How is it that my boys already know how to push each other's buttons? They both have managed to figure out what bothers the other one, what will bring the other one to the point of tears. And they use it.
Just today, the boys were playing out in the yard when I heard Jem start screaming for me. I ran out to see what was going on. Jem was standing in the yard. Truett was standing twenty feet away from him holding up a stick that had fallen from our willow tree. It's true that the stick was a good seven feet long and it's also true that Truett has been known to hit Jem. However, the circumference of the stick was about the size of a dandelion stem and Tru was nowhere near Jem. But Jem was convinced that Tru was going to hit him and he continued to scream and cry until I just told him to come inside.
This entire scenario plays out pretty much anytime Tru raises anything over his head. They could be two rooms apart and Jem will still start to scream and cry. And now, Tru does it just to get to Jemmy. He knows what happens, so he will simply stand in the living room and lift his toy sword over his head, and Jem will start to scream.
And it goes both ways. When Truett asks me questions, Jem likes to contradict my answer. I will tell Truett that we can go to the park or that he can have a banana and Jem will say, "No you can't." And they will argue back and forth until eventually Tru ends up crying. At that point, he will finally turn to me and say "Jemmy said ...". And I have to remind him that it doesn't matter what Jem says because he isn't in charge. But again, I know that Jem does it because he knows the type of reaction it will bring out in Tru.
I'm amazed that it starts so young. What is it inside of people that we sometimes enjoy hurting others? Is it just that we like the feeling of wielding power over them? My brother and I were the same way growing up. You can bet I knew exactly what hurt him, exactly what humiliated him. And I did it plenty of times. Sometimes it was simply teasing and other times it was meant to hurt. And he did the same to me. I don't want my boys to be that way. I want them to be careful with other people and especially with each other. And just like with their good behavior, I see glimpses of them taking care of each other and loving each other. Now I just have to figure out how to turn the glimpses into something more permanent. Or maybe I should say that God will have to figure that one out since I'm not working with the best track record myself.
photo by Jane M.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/simplehearted/2404868566/
Today, after Truett went up for his nap, Jem followed me into the sunroom as I went in to change Caia. Earlier, the boys had dumped over a basket that is filled with their gloves, scarves and winter hats. Needless to say, things were scattered all over the room. As we walked in Jem looked around and said, "Mommy, this place is a mess." I agreed and said that someone would need to pick it up. And he said, "I'll do it." And then set about picking up every single mitten, every hat, every glove and putting them away. I am pretty sure that is the first time that my son has ever volunteered to clean up a mess. Sure, he asks to help me vacuum or wipe off the table but those are novelties. He sees that as "grown-up" stuff that he is eager to try. But simply picking up a mess and putting it away? That's normal, everyday stuff. I was blown away and thanked him profusely and told him what a great job he did.
I'm starting to realize that parenting is similar to golf. Well, at least golf for those of us who are less than stellar at it. You hit bad shot after bad shot after bad shot. And just when you are ready to give it up, you hit this beautiful arcing shot that lands two feet from the pin. Just that one perfect shot is enough to keep you pushing through the bad shots. You know it's in there, that it's possible so you keep trying.
It's the same with discipline. I try to stay on top of them for disobedience, poor attitudes, and mean behavior. I try to teach them to serve others and to be responsible. And most of the time it seems like it goes in one ear and out the other. But then there are those moments...the apology that wasn't coaxed out of them, the unasked for completion of a chore, the unsolicited "I love you". Those moments keep me going. Although I hope that my parenting shows more improvement than my golf game.
photo by Espen Lodden
http://www.flickr.com/photos/espenlodden/281287175/
Sometimes I ask Sam to stop on his way home from work and pick something up. It is rare that he forgets and when he does it usually isn't a big deal. We adapt and switch the dinner plans to hot dogs or frozen pizza. But last week, he forgot and it was kind of a big deal.
The weekend before he had pulled a bag of Doritos out of our pantry, exclaiming, "Yes! This is what I was looking for." I had just bought them that morning so that I could make taco salad later in the week. I know how hard it is to stop eating them after you start so I asked (maybe I ordered) him to stop and put them back. He continued to open the bag, assuring me that he would go out and buy more that very day. Yeah, that didn't happen. Saturday passed. Sunday passed. And suddenly it was Monday and I needed to make the salad before my tomatoes weren't usable. Sam promised that he would stop on the way home and pick up a bag of Doritos.
