Most of the time, I believe that WCK not really my child because she is actually a little clone of me. We are alike in so many ways. Then there are days when I believe she is not really my child because we can't possibly be genetically related. Today, for example, she ran away screaming from a free sample of fudge. Fudge. I would take a bath in fudge if I could.
Today's outing with the MOMS Club was a trip to Chip's Chocolate Factory at Crown Center, to be followed by lunch at a train-themed restaurant, where they actually deliver your food on little trains. We are always trying to go to this restaurant, and every time, something prevents us from going. This time, though, we were going to make it after all. I thought it was going to be the MOST. FUN. MORNING. EVER. For $4 a kid, we'd get a candy-making demonstration at the chocolate factory and a goody bag of chocolate to take home. All was well until about five minutes into the demonstration, when the Fudge-Making Guy started tossing liquid fudge dramatically into the air. All of the other kids were enthralled. WCK freaked out.
"WANT TO GO HOME!" she shrieked in the face of the flying fudge. "WANT TO GO HOME!!"
I tried taking her around the chocolate store and distracting her with all of the amazing things in the display cases, including something called "Cheesecake on a Stick". No luck. Then I thought maybe she'd calm down if we went out into the mall area and walked in the hallway for a while. WCK tried to make a mad dash for the car, wanting to get as far away from the fudge as possible. Of course, we couldn't actually go to the car unless we went back to the chocolate factory to retrieve our coats, diaper bag, and, of course, car keys. This sounds very logical, but it isn't really something you can explain to a two-year-old who is lying on the floor of Crown Center screaming because she's afraid she's going to be attacked by fudge.
I finally got her back into the chocolate factory, where the demonstration had ended and Fudge-Making Guy was handing out free samples of fudge. "Ah!" I thought. "A spoonful of fudge will turn her around!"
Nope. WCK shrieked at the fudge as though I were trying to give her rat poison. Anxious tears streamed from her eyes. I hurried up and paid our $4 and got our goody bag (which, fortunately, included a large block of fudge, which I am eating right now to soothe my soul) and high-tailed it out of there. She didn't want to walk. She didn't want to be carried. It was one of those long, scream-filled, stop-to-wrestle-the-two-year-old-every-five-seconds walks back to the car. I didn't think we were going to make it. Finally, we burst out of the doors of Crown Center and into the parking garage.
"THAT WAS FUN!" exclaimed WCK brightly.
Fudge. I need more fudge.