There were many options to consider - the tree at Rockefeller Center, the outdoor Holiday market at Union Square, Santaland at Macy's, hot chocolate anywhere. I settled on taking LPP to Macy's because not only does Santa have his annual residency there, but they also have a Puppet Theater with shows throughout the day until early evening (who knew?). And they have restrooms, which is crucial when traveling with a potty-training toddler. K wasn't able to join us, so I figured we'd hold off on visiting Santa but still check out the puppet show, and maybe I could also score a new and much needed winter coat. I invited my Mom to meet us as the icing on the cake and she gladly accepted, even with such short notice.
LPP and I traveled into the city via mass transit and there was definitely a festive feeling in the air. We snacked on cheese nachos and made our way onto the subway to arrive in the midst of after-work rush hour commuters and holiday shoppers in mid-town. I started to wonder if this was the best timing - Friday late afternoon, mid-town, early December? Maybe not, but I wasn't deterred, the holiday spirit was too strong in me and I was determined to give LPP his own taste of Christmas in NY.
As soon as we arrived at Macy's, LPP informed me, as I feared, that he had to pee. I whisked him to the "nearest" restroom, which was not only FAR from where we were but was in a whole different section of the store. And once we finally reached the restroom, the line for the Women's Room was longer than the checkout line! I considered going into the Men's Room, I was so desperate. But I thought better of it (Men's Room, SCARY!). Without giving it a second thought, I walked straight to the head of the Women's Room line and pleaded with the woman there to let us cut since we were potty-training and all. It is amazing the nerve I've managed to muster since becoming a Mom. She informed me that she did have a train to catch but she didn't want him to have an accident, so she let us go next.
After our restroom visit and locating my Mother, we all headed up past the Santaland line, past the toys conveniently situated across from Santaland, through the china section, not so conveniently located next to the toys, and made it right on time for the next showing of Macy's Puppet Theater's rendition of Miracle on 34th Street. The kids, and whichever adults chose to, sat on the floor in front of the puppet stage and there was a female emcee dressed as a tin soldier who gave the introduction. And before we knew it, the lights went out and the curtain went up! It was a cute yet trippy marionette show. The marionettes looked oddly old, even the ones who were supposed to be children. I love the movie and this was a super condensed version with songs and dancing and a little bit of audience participation. I appreciated the effort if not completely the production - LPP began to lose interest about ten minutes before the end, repeatedly asking me in a loud voice, "Is this the end, Mommy?"
Next, we took in some good eats at "Au Bon Pain", which has become a little bit of a tradition at Macy's for me and LPP. Carolers walked by every now and then singing their holiday repertoire. And before long, it was time to go. I made sure we had a quick restroom visit before leaving Macy's, at a restroom that was thankfully not as far and not as busy as the first one. And then, so quickly and so innocuously, it happened...
My Mother and I were headed in one direction toward the elevators, and LPP started to veer off to my right into the boys' clothes section. I said, "No, come this way," which must have sounded to him like, "Run away from me, and laugh hysterically as you do!" Funny how that goes when you are learning a new language. And I have to admit that for a second or two, I chuckled inside because he looked and sounded so mischievous as he ran away giggling. And he wasn't that far from me, at first. He would run a little distance away from me, then stop and look back at me. Then as soon as I'd get close and call his name again, it was like a gunshot at the start of a race, and he'd take off again in a peal of giggles.
So there we are in this running dance, through racks of clothes, him running, stopping, looking back, laughing, me pursuing him, never taking my eyes off him. At one point, I managed to get a hold of the hood of his coat. But the coat wasn't zipped up, so he just slid out of it, laughing all the while, and kept running. I kept a manageable distance until he really took off, as if the laughter was fueling his steps, and the funnier he thought this all was, the further away from me he got until I realized that if I was going to catch him, I had to sprint. But there were the racks of clothes to contend with, the after-work holiday shoppers in the way, and the difference in my and LPP's sizes, which allowed him to wind around the maze of clothes racks like he had been in training for months, whereas I couldn't squeeze through fast enough. I lost time trying to take a short cut to cut him off, realizing in horror that it was a dead end, and by the time I backtracked, I could no longer see the flash of his colorful hoodie or hear his giggles anywhere - ANYWHERE.