And when he came in the door empty-handed, I didn't say anything. He realized it when he walked into the kitchen and saw the huge bowl of salad all ready to go. I was frustrated that he had eaten them when I asked him not to but I was ready to go with the flow. He apologized for forgetting and I told him that it was okay and that was why I had asked him not to eat them in the first place. And to this he responded by saying, "But I thought you had two bags." And that is when going with the flow went right out the window. Why would I ask/order him to stop eating them if I had a back-up bag? Why would I ask him to stop on the way home and get some if I had a back-up bag? Why?
Shortly after that conversation he left for a class at our church. And I sat at home feeling unheard and frustrated.
It is rare that Sam and I have arguments but it happens, just like it happens for every couple. And most of the time, it stems from some sort of miscommunication. He says one thing and I hear another. Or I tell him something and he forgets. Or I let out my breath and huff rather than telling him what's on my mind. In this case, to him, it was just a bag of Doritos, but to me, it was more than that. And I'm pretty sure he picked up on that because when he came home he apologized again.
It will happen again. It hopefully won't involve Doritos but it will happen. And it's okay, as long as it isn't intentional. As long as we are continually trying to place the other person first. And as long as we are willing to admit when we mess up.
photo by Erik Renko
http://www.flickr.com/photos/erikrenko/5339708966/
Truett's preschool class is talking about springtime. This means that their art projects revolve around flowers, kites and clouds. For the past several weeks, the children have had pictures of clouds hanging up on the bulletin board outside of their classroom. The teachers cut out blue construction paper in interesting, symmetrical shapes. They then put some white paint in the center and had the kids fold the paper in half, creating "clouds". When I first saw them hanging on the board, I looked around for Tru's. But when I found it, "cloud" was not the first thing that popped into my head. I'm not going to say what popped into my head but I've shown it to four people and they have all said the same thing. And Sam just read an article that said bloggers should ask more questions in their posts. So here goes:
Do you see what I see?
Jem and I had a bad morning on Friday. It had already been a long week. The boys had "spring break" from preschool on Monday and Tuesday. Then Sam left for a work conference early Thursday morning and just got back on Saturday afternoon. It is never easy when he is gone for a weekend. My days seem longer, knowing that there is no one coming in to spell me. And Friday was a day when I really needed spelled.
Without going into too many details, I will say that someone was playing with my jewelry and lost an earring. This same someone then lied about it. When I finally got him to confess that he did take my earring and drop it, he told me that he had dropped it into the vent in our bathroom. When I asked him why he did that his answer was, "Because I wanted to."
After dealing with all of that, I then asked him to put on his shoes so that we could head out for the morning. He sat on the floor and just sort of pushed them around with his feet. I went over to help him and just lost it. I didn't make it outside this time to scream. Instead, I curled up on my hands and knees, put my face on the floor and screamed until my throat hurt. I was just so angry. It was bad enough that he had lost my earring, an earring that Sam had brought back for me from a trip to Chile. But there was no remorse, no apology, no sense that anything wrong had occurred.
Please don't think that I have crazy expectations of my kid. I realize that he is still a preschooler and that his sense of wrong and right is still developing. But it is so hard to be in this stage when they do things that hurt me or others and I still have to coach them through why it is wrong and remind them to say sorry. And often the sorry is half-hearted.
Those are the moments that I want to give up. I want to let them do whatever they want and just not care. Because caring is hard and frustrating. And sometimes the frustration builds up and comes out in ways that I can't take back.
I really don't know what he was thinking as he sat there and watched me scream. He gave no indication that he was bothered by it at all, asking me to help him with his jacket a few seconds later. But I knew that it wasn't okay. And so I had to go and apologize to him, telling him that I was sorry for yelling. He told me it was okay and went on his way.
As I'm looking back and thinking about it, I'm hoping that my kids will learn more about apologizing and being remorseful through seeing it done, by having their mom come to them and say sorry, instead of being told that they need to apologize. Don't get me wrong, I would still much rather be perfect and never do anything that requires an apology. But that clearly isn't possible so I might as well look for the good in my mistakes and continue to be thankful for second chances.
photo by Jenna Barr
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jennabarr/270988223/
I think that I might be destined for a lifetime of being known as the uncool mom. Today, as I was dropping the boys off at preschool I overheard two mom's from Jem's class talking about a sleepover. This wouldn't really have caught my attention except that the one mom has a girl and the other has a boy. The mom with the boy replied to the invite by saying that her husband was going to be home that night and that her son would want to spend time with him. And then she told me that she just wasn't really comfortable with the idea of a coed sleepover.
