Jun 9, 2015

Four Abreast

I used to think that as the children got older, things would get easier.  For the most part they have.  I no longer have to cut their food into tiny pieces, pick up pacifiers off the floor, or wake up at 3 in the morning to feed them.  But some things never change.

I blogged about this way back in 2009....and there's been no improvement since then.  It's time to face it...we have walking issues.  This problem is not going away.  I've learned to embrace it, I'm just not sure the rest of the world has.


Take today for example.  We had to run an errand at the mall.  The children would rather walk over hot coals on fire.  But it couldn't be helped.  I strategically planned our getting there with when it opened so that we could be assured to come across as few other humans as possible.  This is necessary because my children have no idea how to walk in a mall.  They feel they must all walk right next to me.  Four abreast.  Five - Six feet in width.  We are the walking wall.  

They see people coming and squeeze in closer to me.  They wouldn't think of falling in line behind me, who does that?!  The only way we can pass for a 'normal' family is when I issue the orders of: fall back.  They have come to learn that means walk two behind two.  But this inevitably ends up in an argument about who deserves to walk next to me and who has to walk with a sibling.  It defeats the purpose of the command.  We take up a whole isle people!  I am so over this.  

No amount of education has thwarted this phenomenon.  No amount of bribing, cajoling, threatening, or non-verbal glances involving scrunched up eyebrows have driven the point home.  It's hopeless.  I had Gavin snap this selfie while we were walking through the mall.  I told everyone to stop right where they were and pose.  I needed proof that they still do this.  Of course, this embarrassed them to no end.

One more thing since I'm on a rant.  Chloe.  She would prefer to be in my skin.  She walks so close to me that she is almost leaning on me and stepping on my feet.  She pushes me along. I don't think she has ever heard of a thing called 'personal space' and if she has, she doesn't think it applies to moms. If it was couth to still carry an 11 year old around like a toddler on your hip, she would want me to. We are velcro and the stuff that attaches to velcro.  We are peanut butter and jelly.  I am the macaroni, she is the cheese. We are meant to be together, all the time, especially when we walk.  And if I dare say that I don't want to hold her hand because either she or I are sweating like a pig...watch out - it is a personal offense worthy of pouting and sometimes crocodile tears.

So I push on, with one child stuck next to me like glue ever holding my sweaty palm and the other two vying for position as close as humanly possible in the same horizontal area.  
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