Has the Smoke Cleared Yet?

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.

A Ballerina and Her Brother Go Shopping

Today began so smoothly. I took the dog for a walk, drank my coffee in peace and quiet, and even took a shower all before 8:00 a.m. It was a beautiful thing.

The kids awoke on their own around 8:15 and meandered downstairs to the kitchen. They ate their breakfasts with just a little prompting - and a lot of bribery. I promised they could play with their NinetendoDSs once they finished eating, dressed, and brushed teeth and hair. It worked. I felt victorious at 9:30 as we walked out the door to go to Ainsley's ballet class. We weren't rushing and no one was yelling.

Ian met some other older brothers in the waiting area of the ballet studio. They, too, had brought their NintendoDSs. It was the closest to a testosterone bonding moment any eight year-old boy could have. He wasn't a nerd or an Aspie - he was just one of the guys.

After class, I wanted to go to three stores. The prognosis for success was excellent so far. Everyone was in a good mood, but we were getting a little thirsty. To keep spirits high, I pulled into a 7-Eleven for Slurpees. This was a good move. The excitement of getting a cold, fruity drink on a hot June morning is a three dollar investment that usually pays large dividends.

As we were exiting the van, Ian climbed over Ainsley in an effort to be first. He's a bull in a china shop when it comes to social graces. We had a brief discussion (for the 400th time) about how the person sitting next to the open door should get out first to avoid unnecessary injuries.

Most people experience a Slurpee stop as a brief pause in a busy day. For us, it's a major undertaking, requiring quick thinking and organization. One distraction by the chip or candy isle can mean a complete derailment of plans and a meltdown of volcanic proportions. Almost as bad is the discovery that the flavor one of the kids wanted is out. Fortunately, neither of these situations arose. Our main difficulty was in getting the straws out of their tight plastic wrappers. Then Ainsley dropped her straw on the floor by the checkout. Naturally, she felt compelled to lick it after it landed. I shuddered to think where people's feet had been and then decided against having her tongue amputated as a precaution. But we did go get a new straw.

Back at the van, Ian got in and fastened his seatbelt with record speed. Ninendo was waiting. Ainsley needed a little help getting in and determining what order her tasks should take. I held her Slurpee and Nintendo and helped her negotiate the seat belt. The rest was easy after that.

Next stop: the framing shop. A mat I ordered on Saturday was ready. Neither child wanted to leave the car. I assured them this would be a very short stop. Ian was not thrilled, but he complied. Less than ten minutes after I had instructed him on proper van exiting etiquette, he again attempted to climb over his sister to get the unwanted chore done faster. I could tell he was already beginning to tire of our errands.

At the next location, both kids began to protest having to go inside. I assured them we were only going in to buy dog food, and then we'd be right back out. Even I knew it was a lie. No one ever leaves Costco with just one item. It just isn't right. We didn't make it either. As we meandered down the isle I thought would get us to the dog food the fastest, Ian decided we were running low on mac-n-cheese. OK, throw a box in the basket. Then came the fifty pound bag of Beneful. Ainsley said she was hungry and needed a snack. I decided we'd stop by the bakery and get some cookies for the upcoming holiday weekend. On the way there we found a great beach umbrella to put next to the pool. Eventually, we made it to the bakery where Ian picked chocolate chip cookies, and Ainsley decided she needed chocolate chip mini-muffins. OK - BUT NOTHING ELSE!

As we were standing in line at the check-out, Ainsley's mouth was going non-stop. Each sentence seemed to run together and get louder. She kept repeating, "Mama, I want to carry the muffins." No matter how many times I said that was fine, she kept repeating and increasing her volume. Then suddenly, the sentence changed:

"MOMMY, WHY IS THAT MAN SO FAT?"

She was speaking of the large young man who walking toward our line.

"Ainsley!" I said sternly. "Stop talking!" I said in a loud whisper. She kept on with the FAT comments. I repeated my command, yet she continued. Finally, I put my hand over her mouth, looked her straight in the face and explained that we don't make comments about other people's appearance. It is not polite.

I was mortified.

Never trust an adorably precious girl dressed in a pink tutu.

On the way out to the car, Ian insisted on carrying the cookies, and Ainsley just had to carry the muffins. When we got to the van, I opened the side door with my remote and proceeded to unload the cart. Then, just as Ainsley was climbing into the doorway, Ian ran her over and plowed through to his seat on the other side. Ainsley was left crying, one sandal half removed from her foot, and a container of muffins smashed on the floor of the van.

"IAN DO NOT TOUCH THOSE COOKIES OR YOUR NINTENDO!" I boomed. I hugged Ainsley and helped her get into her seat.

"Ian, which is more important: cookies and your Nintendo or your sister who is hurt?" I asked as quietly and calmly as I could with Ainsley screaming in my ear.

"Ummmmm.... Ainsley?" he replied meekly.

"That's right. Did you make a good choice in running her over like that?"

"No," again in a saddened voice.

"You owe her an apology," I said sternly.

"Sorry, Ainsley."

I could feel the creases in my forehead deepening and turning purple as I tried to stay calm. The next decision was an easy one - we were heading home. The grocery store would have to wait until tomorrow. It will be weeks before I feel I can show my face at Costco again. Next time, I'll leave the kids at home and wear a baseball cap and dark sunglasses.