The Pet Store-ry: Four Kids and a Bad Idea

We had gone to the mall with all the kids and, like every time we went to the mall with all the kids, many headache-launching moments ensued. It was a thing.

I don’t know how, every time we thought of going to the mall with four kids, I did not think to myself, ohhhh… this is going to lead to a migraine, exhaustion, and chasing four kids with four different plans in a huge mall. Instead, every time, I thought, what a lovely idea! Let’s take a few hours of quality family time and window shop peacefully, comment on school, friends, family, and other things that we rarely had time to discuss.

Which never once happened. Not once.

Only a parent of four kids who is crazy enough to think it will be great fun to take all four kids to the mall for great family time would get it.

As per our usual routine, the last stop before walking through Walmart to get to the car was always the pet store. It was not up for discussion. It was the part they looked forward to the most.

Frankly, it was interesting, and not just because of the cute puppies in the window. There were snakes and birds and exotic birds and an entire kaleidoscope-coloured range of fish. Every week the kids got lost in their excitement, so it was, in some ways, a great last stop before the car.

You would think it would be a relief. The four kids each went their own way and were genuinely interested in whatever they were interested in for a decent enough amount of time that I should have been able to breathe after trekking through the mall for a few hours.

Except that four kids each went their own way. All at the same time. In four different directions. Without a second thought.

Which made me into a hyper-focused, very alert, overly cautious mom, switching into high-scan mode. Aware of four bodies, voices, weird sounds, and incoming off-noises. High anxiety, high stress, choosing the best vantage point for all of the above, while still being delighted for them whenever they ran up to me to share something, without taking my eyes, ears, or attention off the other kids at the same time.

That day my eldest came bouncing up to me, all excited.

As usual, another weekly ritual had begun.

Excitement for an animal, pleading for the animal, negotiating for the animal, arguing for the animal, emotional manipulation for the animal, tears for the animal, and then finally petulant resignation for the animal, paired with a calculated “next week she will give in for the next animal” clearly written all over her face.

I have no nostalgia about those trips to the mall with my four kids.

She could not wait to tell me about this little teeny tiny so cute oh my God you gotta see it I am in love mom please can you think about it please mom come with me now mom… Chihuahua.

And here we were again, ready to dance the same dance we had danced the previous sixteen weeks beforehand. The hope. The pleading. The let-down. The next-time.

But today was not like the other sixteen weeks beforehand. Something in the air changed that day, apparently.

My husband, who was neither here nor there about pets, came trotting up to me and told me about the cutest puppy and that maybe we should think about it. My jaw dropped.

My daughter, still beside me doing her full sales presentation, snapped into disbelief.

“No, Dad. We are not getting that dog. I already picked the teeny tiny cutest dog ever in the whole world. Chihuahua.”

And I’m standing there saying, no, we are not getting a pet at all. Why must we go through this every week. Honey, you are not helping. We are not getting either the one you want or the one she wants.

But to appease them both, I walked over to the pets area. I planned on seeing the little Chihuahua. I was first going to walk toward the one my husband mentioned, just to talk him down. He would be easier. My daughter was tenacious and determined. Came by it honestly. But I was still more stubborn than the whole room of them.

I looked at all the little sets of tiny baby-dog faces with their cute little snouts, their short fur, their fat bellies, and pee stains everywhere with a few spots of poop here and there too.

Absolutely not. I was resolute.

Then my eyes caught and locked on a lovely pale golden little puppy with soft waves of hair. It was beautiful. So beautiful. And it had this look in its eyes that was soft and curious and intelligent as it looked right back at me.

Hmph. Where did that come from?

I stopped. I was actually feeling the most surprising thing ever. Longing.

I questioned myself immediately. I started thinking about thinking, and then I caught myself thinking, why am I thinking this? I thought I was crazy.

Yet, for some momentary insanity, I wanted that soft-haired little pale golden puppy.

I said, “Honey, look.”

“No, Mom, please. You have to see the one we are getting.”

The one we are getting?

“Oh, hang on, honey. Look.”

And then I saw her face do a super fast series of thoughts and calculations. The last look said, this is an opportunity in the making.

So she changed gears. Fast.

“Mom, you are right. What a beautiful little puppy. Do you think we could ask them to see it? Maybe the little Chihuahua too? That is a great idea, Mom.”

Little conniver.

Okay. Just how calculating can children be?

Before I knew it, I was sitting in a little room with my daughter and my other three children. My husband said he would be there in a minute.

They brought in the little Chihuahua, who was indeed very, very cute.

