The Mother Who Invariably Loses It On Her Children
As I enter Giant Eagle with my boys in tow, I have an overriding suspicion that the cashiers, butchers, florists, and bagging people have all immediately started elbowing one another and whispering, There She is . . . the Mother Who Invariably Loses It On Her Children.
It begins with cart selection. Giant Eagle offers three kinds, each with its own unique drawbacks. There is the basic metal buggy. There is the elaborate and difficult to maneuver, plastic "car shaped" cart. And there is the cart built for the families with multiple offspring, the old "two seater" where the kids face the basket instead of the person who is pushing them.
During every trip, my children go for the "car," the dirtiest of all of the options. I always find tissues, plastic spoons, and candy wrappers on the seat of the car. The steering wheel is usually sticky. I say "no" in my firmest voice (steady, steady), and guide them to the basic metal number. They shriek that they'll take the two seater; again, I must demur, knowing full well that side by side seating will eventually lead to touching, poking, and hitting. I gently lead them back to the basic metal number. To illustrate his lack of enthusiasm for my choice, James stiffens his legs and refuses to sit. I must work at bending them, as though I'm manipulating a defective Ken doll.
After wedging James into his seat and making Mac swear to hold onto the side of the cart, we begin. It is not long until a fight ensues; they would both like to drop the selections in the basket ("drop" being the operative word). This goes for produce, bags of frozen french fries, bread, Pop Tarts, and jars of spaghetti sauce. I attempt to reason: you cannot put the spaghetti sauce in the cart. It's glass. Both children scream. James hurls a shoe at me.
Because I feel rushed, we fly through the meat department. We pass another mother, the one who always seem to shop when I do, the one with the little girl who wears striped stockings and Mary Janes and walks alongside her mother's cart, maintaining her own space, eating a slice of cheese that she was given at the deli. The same deli woman frequently forgets to offer my boys cheese. It doesn't really matter; when she does, they slick it on top of their heads and pretend that it's hair.
By the end of the trip, there has been whining, cajoling, begging, and teeth gritting . . . and that's just from me. I am almost done. I can see the electric doors sliding open and closed in the distance. I say screw the garlic and peanut butter, and bolt towards the registers.
Unfortunately, I choose a self-checkout lane. Four items scanned and onto the conveyer belt, I realize that this is a critical error. Mac and James toss boxes of crackers and cereal at me. They'd like to help. James somehow squirms free of the safety belt and is standing on his seat screaming "Hey Mom. Wook. Wook!" The bagging area is full and the register refuses to scan anymore items until I've bagged some stuff. I notice that the little girl who was eating cheese is standing in the next checkout lane, sorting through her mother's coupons and reading them aloud to her. She rolls her eyes at me.
I lose it.
THAT'S IT! THIS HAS GOT TO STOP! WHAT ARE YOU . . . ANIMALS? NO SPECIAL DINNERS FOR LUNCH! I SWEAR TO GOD, WHEN WE GET HOME, YOU'RE GOING STRAIGHT TO THE NAUGHTY CORNER AND YOU'RE NOT COMING OUT ALL DAY. ALL FLIPPIN' DAY! THAT'S IT. THAT'S IT. WE'RE DONE.
I, then, notice that all of the other customers, especially the elderly ones, are staring at me and shaking their heads at my sobbing boys (only crying because they've lost their frozen TV dinners) and muttering gems like, "Oh, those poor little guys. They're just tired." These people narrow their eyes at me, their voices rife with accusation: "Little fellows must be missing their nap time."
Really. Is that the problem?
I suppose that those "poor little guys" should have considered the possibility of mid-day sleep deprivation when they woke up at 5:30 am, demanding pancakes.
There is a reason why you see women with silly grins on their faces at grocery stores at 8:00 at night. Those women have escaped. Those women are relishing the time that they have to decide whether or not they want the fast cooking barley or the regular stuff. Those women know that they will not arrive home and be in the middle of shortbread preparation and suddenly realize that their berries are moldy; they can examine their strawberries for bruises and fur at the store. Those women can pick out cereal without hearing little voices nominate the "Count Chocula" and conduct an "arms raised" vote.
