Apparently You’re Not Supposed to Sprint Through J.C. Penney or Chasing Wade

My husband was shopping. For himself. Willingly. That’s about as rare as the sun setting in the east.

I wasn’t about to let anything interrupt such a momentous occasion. Not even whiny children who ride bikes in the driveway for hours on end, but get life-threatening foot cramps after walking for five minutes in a store.  So while Dave studied dress shirt and tie combinations, I tried to corral the boys.

At eight years old David is pretty well behaved, but Wade in a store is a free radical, bouncing into display racks and other customers.

Dave asked me to consult with him on the question of striped vs. polka dotted ties and the subtle difference between lilac and thistle (It’s a real color — CMYK, 18, 27, 2, 1) when Wade managed to wrestle his sweaty, little hand from my death grip. He took off down the main aisle of JC Penny at a full on run.

Wade is small, but he’s fast. Like a tiny cheetah. We sent David after him first. We always send David to catch Wade these days, because we’re old. We end up winded, sweaty and sore the next day if we try to catch him. If you’re thinking about waiting to have children until you’re in you 30s, you can put that in the con column.

David is three times taller than Wade, and most of the the time his long legs allow him to catch Wade. But Tuesday night Wade was even too fast for David. He’s so small that he can bob and weave between the clothing racks like a graceful cat. Giant David just isn’t as nimble. When it was obvious Wade wasn’t stopping and David was lagging behind, I took off after both of them.

“Wade Campbell Stout! STOP! NOW!” I shouted in a threatening voice. I knew I couldn’t catch him, but maybe I could scare him. I ran past the cash wrap, and the cashier must have been a former librarian based on the nasty look she shot me. But there’s no time to be shh-ed when your four-year-old is making a bee-line for the up escalator with plans to walk down it. Oh, yes. I knew exactly where he was headed. Wade may be fast, but I’m intuitive.

I didn’t catch up to David or Wade, so Dave took off after us too, the shirts and ties in his hands flying out behind him.

All four of us were running through the upper floor of JC Penny, three of us periodically calling out, “Wade! Stop! Wade!” We looked like deranged participants in some sort of bizarre urban, in-door relay race.

Finally, Wade tripped on the foot of a clothing rack, and went down in the middle of the Young Men’s Department, right next to the skinny jeans. Just to make sure he didn’t get up and take off again, David tackled him. By that point David was riled up like a rabid dog. When I arrived I tried to call him off, but he wouldn’t let go of Wade. Dave had to pry them apart.

Dave managed to get a new shirt, tie and pants once things settled down. We walked up to pay, and the cashier said to me coolly, “I see you finally caught him.” I wanted to tell her that if JC Penney has good customer service at all she would have jumped the cash wrap and joined our quest to catch the little menace. But I just paid her instead, so we could leave.

Before I had children, I used to watch incidents less disruptive than the one I was involved in Tuesday night, and think things like, “My children will never… I would never… How can people?”

Now when I see things like that happen I do three things:

1. Make eye contact with the parent and offer an understanding, supportive smile.

2. Say a little prayer for their sanity.

3. Thank God that it’s not my child, this time.

In case you’re wondering, it’s Sunday now, and my shin splints are almost gone. Next time I’ll wear my running shoes. Who am I kidding? I don’t own any running shoes.