have scorned or scoffed at. Malls (and their playgrounds), drive-thrus, McDonald's, television, individually packaged cheese crackers, frozen pizzas, minivans, free kids' popcorn at the grocery store.... All of these things I have (with greater or lesser degrees of reluctance) embraced in the past year. I know that it is indeed possible to raise kids without any of those things, as my sister's family is living proof. I have found that I am not so principled.
      The minivan was probably the hardest. My first thought when I found out I was pregnant was twins was "Oh no! We'll have to get a bigger car!" Still, I was in denial until just a few weeks before the girls were born. I insisted that the Prius was a five-passenger car, and tried my best to wrestle all three carseats into the back, even after the trained fireman had given up. It was Clayton who finally convinced me it wasn't going to work. He looked at the infant carseat I'd installed next to his, gave it a practice "whumph" with his foot, and announced, "Kick baby!"
      I won't go so far as to say I love our minivan, but I'm the first to admit that it gets the job done. Triple stroller and two tricycles? No problem. Fool-hardy, exhausting, unforgettable camping trip to West Virginia? Room to spare. Lumber for the tree fort Don built in the backyard? It can do it all. I just try to avoid looking at the miles-per-gallon readout above the rear view mirror and instead enjoy the fact that even when Clayton is at his most antagonistic, I can get all the kids safely buckled in and leave them for a minute while I put the dogs out or make sure I've packed enough diapers without worrying about anyone getting kicked.
      And drive-thrus? I don't think I even have to explain. Soon after the twins were born, when unloading three kids for even the simplest errands was still new to me, I wanted drive-thrus everywhere. I seriously considered pulling up to the pharmacy drive-thru to ask for a gallon of milk and some peanuts. Clayton's a quick study. Now if we pull up to the drive-up ATM at the bank, he'll sometimes say, "I want a blueberry bagel!" or "I want a Munchkin!"
      Don't worry, I'm not going to itemize my new-found enjoyment of all the items on my "newly appreciated" list. But I will say that yesterday afternoon, when the rain had still not let up and the afternoon grumpiness had set in full force, I didn't hesitate before taking them all to "Old McDonald's," as Clayton (and now Townes) calls it. I parked next to the door, somehow maneuvered Dee Dee into the Ergo while still in the car (another point for the minivan!), and got everyone inside without even Clayton complaining about getting wet. For Halloween, Clayton's school had given each of the kids a McDonald's coupon for a free ice cream cone. I troop inside with Dee Dee on my back, Sylvia in my arms, and Clayton and Townes still holding hands while they stare at the Happy Meal toys on display and beg intermittently for ice cream. I hand over my free coupon and ask if they can split the free cone into two cups. The cashier looks skeptical but the manager nods; I take my two free ice creams in my one free hand and herd the boys back to the playground.
         "Yummy dummy in my tummy!" Clayton mimics his dad while scarfing his ice cream. Townes is actually using a spoon to eat his, albeit upside down. (When I first started taking care of Townes, he ate even ice-cream with his fingers.) Sylvia climbs up the steps to the toddler slide and sits in the covered area at the top, grinning and bobbing her head at every kid who passes until her brother "helps" her go down the slide face first. Even Dee Dee, who has taken an uncharacteristically short nap today, rallies when she sees the slide. The minutes until four o'clock pass surprisingly quickly.
       I'm sure we won't be going to McDonald's this often forever. I'd still rather be at an outdoor park than in the middle of a food court, and I am planning to make my own kids suffer the same "no television on school days" rule that my siblings and I survived as children, once we'd outgrown Sesame Street and Mister Rogers. One day--maybe-- I'll even start making my own pizza dough instead of cramming the freezer with whatever frozen pizzas are on sale. But for now I'll freely admit I'm parenting by cracker. I'm not ashamed of the stash I've hidden in the glove compartment of the minivan, ready to placate fussing babies and bribe uncooperative little boys. And the other day, while I pushed the double stroller through the mall and Townes and Clayton sprinted ahead, pointing at everything-- the fountain, a dog wrapped in strands of tinsel, a window display of fake presents-- both yelling "Ook, Mama!" with genuine excitement, well, I don't think I've enjoyed the mall so much since the seventh grade.