Small is two years old now. He is DEFINITELY in the Terrible Twos stage, but unfortunately, since I have two older children already, I know that the worst is yet to come. Nobody tells you about the F*cking Threes. I shouldn’t complain, because comparatively, Small is an easy kid.
But he still has his moments.
Last week I was at Target, (surprise!!!) and he was screaming because, in his words, “I wan git out!” This was not a leisurely shopping trip; I had a list and everything and all I was trying to do was get. through. my. list.
Trust me; I was well aware that he was screaming, but here’s the thing. . . I shop at Target within the first few hours of their opening. Most of the other customers are in a similar situation to mine – either with young children in tow or moms with school-aged children who are just trying to knock out some errands before the death knell also known as 2:50, the end of the school day. So to the woman who made a point of leaving her cart in one aisle so that she could peak around into my aisle to see what all the fuss was about? You can walk yourself over to Walmart if that's the attitude you're gonna have.
Seriously. When are people going to learn that if they act all self-righteous towards me, I WILL write about them (passive-aggressively) in my blog that 75 people in the whole wide world follow.
More recently, my home was in desperate need of some sustenance . . . something besides chocolate chip Little Bites, a giant vat of Goldfish, and some squeezable yogurts. I try to do my big grocery shopping when Hubby is home and I can go alone, but the timing just wasn’t working out, so I had to take Small with me to the grocery store.
I keep a giant bag of Tootsie Pops in my bag so that I can
bribe him keep him occupied. He’s totally playin’
me. As soon as he gets in the cart
he starts asking for a lolli.
Repeatedly. “I wan lolli. I
wan lolli. Mommy! I wan lolli.” Since I knew this would be a longer shopping trip than
usual, I broke out the lollies and procured the Greyhound Bus cart – the one with the car on the front.
I don’t think members of the general population realize how much skill is involved in maneuvering the Greyhound Bus cart through a grocery store. Show me some respect, yo.
|Greyhound: Leave the driving to Mommy|
(because your toddler sure as hell ain't gonna do it.)
He got in the cart willingly, and I made my way over to the smoothie bar, which is my second line of defense during a longer grocery trip.
It was all downhill from there.
He had dropped his straw by the time we got back to the string cheese section, and while I had the cart stopped, he grabbed onto a display and started moving the cart at such an angle that it blocked the entire aisle. And let me tell you something . . . the geriatrics that ride the shuttle bus from their retirement community do NOT appreciate a blocked aisle. *Note to self: Monday is Geriatric Day at the Wegmans.
I pushed the cart faster and faster, knowing my time was becoming increasingly limited. Frozen waffles? Check. Dino-nuggets? Check. Tater Tots? Check. As we were leaving the waffle/nugget/tot section of the store, Small started again with the “I wan git out. I wan git out. I wan walk.” I relented, but with strict instructions to keep one hand on the cart at all times.
Ever given "strict instructions" to a two-year-old? Tell me, how did that work out for you?
He started wandering, so I tried to put him back in the car part of the cart, but he didn't want to sit. Now, those of you who do not have children may be thinking, but you're the mom. You're in charge and you're bigger and stronger than he is. Just MAKE him sit in there. Those of you who are parents are picturing someone trying to put a cat in a toilet - all four appendages spread-eagled.
Ahem. Moving on.
The spaghetti aisle, heretofore known as aisle 15, was crowded. It seems that many people enjoy the pasta. I pushed the Greyhound over to the side of the aisle and stepped forward to grab a box of rotini-shaped Carbs just as Small discovered another item that is located in aisle 15: spaghetti sauce.
This is pretty, he thought. So shiny, he thought. I wonder how heavy it is, he thought. What happens if I pick it up, he thought.
In slow-mo, I yelled his name, “Smaaaaaaalllllll!” (I even middle-named him, if I'm being honest.)
Nice try, Mom.
Spaghetti sauce and broken glass. Everywhere.
Clean up, aisle 15! I’m surprised the clean up crew hadn’t been following us around the store. Next time I should just grab one of those yellow caution cones (the one with the acrobatic man who is, apparently, falling, though he looks like he’s doing a Gene Kelly donkey kick dance move) on my way in and just carry it with me until I need it. They broke out the big guns – the guy with his name embroidered on his shirt who carries the walkie-talkie. Not just a patch, folks; embroidery. You know how the most important person on the staff is the one who carries the most keys? . . . that was him.
After that, I grabbed three boxes of cereal and high-tailed it to the check-out lanes. Later, suckas! We won’t be back until we run out of waffles.