I read a comment on Facebook by a cousin today, and it brought back so many memories. She had taken her children to the Farmer's Market. One didn't want the corn, one didn't want the blueberries and another wanted everything and had landed in time out for begging. Wow, did that take me back.
How many times did I take my kids to the store, with the strict instructions NOT to beg for anything because we were short on money and we were there to get just what we needed? I couldn't begin to count. The trip would start out as usual, my daughter sitting in the back seat, next to my son's car seat, touching him . . . looking at him . . . making faces at him . . . to which he would scream, cry, or physically lash out. By the time we had gotten to the store K was wearing the face of indignation that comes along with being accused of said touching/looking/making faces . . . and not having her tearful protestations of innocence believed, and G was wailing his head off because he had been touched/looked at/faces made at . . . and had been unsuccessful in his bids for freedom from the car seat and had ended up with his head stuck under a strap it wasn't intended to be stuck under, leaning 1/2 in and 1/2 out of the seat in what didn't look like the configuration a human spine should be able to get into. Ah, yes, the grocery shopping trip had begun.
The struggle to get the wriggling toddler into the cart seat and strapped in would begin, with him raising his legs ever higher away from the cart until he was nearly pulled upside down, in avoidance of putting them into the spaces intended for them. After a battle of strength and wills, tears streaming down his face, he'd be in his seat, sobbing as if I'd beaten the tar out of him, rather than just secured him safely into the cart. I was so mean, huh? During the struggle, with strict instructions to hold onto the cart with one hand and not stray, K would be dancing in place, needing to potty, whining to "huurrrrryyyy". Oh great, NOW she tells me. Thankfully after witnessing the drama of the cart seating, I'm allowed to take the cart into the restroom so we don't have to have a repeat performance. And the potty procedure begins. Dance dance dance while the seat cover is placed carefully onto the seat . . . it slips in. Get another cover . . . dancing gets frenzied . . . finally get onto the seat, business done . . . skip to the sink for washing of hands. No I want to turn on the water Mom . . . but she can't reach it. Lift to turn on water, soaking front of shirt with the water standing on the counter top, lift to get soap, hold in place while hands are lathered, lengthy rinse process begins (to the tune of hollering 2 year old of course), followed by very careful drying of hands, wrists, shirt front, face, counter top . . . I'm exhausted and we haven't even shopped yet.
We are finally shopping, K holding on to side of cart, not straying from my side (thankfully I'd instilled a healthy fear of strangers into her!), slowly wandering up and down each aisle putting things into the cart off the list. Five minutes of peace has passed by, I know it won't last long . . . the battle begins in the cereal section. "Mommy, can we have (insert sweetest, nastiest, least nutritional cereal name here)?" "No, we can't. We're getting X cereal because it's healthy and it's on the list. If it's not on the list we aren't getting it." "But Mooommmmyyyy, I've always wanted to try THAT one, and it looks so good!! Please???" "Not this trip Honey, maybe next time . . ." but at this point the argument is on. Big blue eyes fill up with tears, the sniffling begins, G is grabbing whatever he can reach while I console K, trying to avoid a scene. I'm grabbing and replacing whatever it is he's getting a hold of, he's getting frustrated (join the party kid!), and starting the banshee cry. We have about 1/4 of what was on the list, the window of good, pre-nap moods, is over. The tearful sniffles of K are now full blown crocodile tears, complete with loud, audible sobbing. She has the appearance of a severely neglected child, in her ruffled outfit with matching shoes, hair artfully coiffed as was the style in the late 80's (remember? BIG hair? Oh yeah, she had it going on!) who has just never been given ANYTHING her little heart desired (yeah, right!), and G? Oh he's reaching monumental tantrum proportions by now. I consider ripping his screaming butt out of the cart and giving him the spanking he should have coming, along with the spanking his sister now deserves - but Ms. If You Touch Either of Those Kids I'm Calling the Cops is glaring at me like I'm Ted Bundy in drag. So, I do what any frenzied mom of 2 does . . . I go ahead and rip the screaming, flailing child out of the cart, grab my purse and fling it over my shoulder, take the hand of Miss Drama NW in my free hand, and dragging her out behind me, leave my cart and would-be purchases where they stand, and with my own glare at the interfering looker-on, I take them to the car, spank them both before getting them seated in their belts, and crying my own tears of frustration, head home to throw them both in bed for a nap. I'll go back tonight and leave them at home with their father. Why didn't I think of that before? Geesh!
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