“That was an IUD.”

So, my first time at Build-A-Bear Workshop was unforgettable, for all the right reasons. My daughter and I shared the most special day. That day she got diamond hearts in her ears, and “Diamond Heart”, the sweet Pony doll.

My second time was no less memorable, as it involved a lost child and some consommé at Neiman Marcus. On that day we built “Blooming Bloom” for my daughter, a multi-colored bunny, and “Supe” for my son, a Superman style bear for good reason.

And then there was the third time. My third trip to Build-A-Bear Workshop can not be called a disaster, as it involved my sister, which is always a plus, and ended with three built bears.

BUT…

OMG.

Do you know when you should not try to build bears? On the day before Thanksgiving, at the mall, during naptime.

I will just say that one would think that building my children matching “Anna” bears would be peaceful, if not magical. They would get to stuff their new, little, cuddly friends. They would get to wash them in the cleaning station. They would dress them proudly. They would make birth certificates and name them.

But, no. Not at all.

When it came time to stuff the bears, my son was on the floor, screaming. As my daughter did the magical ceremony during which time she presented her bear with a heart, my son insisted that I carry him as he kicked and screamed in my arms.

The cleaning station actually had a nice, strong start.

My son scrubbed his bear for a good 10 seconds before another kid pressed on the foot pedal that controls the blowing air.

This scared my son so much that, once again, he flung his body onto the ground, in hysterical tears, making his body limp so that I had to use all of my might to lift him.

That was fun.

My daughter, however, cleaned her bear, “Ice Cream”, daintily. Ice cream is so fresh and so clean clean.

“Blue Bear” is, probably, not.

Picking out outfits was a torturous 20 minutes of chasing my son around the store. At one point, I actually had to trip him. I had to trip my own son, as he made a run for it, trying to sprint into the mall corridor.

Did this deter him? Slightly. He started to bite my ankle. He was literally an ankle-biter.

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Filling out the birth certificates was an equally calm experience. Let’s just say that “Ice Cream” was welcomed into this world with a little bit more love and care than her robin’s egg blue-colored twin.

As I went to pay for the bears, my son threw at least a dozen of the giant, frosted bear cookies, breaking at least half of them. I paid for him to eat one, which was good until he threw it on the ground.

I think that, by now, you get the gist.

And, not 1 minute after my sister and I lugged him, his sister, a big bag, three Build-A-Bear boxes and the gummy snack he picked up along the way (don’t worry, I threw a dollar at the people at Jamba Juice) to the car, he was out cold.

“Blue Bear” stayed in the trunk.

And this is when my sister sighed, her shoulders relaxing into the seat behind her and said some of the wisest worst I have heard her utter.

“That was an IUD.”

Totally.

Fourth time’s a charm?

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Only if next time I get a bear too. Because that heart ceremony? That looks pretty cool.

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