Several of you asked about the Furniture Store Tinkling Incident, and there's a really good reason I didn't tell you about it right upfront.
Because I, um, didn't exactly handle it well.
We had taken all four kids with us to the store to look at a sofa and loveseat set for our den. We had been shopping for these particular pieces for a couple of months, and just earlier that day I had found the ones I wanted. I thought we could dash in, get Hubs' okay on them, and he could do his magical negotiating tricks. This is a GREAT source of pride for him--I swear the man could talk 50 cents off the price of a Big Mac. In a furniture store or car showroom he is ruthless.
To their credit, the boys were pretty well-behaved (and by "well-behaved", I mean "nobody got airborne in the mattress section". It's all relative.) In fact, they sat rather calmly with their little sister in the electronics section watching Finding Nemo. We were able to see them from the area where we looked at our stuff, so we thought this was a great set-up. We measured and debated and Hubs finally agreed with me that these were the ones for us.
He had just put on his best don't-try-to-pull-one-over-on-me scowl when I heard that sentence that chills the bones of any mother of a three year old: "MOMMA! I JUST GO TINKLE!" I walked quickly to the sofa where Corrie sat with her brothers (note: NOT the sofa we were buying. A totally different one. A much more expensive one).
The child hadn't just tinkled; I think her entire lower half had liquefied. There was an enormous wet spot on the sofa, and it was running over the side and steadily dripping on the rug below.
I did what any mother full of honesty and integrity would've done: I covered the puddle with a pillow.
I didn't say I was proud of myself.
"Corrie just peed everywhere," I shot back to my bewildered Hubs, as I dashed her out the store in my arms, the boys happily oblivious to the unfolding drama.
And Hubs, who clearly actually is more full of honesty and integrity than his wife, bought the sofa and loveseat at full-price, and added in an ottoman to boot.
(That above paragraph will only have meaning to those of you who know my Hubs in real life. HE PAID FULL PRICE FOR SOMETHING, y'all.)
I felt a little better when Hubs got in the car, post-purchase, and told me about the "miraculous" stain-removal package they wanted to sell him (which he declined). If it's that magical, then it could surely handle a harmless (albeit large) puddle of tinkle on their showroom floor.
And that's the story. Told you it was ugly. Do you think I'm awful? What would you have done?