At night time at the grocery store, I can pretend that I am career woman. I can pretend that I'm breezing in after the gym for a lime for my gin and tonics. I can pretend that I live in a sophisticated apartment (as opposed to a "Little Tykes" wasteland) with high ceilings and pristine floors.
I almost believe those things, too, until I glance down. The boxes of Spongebob SquarePants Macaroni and Cheese always give it away.
It begins with cart selection. Giant Eagle offers three kinds, each with its own unique drawbacks. There is the basic metal buggy. There is the elaborate and difficult to maneuver, plastic "car shaped" cart. And there is the cart built for the families with multiple offspring, the old "two seater" where the kids face the basket instead of the person who is pushing them.
During every trip, my children go for the "car," the dirtiest of all of the options. I always find tissues, plastic spoons, and candy wrappers on the seat of the car. The steering wheel is usually sticky. I say "no" in my firmest voice (steady, steady), and guide them to the basic metal number. They shriek that they'll take the two seater; again, I must demur, knowing full well that side by side seating will eventually lead to touching, poking, and hitting. I gently lead them back to the basic metal number. To illustrate his lack of enthusiasm for my choice, James stiffens his legs and refuses to sit. I must work at bending them, as though I'm manipulating a defective Ken doll.
After wedging James into his seat and making Mac swear to hold onto the side of the cart, we begin. It is not long until a fight ensues; they would both like to drop the selections in the basket ("drop" being the operative word). This goes for produce, bags of frozen french fries, bread, Pop Tarts, and jars of spaghetti sauce. I attempt to reason: you cannot put the spaghetti sauce in the cart. It's glass. Both children scream. James hurls a shoe at me.
Because I feel rushed, we fly through the meat department. We pass another mother, the one who always seem to shop when I do, the one with the little girl who wears striped stockings and Mary Janes and walks alongside her mother's cart, maintaining her own space, eating a slice of cheese that she was given at the deli. The same deli woman frequently forgets to offer my boys cheese. It doesn't really matter; when she does, they slick it on top of their heads and pretend that it's hair.
By the end of the trip, there has been whining, cajoling, begging, and teeth gritting . . . and that's just from me. I am almost done. I can see the electric doors sliding open and closed in the distance. I say screw the garlic and peanut butter, and bolt towards the registers.
Unfortunately, I choose a self-checkout lane. Four items scanned and onto the conveyer belt, I realize that this is a critical error. Mac and James toss boxes of crackers and cereal at me. They'd like to help. James somehow squirms free of the safety belt and is standing on his seat screaming "Hey Mom. Wook. Wook!" The bagging area is full and the register refuses to scan anymore items until I've bagged some stuff. I notice that the little girl who was eating cheese is standing in the next checkout lane, sorting through her mother's coupons and reading them aloud to her. She rolls her eyes at me.
I lose it.
THAT'S IT! THIS HAS GOT TO STOP! WHAT ARE YOU . . . ANIMALS? NO SPECIAL DINNERS FOR LUNCH! I SWEAR TO GOD, WHEN WE GET HOME, YOU'RE GOING STRAIGHT TO THE NAUGHTY CORNER AND YOU'RE NOT COMING OUT ALL DAY. ALL FLIPPIN' DAY! THAT'S IT. THAT'S IT. WE'RE DONE.
I, then, notice that all of the other customers, especially the elderly ones, are staring at me and shaking their heads at my sobbing boys (only crying because they've lost their frozen TV dinners) and muttering gems like, "Oh, those poor little guys. They're just tired." These people narrow their eyes at me, their voices rife with accusation: "Little fellows must be missing their nap time."
Really. Is that the problem?
I suppose that those "poor little guys" should have considered the possibility of mid-day sleep deprivation when they woke up at 5:30 am, demanding pancakes.
There is a reason why you see women with silly grins on their faces at grocery stores at 8:00 at night. Those women have escaped. Those women are relishing the time that they have to decide whether or not they want the fast cooking barley or the regular stuff. Those women know that they will not arrive home and be in the middle of shortbread preparation and suddenly realize that their berries are moldy; they can examine their strawberries for bruises and fur at the store. Those women can pick out cereal without hearing little voices nominate the "Count Chocula" and conduct an "arms raised" vote.
