An Uneventful Sunday
All about:
mall,
SM City Bacolod,
toys,
train,
Woog and Eli
When I regaled Atch about the ongoing brouhaha that was the SM craze, he shuddered and promptly shelved our much-awaited plan to bring the boys on a tour of the place after Mass on Sunday.
"Let's wait two more months," he announced, "maybe by May or June, people will get tired of crowding into SM."
Woog did his pouting stomping routine. He was so looking forward to spending some serious quality time on the kiddie train that plied the commuter route from one end of the mall's north wing to the other. After such a build-up of anticipation, this unexpected downturn of events was too much for his four-year-old self to take.
Eli merely goggled at his brother's spectacle and grinned.
But Mass ended early after a relatively short sermon by a relatively sloshed Father A. Apparently the allure of communion wine was harder to resist this Sunday. So Atch had a change of heart (a very rare occurrence) and hauled us posthaste to the city's destination of choice.
The mall opened at 10 am, and there we parked with the motor idling, the blast of car air-conditioning shielding us from the summer glare, while a humongous slice of the populace accumulated in front of each of the yet-to-be-opened doors of the mall.
"Oh God, Mommy, you were right." Woog exclaimed in horrified outrage, and Atch and I exchanged a horrified-mirthful glance of our own. Should we give in to laughter at the seemingly blase observation from the lips of our little ingenue, or should we chastise him for using such blasphemy on such a holy day?
In the end, laughter won (blast our souls to Sheoul), and to my great surprise, Atch changed his mind twice in one morning, deciding to drive to the opposite end of the city to visit the other mall. I wanted to say: 'Observe my kiddies, and take note, for this is a rare day indeed, one not to be repeated in another millenium'. But Woog had gone back to sulking, and Eli had fallen fast asleep in the backpack. Oh well.
As soon as we got out at the nearly deserted grounds of SM's rival, we made a quick stop for some groceries, then brought the kids to the resident Toys 'R' Us. Woog perked up immediately and Eli awoke from his stupor to behold the colorfully furry world of plushies.
I took out my camera phone and squeezed in a couple of shots
before store security came and warned me that it was prohibited to take pictures of the merchandise.
Eh? What merchandise? I was preserving my kids faces for posterity. What did he think we were? Secret agents from the rival store, out to take inventory their stock? But the security guy shook his head adamantly: cease and desist. Fine. Whatever does you. I stuck my tongue out at his retreating back and I felt much much better.
Woog spent some time at the Megablocks station, but as soon as Eli started yawning again, we headed for home.
And such was our uneventful Sunday.
Woog eventually did get to ride the SM train, at near closing time when the crowds were thin and the train had ceased the day's run. He was beyond ecstatic. And it humbled us to never discount the simple pleasure that kids derive from such pittances. It makes their memories of childhood all the more sweet.
Would that we could have given him more.
"Let's wait two more months," he announced, "maybe by May or June, people will get tired of crowding into SM."
Woog did his pouting stomping routine. He was so looking forward to spending some serious quality time on the kiddie train that plied the commuter route from one end of the mall's north wing to the other. After such a build-up of anticipation, this unexpected downturn of events was too much for his four-year-old self to take.
Eli merely goggled at his brother's spectacle and grinned.
But Mass ended early after a relatively short sermon by a relatively sloshed Father A. Apparently the allure of communion wine was harder to resist this Sunday. So Atch had a change of heart (a very rare occurrence) and hauled us posthaste to the city's destination of choice.
The mall opened at 10 am, and there we parked with the motor idling, the blast of car air-conditioning shielding us from the summer glare, while a humongous slice of the populace accumulated in front of each of the yet-to-be-opened doors of the mall.
"Oh God, Mommy, you were right." Woog exclaimed in horrified outrage, and Atch and I exchanged a horrified-mirthful glance of our own. Should we give in to laughter at the seemingly blase observation from the lips of our little ingenue, or should we chastise him for using such blasphemy on such a holy day?
In the end, laughter won (blast our souls to Sheoul), and to my great surprise, Atch changed his mind twice in one morning, deciding to drive to the opposite end of the city to visit the other mall. I wanted to say: 'Observe my kiddies, and take note, for this is a rare day indeed, one not to be repeated in another millenium'. But Woog had gone back to sulking, and Eli had fallen fast asleep in the backpack. Oh well.
As soon as we got out at the nearly deserted grounds of SM's rival, we made a quick stop for some groceries, then brought the kids to the resident Toys 'R' Us. Woog perked up immediately and Eli awoke from his stupor to behold the colorfully furry world of plushies.
I took out my camera phone and squeezed in a couple of shots
before store security came and warned me that it was prohibited to take pictures of the merchandise.
Eh? What merchandise? I was preserving my kids faces for posterity. What did he think we were? Secret agents from the rival store, out to take inventory their stock? But the security guy shook his head adamantly: cease and desist. Fine. Whatever does you. I stuck my tongue out at his retreating back and I felt much much better.
Woog spent some time at the Megablocks station, but as soon as Eli started yawning again, we headed for home.
And such was our uneventful Sunday.
Woog eventually did get to ride the SM train, at near closing time when the crowds were thin and the train had ceased the day's run. He was beyond ecstatic. And it humbled us to never discount the simple pleasure that kids derive from such pittances. It makes their memories of childhood all the more sweet.
Would that we could have given him more.
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