Monday night, when I was supposed to be shopping for something to wear to my brother’s upcoming wedding, I walked with my family into a store in Fashion Place Mall selling discount Disneyland merchandise. We are frequent visitors to Disneyland, but we are not stupid visitors. We do not get sucked into the Disney merchandising. We let our kids pick one reasonable item to take home during our visits. We never buy Disney clothes. This is for two very good reasons: they are overpriced and never as cute back home in Utah. But, the Disney discount store had Disney clothes for Old-Navy-clearance-rack prices, so, what was the second reason again? Thirty minutes later, I’m outside the store holding three bags of Mickey Wear.
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.