Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Bad Mom - Exhibit A
One sign I'm a bad mom is that as I'm getting the kid out of the car this morning at her school, I look down and notice that I completely forgot to brush her hair. It wasn't that bad because at night I comb and comb it while I'm blowing it dry during the winter months but it was stringy. I didn't have a brush or comb with me so oh well. And maybe that doesn't necessarily make me a bad mom, just a forgetful one or a rushed one or something.
But what leads me to believe I am a bad mom or really that I have no freaking clue what I'm doing is what occurred at the grocery store last night.
Bean and I stopped by the store so I could get some fixins to make pizza for dinner. While there I remembered other things I needed like you always do. We walked by the bakery and Bean saw that they had cake pops and asked for one. Okay fine. One was boxed up and she of course wanted it immediately. Nope. Have to wait for dinner. Whining ensued but not too much. (I hate the freaking whining. I think for one day all the adults in the world should whine to their kids like the kids do all the other days.)
We also looked at cakes and cupcakes and I placed an order for the birthday party. The kid will not stay next to the buggy. Back and forth to this display, then to another. Stand the hell still, kid. I can't watch you to make sure someone doesn't snatch you up, and carry on a conversation with the bakery dude. I CANNOT MULTITASK. It's been proven.
Kid proceeds to climb under the grocery cart and lay on the bottom part where you put dog food or if you're lucky, beer. Enough beer to make you not notice the whining. She did this a couple of weeks back at another grocery store and she got stuck. Spectators gathered. Blood pressure rose.
As soon as I saw this planking demonstration begin, I grabbed two little wrists and pulled her back to a sensible level. Her shoe came off. This set off more whining. Bakery dude thinks this is all entertaining.
After our show was over at the bakery, we headed to the soft drink aisle which is also the beer aisle and I was tempted. Tempted people. You have no clue how tempted. Leave the bottled water and the orange drink I’m addicted to and grab the Molson. (Shout out to my Canadian friends there.)
While debating the merits of beginner alcoholism, I noticed Bean hanging on the end of the cart and giggling fiendishly. “What’s so funny, Bean?”
“Mommy, I pooted.” Careless whispers. Remember that song? This was most definitely careless, but NOT a whisper. In fact, a 20-something dude was walking by at the time and heard this profession. Laughing ensued again. I am thinking I need to start charging for this floor show.
“Bean, we don’t say that in public.” Also made a mental note to discuss the “pooting giggles” with Hubz when I get home. They think this is a funny way to spend a few minutes together.
During our store meanderings, the cart had been filled with a Hello Kitty cup, Double Stuff Oreos, and Little Debbie Brownies. Some of this was added with permission, some added surreptitiously. The Hello Kitty cup I agreed to since I was the one that melted the straw on the last Hello Kitty cup. And it IS Hello Kitty.
So with a cart filled with cake pops, Oreos, and brownies, you would think the average kid would be happy as a pig in a blanket, right?
No, your Honor, they would not. At least not my unmannered, sugar-ladened unruly child. This grocery store has developed a wonderful marketing tool that only sick and demented childless store designers would ever think of - they have a self-serve candy bin right in the middle of all the checkout lanes. These sick bastards have never had to stand in a mile long check out line with an antsy uncontrollable toddler who doesn’t understand that the candy in the bins isn’t there for the taking like it is at Nano’s house.
I wish them one day in my shoes. The sick bastards.
Bean asked me for some candy and pointed at the bins. She was told no. This did not compute.
As I push our cart to the point of no return in the lane and start unloading our wares, she takes off. Right to the candy bin which is, of course, out of my reach.
I say “Bean, get back over here.”
“Mommy, I want candy.” Yeah, you and that group from the 80s. I’ve heard it before.
Do you know how hard it is to try and stretch your leg one way to keep in contact with the cart that is holding your purse, and then stretch out the rest of your body the exact opposite way to try and capture a smiling sugar monster? It is near dang impossible. I think it should actually be an Olympic event. I think I would win gold.
“Bean, get over here right now.”
“I want candy.”
“No. No. No.”
As she is just out of my grip, she stands by the malted milk balls. She looks at me and smiles this smile that rivals the one of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. She reaches into the malted milk balls - doesn’t even use the provided tongs - and snatches a milk ball. She smiles right at me again and pops the candy right into her mouth.
Immediate thought - this child is possessed by Jack Nicholson. No, he’s still alive. This child is evil.
That’s it. Blood pressure all the way up. Steam coming out of my ears. Trying to remember if the will is made out. Take off over to the bins to grab hellion.
Hellion takes off!
SICK BASTARDS!!!!!! I hate this store. I hate my life. I hate that my child is possessed. I hate that I have no control.
This would have never happened to my own mother.
I must be a bad mom. I must be one of those moms that I used to watch in stores and just shake my head. Karma, baby. I sure wished my mom was here to give me some pointers on controlling this possessed hellion.
So from now on, if there is a trip to the grocery store in our future, it won’t be this candy bin displaying sick bastards store. And we won’t be setting foot in any store without a new roll of duct tape. I used to make this joke all the time but more and more I’m understanding what a valuable child-rearing tool duct tape really is. Even if I decide not to use it on the kid, I can put it over my own mouth to drown out the sounds of my screams.