And as I was walking to my car I started wondering when coed sleepovers became a thing? I don't think that would have even been an option when I was growing up. And I still remember the reaction I got when I asked my parents if I could stay over at a friend's house after prom with a group of people, some of them male. They didn't say no but it was implied with such force that I felt guilty for even asking for several weeks. And I was seventeen, not four.
But now, apparently it is an acceptable thing to have little girls and boys sleepover at each other's houses. Maybe I'm old fashioned but that just doesn't seem like a great idea. Just thinking of the things that took place at sleepovers I went to when I was a girl makes me cringe. And there weren't any boys involved. I can't even imagine what it could have been like if that were the case.
And yes, they are still at the age where they are, for the most part, innocent and half of them don't even realize the difference yet between boys and girls. But I want it to stay that way. So I think that we will nix coed sleepovers and if that makes me the uncool mom then so be it. It's bound to happen anyway.
photo by mle_val
http://www.flickr.com/photos/mle_val/6531741241/
For a few months now Jem has been napping in our room. He and Tru do fine in the same room at night but nap time is a different story. They talk and laugh and jump around and nap time doesn't really happen. And I need nap time to happen so Jem got moved to our room. He is starting to outgrow his naps and doesn't always fall asleep. And sometimes he decides to explore our room. This has led to my chapstick being used as a crayon on the wall and my hand lotion being smeared on cheeks. Last week he was exploring and the result was a little different. As I went in with him to lay him down, he suddenly crouched down and said, "Mommy. I found something under the bed last time."
Before I go any further, let me say that for the past two years Sam has taken a group of his high school friends up to his family camp for a "man" weekend. They shoot guns, drink beer, and reminisce by the fire. They also do a gag gift exchange and sometimes the gifts are a tad scandalous. Okay, a lot scandalous depending on the guy. And last year Sam was the recipient of a pair of purple hog-tie cuffs. He brought them home and showed them to me. He thought they were hilarious. I thought they were tacky and gross. And that was the end of it. But I didn't realize that Sam had simply shoved the package under our bed. And suddenly, my four-year old is holding them up and asking me what they are. I snatched them from his hands, praying that he hadn't looked at the pictures on the package and silently cursing Sam in my head. And then I told him that he would have to ask Daddy about them and took them out of the room, once again praying, this time that he would forget all about it.
The cuffs are now in the trash, where they should have been in the first place. Thankfully, he hasn't asked about them since and I have preserved his innocence for a little longer. I, however, feel scarred and have absolutely no idea how I'm going to handle it when the real questions start coming.
photo by 4otos
http://www.flickr.com/photos/40224942@N02/6715794041/
photo by TS Gentuso
http://www.flickr.com/photos/tsgentuso/362134335/
I hear it in my voice. Exasperation. Frustration. Annoyance. And if I hear it, then you can bet that my kids hear it too. Nothing is going on. There haven't been any major altercations. No huge temper tantrums or displays of attitude. Instead, it has been small minor things. Ignoring a request to cease doing something. Needing to be called to the table three or four times before coming. Demanding that something be done now. Making messes and walking away from them. Minor things that taken individually are just moments where correction is needed. But put them all together and it is like being pecked to death by baby birds.
I get tired and I get worn down. And then I begin to react to my kids rather than parent them. I start to let their behavior dictate my behavior instead of the other way around. Those are the days when I need to step outside and take a few deep breaths. I need to pray and ask God to help me see my kids through a lens of love and patience. And sometimes I just need to scream out my frustration so that I can go back inside and be the mommy that they need me to be. The mommy who can discipline without demeaning and who speaks with love. That's right. I go outside and I scream. I am that weird. But it really does help. Try it and see. I dare you.