At night time at the grocery store, I can pretend that I am career woman. I can pretend that I'm breezing in after the gym for a lime for my gin and tonics. I can pretend that I live in a sophisticated apartment (as opposed to a "Little Tykes" wasteland) with high ceilings and pristine floors.
I almost believe those things, too, until I glance down. The boxes of Spongebob SquarePants Macaroni and Cheese always give it away.
posted by Cate at 1:36 PM
11 Comments:
Laughing, oh boy. I *never* take the monsters to the grocery store alone. Either DH goes with us, or one of us goes by ourselves. I would be flipping out right there with you!!
Hey~
Laughing so hard the tears are running down my face.....sounds like you all had a rollicking good time...hee...hee..hee
Hi Cate! You have a blog!
Kat
Oh, Cate! I think you are just fabulous! Any which way you look at it!
Oh, Cate. You poor, poor dear! LOL! We must have been separated at birth, honey. I go off in Giant ALL THE TIME (g) The workers there know me very well. :-)
Tanya
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
This reminds me of Eddie Murphy and how he says he likes to go to toy stores to see the mom's go off on their kids.
Very entertaining for us. Not so much for you.
Anyway, I'm glad to hear you and your boys came out unscathed.
Thanks again for sharing.
Read ya' later.
Awe damn. Don't you just love the people at the grocery store anxious to give you their judgemental comments on what you are doing wrong with your children. There must be a chemical in the brain that erases all memory of one's own children's "finer moments". Love to you and your boys.
Oh, I agree with aquis.. that chemical is probaly piped in during graduation.. Around the stage parents are thinking, our perfect son is off to college, he who never did wrong.. and now we have a guest room
I admit to totaly bribing Xavier at times. I hand him a dollar every Friday when we go shopping.. if he behaves, he buys a small toy. If he misbehaves, he buys a loaf of bread! :)
Joely Sue,
It makes me feel so much better to know that I am not alone. I FEEL alone when I'm at the store--I'd like to know where all of the other mothers of "spirited" kids are when I'm there. Of course, wiser than me, they've probably left their children at home!
Proofreader's Friend,
I have one thing to say. Refusing to sit in car seat, in the middle of the car, just out of arm's reach. Looking. Watching. Judging.
Kat,
Hi! I'm glad you stopped by. I read that your house is back to normal. Congrats!
Baylor,
I need that vote of confidence. Really I do. Thank you!
Tanya,
Another soul sister! We go to Giant sometimes, too, but not often enough for me to "build a reputation!" By the way, big hugs on your proposal circulating. It's only a matter of time . . .
Human Z,
I love Eddie Murphy! As always, you make me laugh with your references. Thanks for commenting.
AG,
Yes, what the hell is that, that forgetting phenomenon? Good call. And love to you and "me wee Cate," too!
Rita,
HAHAHA. Love your whole comment, from the guest room reference to the bribe. I can just see myself saying to Mac, "Yep, if you hadn't made bad choices, you could've bought yourself some candy. Instead, I'm gonna take that dollar away and spend it on this loaf of whole wheat bread." LOVE THIS. I'm doing it. I'll let you know how it goes.
This is just great. The only time I shop with all 4 boys is in the summer and even then I try to go when the husband gets home from work. I try to never take more than 2. And I remember the days when they behaved that way (when they're not now). My biggest problem now is the running and screaming and chasing up and down the isles. Ah well, such is the life of a mom. And when I see parents in that situation? I smile and thank god it is them and not me. It's so much cuter when it's someone else's kids.
BTW, thanks for leaving a comment on my blog so I could find you. You write beautifully.
MoMMY,
Let me reiterate how glad I am that you visited me! Let me also say that I cannot even imagine taking 4 boys to the grocery store. So far, I get to stuff one child into the cart, so we haven't hit the aisle shenanigans, yet, but it's only a matter of time! And I agree that it's so much cuter when it's someone else's child.
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