Bad Idea #3,249

In case you are wondering, it is not a good idea to take your kids to the Target Clinic for flu shots at 6:30 p.m. on a Monday night.....In 6 degree weather.

It's especially rocky when you arrive at Target, see the number one parking spot open but find you can only squeeze your SUV into it by jumping up on the curb because of another car terribly parked in the adjacent spot. Then, upon going to get the children out of the car, you have this conversation:

"Ok, come on, Lilly."

"Um, Mom, I forgot my jacket," she says, not budging.

"Really Lilly?" I say, feeling the impatience rising like lava. "Just come on, the rest of us are getting cold."

"Well, Mooom, I brought my blanket. Can't I just wrap it around me?"

"No, Lilly. We are not bringing your blanket into the store. Just get out and we'll run really fast inside. This is the closest parking space so it won't be too bad," I answer.

"But Moooom, I don't have shoes and socks either!"

At which point the lava began to seethe through the cracks that were my nerves. After lecturing "What about 'shoes, socks, jackets, going to Target' didn't you understand?" I have to question my sanity when I scoop her up with my Solly-free arm, bundle her in the blanket, stick her in a cart and take her in anyway. And then, finding we are the 9th-12th people in line, I decide to stick it out and wander the store for twenty minutes putting us well past Solly's bedtime (always makes for much more entertaining flu shots.)

Upon arriving back at the clinic, I am called over to the desk and told they only have shots, no flu-mist left. While that is not a problem for the majority of our crew, I eye Lilly, recalling the last time we did this. (Think: three nurses holding down one flailing, screeching child.)

"No problem," I say, stubbornly refusing to just call it a night.

We follow her back into the room. I go first. Next, Liam bravely watches the shot go in his arm. He doesn't flinch, although for a very brief second the smile straightens on his face. I then grab Solly and the nurse quickly administers the shot. His one tiny tear is interrupted by Lilly who is now crouching in a corner, a chair pulled over her head, yelling, "No, no, no, no, I am not getting a shot, nooooooooooo!!!" She begins a regimen of kicking and clawing and anything else she can think of to keep us away.

The nurse looks at me and says, "I'll just go get the other nurse now," and leaves the room. By the time they come back I have Lilly pinned down on the table. She is red faced and from the outside, I imagine it sounds like we are amputating her bare feet sans anesthesia.

After trying to get Lilly to relax, the nurse shrugs, finds Lilly's fully flexed shoulder and jabs in the needle as well as one could expect. Lilly gets very quiet.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," she says, hopping off the table. "Can I pick out a treat now?"

Next year, I think we may just take our chances.