photo by Pete Herron
http://www.flickr.com/photos/peteherron/3478366311/
Today, Sam and I took the kids to my parents' house for lunch. When it was time to leave, we packed all of the kids into the minivan. We actually had two cars there so Sam hopped into the jeep and I hopped into the minivan. My parents live in a gated community. Sam headed for the exit that takes you the long way around and I decided to head for the closer exit that dumps you out at a light that takes forever and a day to change. I was just curious as to which way is actually faster. What I didn't take into consideration was the reaction the boys would have watching their Daddy drive away in a different direction. One simple turn of my wheel and suddenly I had two little boys crying hysterically in the back seat. I actually started to laugh because it seemed so absurd. And then I realized how upset they really were. I asked them what was wrong and Jem said, "Where is Daddy? Is he going to work?" I assured both of them that Daddy was not going to work and that he was going to meet us at our house. And, as luck would have it, Sam passed us as we were sitting at the forever and a day light. It turned green right after he turned in front of us so I was able to drive the rest of the way behind him. Once they had him back in their sights, the boys settled down and all tears ceased. There is no doubt that Daddy is the favorite in our house right now.
It has to be tough as a kid to figure out who really exists and who doesn't. There is the tooth fairy, the easter bunny, Santa Claus, leprechauns. The list goes on and on. And then God gets thrown in there with stories about fish swallowing people, guys not burning up in a fire, and blind men regaining their sight. I would have a hard time knowing what was real and keeping my facts straight.
Jem has apparently decided to mash them all together. Today, I sat at my mom's table and listened as he sang a song for us about Johnny Appleseed. I never did hear Johnny mentioned but I did catch the words elf and leprechaun and the phrase, "we are weak but he is strong." I did my best to listen intently and not burst out laughing but it was pretty tough.
This was followed by Jem randomly informing my mom that Jesus is the lord of summer.
Gaga: Oh. Well then who is the lord of winter?
Jem: Jesus and God are the lord of winter too.
Gaga: Okay. What about spring?
Jem: The leprechaun is the lord of spring.
Gaga: And fall?
Jem: The holy holy is the lord of fall.
I wonder if Jesus knows that the leprechaun took over springtime? Tricky little bugger.
photo by dabidovich
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dabidovich/383084070/
This week, Jem's preschool class pulled out dress-up clothes. There are pirate bandanas and spyglasses, princess dresses and tiaras, police vests and cowboy hats. It has been fun to drop him off and see the kids dressed up and pretending together.
It has not been fun to try and explain to Truett, two days in a row now, that he can not have the pirate spyglass. Yesterday, he spent the car ride home crying about it and insisting that he needed one. I suggested that we find something at home and pretend that it was a spyglass, like a paper towel roll. This brought on another round of tears since that isn't the same. Then, he had the great idea that Mommy could make one for him. This might be because I've done my best to make other things for him in the past, like a sword and a pinwheel.
When we got home, I sat down and looked up how to make a spyglass and then told him that it was too difficult. Translation: it would take too long and mommy doesn't want to. Yeah, I know. Shame on me. But I'm not a craft person and reading those instructions didn't get me jazzed up. It just made me tired. Especially when I know that he will destroy it within 30 minutes.
After more tears, he wandered over to the toy bin, pulled out an old paper towel roll, and said "I can use this Mommy." I wanted to respond with something snarky but held my tongue and decided to count it as a victory.
And today, he actually managed to get his hands on the spyglass in Jem's room before I had to take him down to his own room. This was even worse than just seeing it. My normally happy boy who runs into his classroom was suddenly crying and hanging onto my leg. I had to peel his arms off of me and run out of the room while he cried and tried to follow me. So I'm thinking that a craft might be in my future today. Curse you spyglass!
photo by scopepart2010
http://www.flickr.com/photos/51345906@N04/4741705621/
This morning after I dropped the boys off at preschool, I ran to the grocery store with Caia to pick up some stuff for the week. There weren't too many people around, grapes were on sale for $0.99/lb., and I was making good time, so all in all it was turning out to be a pleasant shopping experience. Unlike my experience last week that I ranted about in a post. Of course, that all fell to pieces when I had my run-in with the display of canned tomatoes.
Before I explain said run-in, I would like to offer up a few excuses to absolve myself. First of all, having Caia's car seat sitting in the top of the cart pretty much blocks my view of anything directly in front of my cart for about five feet. I have to constantly check to make sure that I'm clear before I move ahead. Secondly, I really don't think that the store has any business putting a display of cans in the middle of the aisle, especially when the same product is only a few feet away on the shelf where it belongs.
But, regardless of the reasons, I pushed my cart into a display of canned tomatoes and watched as they did a slow-motion tumble to the ground and rolled down the aisle. As if that weren't enough, it happened immediately after I passed a store manager who heard the commotion and came back to clean up my mess.
