Furniture Shopping (Or How Children Kill Brain Cells)

Dusty and I have been forcing (yes, people, with whips and chains I tell you!) the children to accompany us when we go furniture shopping on the weekends.

Oh. The horror.

You see, we're doing a family room/kitchen remodel (heavy on the family room). One of the things I want to do is replace the old microfiber couch with a leather one, get a nice, comfy chaise lounge for me and a swivel recliner for Dusty. So far we've found the sofa and the recliner, but the chaise eludes us. So we trek on, intrepid hunters that we are, and thank god every time we go that furniture doesn't eat people. Because if we had to sneak up on an unsuspecting entertainment center just dying for a taste of juicy human, we'd be toast. Our kids couldn't be quiet if we showed them a tiger and said "If you don't be quiet he will eat you."

I can almost hear the chorus of "Why?"

So anyway, off we go furniture shopping. I'm having a really hard time finding a store that stocks chaises in their showroom. I have to test the tushie quotient, you see. If the tushie isn't happy, I'm not sitting in it. No on-line chaise shopping for me. So off we go, piling into the car and heading out onto the highway. The six year old is happily be-bopping to They Might Be Giants on his PSP when suddenly he pauses. "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"I farted."

Cue eleven year old's hysterical laughter. Why it's so funny that his baby brother cut the cheese is beyond me, but hey. I've never been an eleven year old boy, so what do I know?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try not to breathe. Dear God in heaven, buffaloes smell sweeter. "Thank you for sharing. No. I mean it."

Dusty rolls down car window. Did I mention we were in the car? Note to self: check what I've been feeding that child. Oi.

Now that he's no longer so gassy, M begins making up lyrics to They Might Be Giants, who really didn't need the help.

R pauses his video game. I'm not sure which one it was, except he was muttering about building monsters and M seemed to know what he was talking about. "You know, I never realized how many forms Gabumon has."

"Huh?" I love it when Dusty gets that adorably confused look on his face. It happens so often recently.

"Huh?" I  echo, because he doesn't have a Digimon game and there is no Digimon currently in the car. Where did that come from?

"There's Punimon, who's pink and shoots acid bubbles. And jelly his friends can eat."

Already I can see Dusty's eyes glazing over. Which is bad, because he's driving.

"Then he digitizes into Tsunomon, who also blows bubbles, but they don't hurt anybody. Oh, and then there's Garurumon, and WereGarurumon."

"Don't forget Omnimon!" chimes in the six year old, who has gotten over his sudden burst of flatulence to join the conversation. He's been watching Digimon with his big brother, and I get the theme song stuck in my head for days at a time. The good news is Sunday morning it was kicked out by the chorus of Heat Miser, so I didn't have to suffer for long.

"Oh yeaaaah." R drawl. "It's cool when Gabumon digitizes into Omnimon."

"You guys might want to stop before Mommymon digitizes into MonsterMommymon. Grr."

The kids laugh, but it's that evil laugh that lets you know they aren't done yet. Oh no. You've ruined their Saturday by making them go furniture shopping. It's payback time.

"Patrick has a flag sticking out of his butt," giggles the six year old.

"Do you think Guilmon looks like a velociraptor? He's actually a virus."

M briefly stops humming One Dozen Monkeys. Did you know the twelfth monkey's name is Larry? I do. "Can we go to McDonalds? I love their french fries."

Now steam is beginning to come out of Dusty's ears. "You don't like anything else there, M." M has been begging shamelessly for french fries ever since we got into the car. Being a quarter Italian, every road trip must involve food somehow, no matter how short a drive it is. "Besides, we're going to Friendly's, remember?"

"But I LOVE their french fries, Daddy. Can we?"

"Guilmon digitizes into WarGrowlmon. It's his Ultimate form. He's kinda neat looking." R's head tilts. "Can we have pizza instead? I like Little Caesar's."

"We're doing pizza Monday night, remember? I already promised. So no pizza tonight." Visions of chaises are dancing in my head, so I don't realize that we're there. Besides, I can tune out Digimon faster than my kids can tune out a lecture, which is pretty damn fast from the way I've seen their eyes glaze over. I can tell they've already checked out before my lips even part.

"Aw man."

"Does Friendly's have french fries?"

"Yes, M. They do."

"Cool. Mommy?"

"Hmm?"

"I farted again."

R begins giggling hysterically again.

Dusty, wild-eyed, pulls into the JC Penney parking lot. Fifteen minutes locked in a car with his children and he's ready to bolt. "What are we here for again?"

"Furniture."

He sighs and gets out of the car, ready to release the kids into the wild of the shopping mall. "I could be running my monk through Thelanis again on elite. They're handing out extra experience right now."

"FRENCH FRIES!"

Next weekend we get to drive thirty minutes to furniture store. If I'm not back by Monday, check in McDonald's. I'll probably be buried under french fries and digital monkeys.