Actually, they brought two. One was blonde and calm. The other was teeny-tiny, white with medium brown spots, and had a nervous energy to it. I liked the blonde one better, but the spotted one was so small and so cute it barely felt real.

Then they brought in the other dog. A cockapoo. Calm and lovely. The kind of dog that, even at that tiny age, was already trying to nuzzle into my ankles.

And my heart did that thing again. Longing for this little dog that I had no attachment to, and yet it was somehow attaching itself to my heart.

I couldn’t stop thinking, what the heck is going on? This is crazy. Why do I want this dog so much?

My daughter, meanwhile, was pleading for either Chihuahua. Both Chihuahuas.

“Mommy please, a Chihuahua, and forget about that other dog, it’s too big and it’s not as cute and just look at him, Mommy.”

Then the door opened, and my husband came in. Finally he could help me calm my daughter’s relentless determination to get that Chihuahua down.

My brows furrowed with curiosity when I realized he was followed by one of the store reps carrying a humungous puppy. I think it weighed twelve pounds. Humungous.

And much to my surprise, my husband was all excited.

“Honey, honey, look at what I’ve got! Look! I found it for us! Take a look, honey! Look guys, it’s a Great Dane! Check it out! This is the kind of dog we need!”

And the room exploded in excitement.

Four very happy children in the room, two adults with very different ideas, one eldest child trying to secure not one Chihuahua but two, and me, being the only person with common sense, saying, “Listen. Chihuahuas are tiny. They’re known to piddle all over the place. I don’t think it’s the best fit for our busy family. And a Great Dane would eat us out of house and home, so absolutely not. I think we should consider this little beautiful cockapoo. Just look at how sweet he is.”

And now five sets of eyes were on me.
The three younger kids were excited at the thought of any dog.

The oldest would not stop talking. Relentlessly. Endlessly. Nonstop. Droning in my ear about why it had to be the Chihuahuas. Not one Chihuahua. Both.

And then she added, casually, like we were discussing a bag of chips.

“But Mommy, if you want the cockapoo too, we can get the cockapoo.”

I looked at my husband and told him, “Let’s just go home. Let’s go home and think about it. The worst thing we could do is make an emotional decision.”

The youngest burst out in tears. The eldest was suddenly in tears. My two boys were pleading. My husband was saying, “Honey, come on, don’t be stubborn. We don’t have to take time and think about it. This is the perfect dog for us.”

Five voices kicked in at once to urgency, why this dog or that dog was the one, or two, or three, or four. My head was swimming trying to hear them all at once. They were arguing over which of the four dogs we were going to get.

And then my husband looked at me and said, “You know what? I think we should get the Great Dane, the cockapoo, and one of the Chihuahuas. Honey, you pick,” he said while looking at my eldest daughter. “Which one do you want of the two?”

If faces could light up, let’s just say their four little faces suddenly looked like July 4 on the bicentennial of the United States of America.

She was so delighted she could have one of her little Chihuahuas, she looked at him and said, “No, Daddy, I want both of them.”

And I was like, what? Did he just say three dogs?

And did she just say no to one but demanded two, making a total of a proposed FOUR DOGS!!!!!

Now I had four voices all at once, yammering, clamouring, plotting, conniving, calculating, convincing each other, building cases, and trying to get all four dogs.

I looked at my husband and said, “You realize how much money this is going to be, right?”

He said, “No, no, no, I calculated it right,” and he had some weird explanation as to why we could suddenly afford such a crazy amount of money.

My youngest was saying, “Mommy mommy mommy, we have to get both Chihuahuas,” and I looked to heaven and said, oh my God, I can’t believe this. I really can’t take this. Every week I go through this. And every week we leave. Dogless. Petless. Happy. Well, I was happy. They were petulant.

Finally, I said, “Fine. We will get the Great Dane. We will get the cockapoo. And honey, you have got to choose which one of those two Chihuahuas you want.”

“I would rather have the cream one, if it were my choice,” I said.

“No, I don’t want the cream one. I want the teeny tiny one with the spots.”

I said, “Fine, but I don’t like it as much as I like the other one. The other one is calmer.”

She said, “Yeah, but this one’s cuter.”

I was outnumbered, outvoted, and apparently the only person in the room aware of our mortgage.

So that day we left the house as six people in a family, and we came home as nine varied beings of the household. Three of which peed, pooed, and took over the entire floor of the house in a way I could not have imagined possible.

,And while I was cleaning up pee and poop, my entire family was having the time of their life.

And their laughter and joy made me really happy.

And I smiled.

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