I didn't panic at first, I just started calling out his name and walking ahead in the direction in which I thought he had run. But there was only the sound of holiday music playing in my ears and children who weren't my son in my line of view and my whole body started shaking inside as I started shouting his name even louder. And I couldn't stop, each shout becoming more and more panicked and louder and urgent. It wasn't until about the tenth shout that I realized that I was starting to draw attention and maybe even scaring the shoppers, who all stopped dead in their tracks to watch me with confusion and pity written all over their faces. I was on parade in some demented pageant, a sole chorus member in some Greek tragedy, my voice parting the sea of concerned shoppers who now began to make way for me as I scurried around like a headless chicken. I heard faceless voices coming at me from all directions: "Is it a child?" "Is it a boy or a girl?" I spit out answers, darting back and forth, my eyes fixed only in the distance now. One woman said, "I hear him," and when I called his name again, it did sound like he was answering me from somewhere. But I also feared it was another kid not understanding what was going on and answering me for fun, because it didn't quite sound like his voice.
At this point my Mother, who I had abandoned in my flight, met up with me and asked if I was sure he went this way. I had been wondering if (and hoping that) she could hear my shouts of anguish, which would relay to her what had transpired since she'd last seen LPP and me; the need for my Mom in my most desperate times never ceases. I told her yes and put my bags down at her feet to continue my search. One man came up to me and asked if I was looking for a child running, and when I told him yes, he told me, "He went that way," pointing towards the escalators. "Did he go up the escalator?" I asked terror-stricken. He told me no, that the boy turned at the escalators and continued on. Relieved and thankful for a lead, off I went.
I made it past the escalators and ran behind a cashier at her register, completely intruding into her workspace, to the other side of the store. There, a small group of people headed by one man told me that they saw the boy running "over there," pointing towards the far wall. And then, finally, I saw him, beyond more racks of clothes, his little smiling face peeking out from under the hood of his sweater, cheeks rosy with sweaty fun, looking so pleased with this chase, and still running. I came up behind another woman, a shopper or maybe a cashier, blocking my only path to LPP. I gently moved her to the side, and lunged out and grabbed that little boy, my heart in my throat. He was giggling nonsensically at this point, as if he had no idea where he existed in space or time. And I gathered my senses, kneeled down in front of him, held both of his hands down by his side and stared into his eyes, no smile, no yelling, no tears, although they were there, believe me they were there. LPP looked back into my eyes, his laughter slowly subsiding, the smile sliding down off his face as he realized that I was in no stretch of the imagination laughing with him, reading the seriousness of the situation in my face. I sternly told him that he was not to run off when I called him, that I was worried, that if he runs away like that he could get lost or someone could grab him, and all the things you can imagine you would tell your child in this situation. I picked him up and he saw McDonald's in the distance (seems one can never escape McDonald's) and asked to go there, and I told him he was not getting McDonald's or anything else because he didn't listen to his Mommy when she was calling him. That's when he began bawling - not because he almost gave me a heart attack, but because he couldn't get McDonald's. We made our exit, LPP crying in my arms, Macy's clerks pointing me out to each other, "See, I told you she found him," one clerk clasping her hands over her heart in relief.
When we reached the lobby of Macy's, I told my Mom that I felt so stupid for losing LPP (she never lost me) and shouting throughout the store like I did, and I had to fight back tears because I didn't want to freak out LPP. I'm a quiet person by nature, and although in the moment I didn't care who saw me losing my mind, after the fact, I was pretty embarrassed about my public display. And I know that's silly, because how else would people have helped me find him; any mother would have done the same. What's most disconcerting is that I lost LPP at all. I fit more in the category of hovering or helicopter Mom, and it wasn't like I lost track of him because I wasn't watching him. And yet, I still lost him. Or he lost me. We lost each other. It is an unsettling feeling no matter how you look at it. THANK HEAVENS I found him relatively quickly. It felt like an eternity, but the whole ordeal probably lasted 3-4 minutes, 5 minutes at most.
LPP and I finished our outing by heading down to the East Village to get a cheap stroller and a new haircut for him, and a new coat ON SALE for me, which was a totally spontaneous find that I took as a propitious sign that all was going to be well and I could calm down - the lengths I'll go to justify a purchase. Throughout the rest of the evening and night, I kept reminding LPP that he had to listen to me when I called him and he wasn't to run away from me, that someone could grab him and that I was so scared. I think he was finally registering my terror and was sincere when he promised that he wouldn't run away from me like that again. He kept saying he was sorry and kissing me. And finally, when we were about to fall asleep for the night, I overheard him whispering to his favorite toy, Baby Bunny, "No, Baby Bunny, you can't run away from me. You can't do that. It's okay Baby Bunny, don't cry." I think he's got the message.
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