One of the purchases was a Buzz Lightyear costume, which Max lovingly drug along the floor of the store the entire time saying, “BUZSH!  BUZSH!  BUZSH!  BUZSH!  BUZSH!”  I couldn’t even get him to hand it to me to pay for it.  I pried it from his freakishly strong grip and gave it to the cashier, at which point Max darted back to the wall rack and began climbing it in order to retrieve another one.  I hope someday he turns his focus to world peace because, people, this kid is DETERMINED.

We thought Max would be content to hold the costume in his very own bag.  We thought wrong.  At this point, I don’t think he realized it was something he, he himself, could wear.  It was as if he was holding the only remaining evidence of his fallen comrad, the great Buzz Lightyear, and (picture Patrick Swayze here) nobody puts Buzz in a bag!  So, he began pulling it out of the bag and dragging it along the floor once again.

“Let’s just put it on him,” I said, but I didn’t notice the BOMP-BOMP-BOMP foreshadowing organ music playing in the background, because Max was screaming violently as I took the costume from him. 

He struggled against me, expressing in his own way, “What are you doing, mad woman?  Why are you torturing me?  What are you doing to my dearest friend?  Why are you making me lay down and give you my leg, Satan?  Why are you putting Buzz–YOU’RE PUTTING BUZZ ON ME???  PUT IT ON FASTER!  FASTER!  FASTER!  FASTER!”

During the struggle, I didn’t realize that the legs of the one-piece costume were completely twisted around.  I made an attempt to take the costume off to correct this, but all the people in Baby GAP had already heard enough bleating horror for one day.  One lifetime.

We took Max to a mirror to let him see his Extreme Disney Makeover, and he stared at himself in quiet awe.  He put his fists on his hips and walked proudly around the mall, riding escalators and walking like the proud Space Ranger he was.  Well, actually, since the legs were twisted around, he walked more like a special-needs penguin, but you get the idea.

He slept in the costume.  He let Ryan take it off only to change his poopy diaper and change his clothes, then back to business.  At least he got the legs straight on day two.

Late last night, I convinced him to take a bath.  He shed his clothes, and as he bathed, I took the costume and hid it, because I am a mature adult who can deal rationally with my children.  After getting his pajamas on, he wandered around saying, “Where da Buzsh?”

I spent the next hour trying to distract him.  I read books, I stood on my head, I juggled knives, I let him play the piano, paint the walls, and drive the car around the block.  BUT I KEPT THE COSTUME FROM HIM.  SO I WIN.

We’re headed to Disneyland in a few weeks, which I think will be very akin to taking a meth addict to the Robitussin factory.  I’m looking forward to apologizing profusely to various Disney employees working in the stores, and particularly to the one dressed as Buzz Lightyear who will eventually need to file for a restraining order.

• The throw rug in the laundry room
• A pair of socks
• My belief that I would have a good weekend

Items ruined by Max’s yarking chunks all over the place last night:

• Grey, size 2T pajama bottoms
• Grey, size 2T UTAH Utes t-shirt
• Probably a couch cushion
• My ability to ever buy, prepare, serve, or eat macaroni and cheese again.

This is what we heard for a half hour: “Mrrrfffff  Mrbmrmblm mrlnmg nlmrbbbbllnn nnnllmmmggg ngn nmmlllrr mmmrrr nmn mmrnl nnnbbbll,” because all the news helicopters were hovering overhead to give the good folks at home the areal view of thousands of people they don’t know.

Then, before Karl Malone was even done saying, “Mmrrff ffffbbbllll mmrlnlgg nnbbblllppp,” the herd of people we don’t know started lining up at the Delta Center doors because (brace yourself) THEY WERE GOING TO GIVE AWAY KARL MALONE STATUES TO THE FIRST FIVE THOUSAND PEOPLE THROUGH THE DOOR.  So, Ryan and Christian join the herd in the front of the line and I try to keep Max happy in his stoller.  I don’t even want to talk about how hard this is, so please don’t ask.  I quickly gave up on the happiness of him in the stroller and focused on keeping him in it, which resulted in him crying out as if I had taken the stroller and rolled it over his wriggling body 58 times.  Which I considered.  After about 15 minutes of this, I finally told Ryan I was going to take Max and bail.  I headed to Gateway while Ryan, Christian, and the herd of people kept waiting at the door for the glorious statues.

