Potty Talk And A Drive-By

Just a little reminder that not everything is sunshine and rainbows all the time over here, especially since Jax has been out of school and has changed up our dynamic a bit.  Em is in full-blown middle child psychosis, clinging to my side like glue.  Considering I already have a little one attached to my hip, this has been exhausting.  She and Jax are getting back into the rhythm of being together all day and Little H has decided that now would be the best time to have an opinion about everything, and that opinion is invariably “No.”  So, in summary, doing things I used to during the hours that Jax was at preschool has become a bit challenging.  Like going shopping.

The worst part of the day wasn’t even when I took all three of them to Best Buy, the Land of Incredibly Enticing and Expensive Things at Children’s Eye Level, beckoning kids to break them and cause their parents’ financial ruin.  My kids were surprisingly stellar and let me speak to a salesperson, find what I was looking for, rummage through a $5 video bin, and keep them from the video games until after I completed my purchase, which actually didn’t happen.  Turns out I forgot my wallet at home in our beach bag, and since I had been planning to go to the grocery store after Best Buy, this was severely disappointing.  More like mentally crippling.  I had my game face on to face the grocery store gauntlet, and now I had been given a stay of execution, which just messes with my psyche.  However, JDubbs was going to be nearby shortly, and he offered to meet me at the grocery store to give me his credit card.  So the kids and I headed into Price Chopper with a time limit and a mission.  Ready to rock.

Whoa, not so fast, Mama.  Little H, looking to up the ante, took this opportunity to poop, at which point I realized I left more than my wallet at home–there were no wipes to be found.  So we went into the grocery store, grabbed a cart with a 2-kid car in front, headed directly to the baby aisle where I grabbed some to-go wipes and brought them to the bathroom without paying for them.  Classy.  I paid for them later, I promise (and really, I paid for this entire experience many times over).  I parked my car cart outside the bathroom door and dragged all three of my kids inside.  There was only 2 stalls, one of which was occupied, so while I was changing the baby and Em was using stall #2, Jax–being a five-year-old boy–apparently scoped out the occupant of stall #1 through the crack while my back was turned.  At which point, he inquired loudly, “Are we in the woman’s room or the men’s room?”

Women’s,” I replied back without looking, elbow-deep in baby crap.

Then why is there a big, ugly man in here?” he said, gesturing to stall #1.

To say I was horrified, mortified, and wanted to die is not over-exaggerating.  That people would think my kids had been raised with such God-forsaken manners is pretty much the worst thing I could imagine, other than coming face-to-face with said woman while Jax none-too-quietly enumerated her manly qualities–that would be worse.  Needless to say I was trying frantically to get all of our hands clean enough to exit the bathroom before the poor unsuspecting woman in stall #1 came out.  We finally did, praise God, only to have all hell break loose–in front of ALL the checkout aisles–because, of course, all three of my kids wanted to sit in the little red grocery cart car and only 2 could fit.  There was a legitamit battle royale, where age and weight did not matter as all three tried to squish themselves into the little car, with Little H shrieking, Jax punching, and Em pulling her crocodile tears.  I finally pulled the baby out, placed her on the ground, and was trying to disentangle Thing 1 from Thing 2, when Jax leaned out and attempted to extricate himself from the melee.  In the process, he thrust the car forward, directly into the baby who had waddled in front of the car and basically RAN HER OVER.  With a grocery cart car.  Seriously, I can’t make this shit up.

Little H starts wailing, the big kids continue their fist-fight, all the people checking out are watching the scene unfold with horrified expressions and the he-she man who came out of the bathroom gave me a look of disgust.  It was one of the lowest of the low moments of parenting, as my red face and sweat-ridden body just wanted to run straight for the wine and never look back.

So in case you thought you had a bad day, you’re welcome for the pick-me-up.  Until your baby has been flattened by a grocery cart drive-by, you’ve got nothing.

And I didn’t even have my license to buy any wine.

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