No, I didn't burn the kitchen down. I am referring to the billowing clouds of furiosity that were the result of my trip to the grocery store on Sunday ... WITH MY CHILDREN!
You will recall I mentioned in my previous post that Steve has a cold. In an effort to be a loving, caring, nurturing wife, I took Ian and Ainsley with me to the store so Steve could rest. Let me just set the record straight now before I forget - When I returned home, the man who could barely open his eyes before I left, was sitting up in bed, eating a sandwich, and watching a football game! It's a freaking miracle!
Now, back to the grocery store trip. The kids have never done well at the grocery store. It is complete sensory overload for them. Too many lights, sounds, people, and choices. It's a nightmare. To get to the produce aisle, where I normally begin my shopping, we had to go through the florist and the bakery. Alone, this takes me about 7 seconds. With my offspring in tow, it takes 53 minutes.
Ainsley: "Mommy, I want to give my teacher some flowers. Can I get some flowers. Oh, I like these red ones. Mrs. E will really like these. Here I'll put them in the cart."
Me: "No, honey. Not this time."
Ainsley: "Oh, please Mommy? I really want to give her some flowers."
Ian: "I want to give my teacher some flowers too. I'll take these roses."
Me: "Stop, both of you, and listen. We are not buying flowers today. It's a really sweet thought, but we're here to buy what is on my list. If it isn't on my list, it won't be going in the basket."
Ian: "Can we have these?" He pointed to some small cakes.
Me: "No."
Ian: "What about these?" He pointed to some cookies.
Me: "No."
Ainsley: "Ooooooo... what about this?" She started to pick up a huge chocolate cake.
Me: "No."
Ian: "Awwwwwww. C'mon. You're always saying, 'no'. We never get anything."
Me: "And this is why the two of you do not have the privilege of shopping with me very often. We will buy what is on my list and only what is on my list. No discussion, no whining. Got it?"
Ian: "Hmmmmmmph."
Me: "Let's get some apples. Ian what kind would you like this week."
Ian: "Red Delicious, of course. I'll get five for me and an extra one for my teacher."
Me: "How about getting two for you and one for your teacher. The last time we bought Red Delicious apples you decided you didn't like them so much after the first couple."
Ian: "How about four for me and one for my teacher. I'll get one for Ainsley's teacher too."
Me: "Let's let Ainsley pick an apple for her teacher. What kind of apples do you want to eat this week Ainsley?"
Ainsley: "I want the yellow ones. And I want a yellow one for my teacher."
Ian: "Ainsley, you have to give her a red one. Teachers don't like yellow apples."
Ainsley [whining]: "I don't want to give her a red apple. I like yellow ones."
Me: "Ian, it's nice of you to help, but let Ainsley choose which one she will give to Mrs. E."
Ian glared at me over the top of his glasses while Ainsley began counting every apple in the bin. After some redirection, we finished with the apples. That little stop alone took ten minutes.
The can-I-have-this maneuver appeared again but was thwarted when we headed for the vegetables. Ian began feeling everything within reach and was fascinated when he found non-produce items conveniently located near fruits or vegetables that could be paired with them. Several times I had to call him away from the bananas. He was trying to hide a box of Nilla Wafers behind his coat.
Me: "Guys, one of the rules at the grocery store is 'If you're not buying it, don't touch it.' Ian, hold on to the cart and don't touch anything else. And put those Nilla Wafers back. Ainsley. . .Ainsley? Where the hell is Ainsley? Shit! Where'd that child go?"
Ian: "Mom, you're not supposed to say 'shit.'"
Me: "Don't be a smart-mouth. Help me find your sister."
We found her feeling up the kiwis. So began our two-hour trip through Tom Thumb, a ritual that normally would have taken me forty-five minutes if I were moving slowly with a raging hangover, and was talking on my cellphone - on a good day, thirty minutes. In the midst of our lengthy journey down the aisles came the time that I should have given the kids their afternoon meds for ADHD. That's when things really got ugly.
I must have blacked out from the baking aisle through the chip aisle, because it is difficult to recall the details or the words I said. At some point, a bag of marshmallows was tossed cleverly into the basket by small hands and removed by mine before a scuffle ensued. Said bag of marshmallows became mushy-mellows and had to be hidden behind some canned green beans. My apologies to whichever store employee finds them.
I do recall believing that I was thinking some things to myself that actually became audible. One of them was, "I know you are not intentionally trying to piss me off, BUT YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF!!!!" The rest of the excursion is a blur.
Poor Steve still hasn't figured out why seeing him watching a football game and eating a sandwich put me over the edge, or why his sudden winter illness has not automatically made him the recipient of my undivided concern and attention. At one point I wanted to say, "You'll have my complete sympathy for your pathetic little cold when I see you pass two watermelons with ADHD from your (insert name of any orifice in the male body) without an epidural!" But I didn't. He knows I win the toughest babe on the planet contest, and he doesn't even come close to qualifying for the competition.
I do care how sick he is. It sucks, really. That being said, however, Steve could be in a coma next Sunday; but I will be leaving the children in his care. They have a much better chance at surviving the day under those circumstances than if I have to take them with me to the grocery store again.
This is why margaritas garnished with jalepeno-stuffed olives are now my breakfast of champions.
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