I walked around Gateway for a few minutes with Max who was still moaning, because the only thing he hates more than sitting in his stroller is having the family separated from each other without getting his approval first.

Then Alison called to say that she and Bryant had arrived at the mall.  Our plan was to eat all together before they and Ryan and Christian went to the game.  We finally decided on Z Tejas because there was no wait to get in.  Ryan and Christian were still waiting outside the Delta Center doors, because in case you’ve forgotten, they were giving away Karl Malone statues to the first five thousand people through the door. 

So, Alison, Bryant, Max, and I got seated at roughly 5:50 p.m..  Well, Alison and Bryant got seated, but Max who does not like to sit in strollers or be separated from any family members, also prefers not to sit in high chairs.  I’m guessing this does not surprise you.  So, I tried bending the Incredible Unbendable Child into the high chair, but, alas, I was no match for the Incredible Unbendable Child and could not make his straight little legs bend to fit into the high chair.  Without breaking them.  Which I considered.

The waitress came around and got our drink orders and I called Ryan to see what he wanted me to order for him.  By this time, he had entered the Delta Center and received the magnanimous statue, but could not leave the Delta Center yet because it is impossible to send two people out the door when twelve thousand people are pushing their way into the door, trying to get their grubs on a stinking free Karl Malone statue. 

At roughly 6:07 we placed our order with the waitress, for all six of us, and let her know that we were in a hurry, because they were going to the game.  Don’t even ask about what Max was doing at this point, because I don’t want to tell you that he was climbing in and out of the non-high-chair, which was exactly why I wanted him in a high-chair to begin with.

Ryan and Christian finally made it out of the Delta Center and into the restaurant by about 6:20.  We were expecting our food any second, but we should have known better, because this is OUR LIFE and things never seem to work out as simple as ordering food and having it arrive.

At 6:50, we left the restaurant BECAUSE THEY NEVER BROUGHT OUR FOOD TO THE TABLE.  Apparently, there was some “mix-up” with the computer system.  They were very sorry, and as we walked out the door, a brawny Mexican carried the tray of our food to the empty table.  We left on principle and on time to see the tip-off, because we are principled people.  Hungry, but principled.  Hungry and in our seats before tip-off, but principled

At 7:07, I was driving home with Max, not having eaten and not having a good time.  I briefly stopped by the side of the freeway, set Max on the roof of the car with a cardboard sign that said, “Free Brat” and one on myself that said, “Will do anything for food”, but everybody was on their way to the Delta Center to try and get their damn statue and couldn’t stop, though I did get a few honks as they passed.

Don’t even ask what I finally had for dinner at 7:48, because you’ll just feel bad that I ate Western Family Macaroni and Cheese out of the sauce pan with a tiny fork.  And, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t ask how stupid the statue turned out to be, because I don’t want to explain the way that it looks more like Gary Coleman in an old tiny-white-shorts uniform than The Mailman.

P.S.  Don’t even ask what Max just did in his pants while I was typing this because there aren’t enough words to describe the liquidy, explosive quality of it.  

They looked in his ears, checked for fluid, asked some questions and then led us into a small, enclosed booth with a chair in the middle of the room facing the corner with a small table and a little stuffed bunny holding brass symbols.

“Oh cuuuu”, said Max, which means, “Oh, cute” in Maxinese.

In the two other corners, on either side of the chair, were two large speakers.  Max sat on my lap, and the audiologist, on the other side of the wall made sounds in the left speaker, then the right, and back and forth to see if Max would respond.  The volume levels got lower and lower to see if he would still respond and he did.  He started anticipating where the sound would come near the end, when the volume was down to a low, raspy whisper.

Suddenly, the bunny with the symbols, who had no previous part in the test, suddenly lit up and started playing the symbols.  Max jolted in my lap and the bunny, staring at us, played a creepy little song and bashed his symbols.

I’m really glad Max can’t speak yet, because I know exactly what he would have said: 

“WHAT THE HELL?”

This emotion was captured when the granola bar broke into two pieces.  I mean, if you can’t rely on a granola bar to keep itself together, what can you rely on?