I apologized profusely and offered to help but he waved me away. I can't say that he was super nice about it but then again, he probably has someone up in corporate telling him to stack cans in the middle of the aisle (where they don't belong!) and they never have to deal with crazy women who knock them over. I really wanted to continue down the aisle to grab something else but thought that might be pushing my luck so I turned around and continued back the way I had come, my face burning with shame. Good times.
photo by Dias Photopop
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dias-photopop/6854055501/
I had some time away this weekend. My mom and I took an overnight trip with Caia and Sam stayed home with the boys. When I pulled up to the house today, Sam was pulling up at the same time. The boys clambered out of the car and ran over to me full of excitement. But they didn't want to give me hugs or kisses or tell me how much they missed me. They wanted to give me rocks that they had brought home from their time at a friends house.
Sometimes I get kisses. Occasionally there are hugs and every once in a while there is an unsolicited "I love you mommy." But mostly I get rocks, or worms, or prickly seed pods, or cicada shells. My boys haven't figured out yet that I don't really want to hold worms and slugs. I usually just ask them to set them down next to me or put them into a bucket. And I always do my best to be very enthusiastic about their discoveries. Because as much as I would love hugs and kisses and love yous, I've learned that this is part of their love language. These are the things that fascinate them; that bring them wonder and excitement. And I am the one they want to share that with. Right now, that is a bigger "I love you" than any kiss or hug.
Wednesday morning as we drove to my women's group at church, Truett was drawing on our magna doodle. When I went to get him out I saw his picture and asked him what he had drawn. He said it was a crocodile monster.
And a few weeks ago he drew a dinosaur.
I know this seems like I'm bragging about my kid and that's because I am. I mean, come on! He's three! I can't even draw like that. Besides, I figure it just helps to combat all of the times I write about the ways he frustrates and challenges me. Plus, only a handful of people are going to read this and they are mostly related to me so they don't really mind.
Yesterday was Caia's four month check-up. She will actually be five months old in four days. I am almost always behind on scheduling doctors appointments. Anyway, the doctor weighed her three times, twice on two separate digital scales and once on a manual scale while a nurse held her. Turns out she hasn't gained any weight since her two month check-up. In fact, she actually dropped a pound and is only one ounce heavier than she was at her one month appointment.
Thankfully, the doctor didn't seem concerned. She kept squeezing Caia's chubby thighs and mumbling, "She sure doesn't look like she only weighs 13 pounds." I took that as a good sign.
It basically boils down to the fact that my milk isn't cutting it. Either she isn't getting enough or the quality just isn't up to par. So I have to start supplementing with formula and start her on solids right away.
I really don't mind. It feels a little bit rushed since I breastfed both boys until they decided to stop at nine months, and I didn't start them on food until they were six months. But I don't think that I will miss the breastfeeding. I'm not enchanted by it like some moms that I know. I never really saw it as a beautiful bonding time with my baby. It was more like a jail sentence. This thing that only I could do for my child meaning that I could never get a break. So I won't necessarily be upset when she has weaned herself completely.
There is one thing that will be difficult. Right now, whenever she sees me, my little girl breaks out a fantastic smile. She is in love with me and the feeling is mutual. But soon, that smile will be bestowed on my new frenemy, her bottle. I will be displaced in her affections by powdered formula and a rubber nipple. It's a sad way to go.
There are days when my little dragons hiss and spit at me and I respond by unleashing my own dragon. It starts with a curl of smoke coming from my nostrils. Then a flash of my sharp teeth and claws followed by a quick snap. And if I'm not able to rein it in, it becomes an all out fire-breathing extravaganza.
I wish that I could say that I manuever through my days with maturity and grace. That I always respond to my children with love and gentleness. Sometimes I do okay and sometimes I fail miserably. Sometimes I want to give up and hide in a closet for a few hours. But they would find me. They always find me. So I will continue to stumble through, doing my best to keep my own dragon under control so that I am able to help them deal with theirs.
photo by gd427driver
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gd427driver/3156345314/
Sam and I have been talking about moving. We live in the city and we would like to move somewhere with a little more outside space for the boys. Oh, and by city I'm not talking like New York or Philadelphia. We just live in the tiny urban area of our county which has its good points and its bad ones.
We've gone to see a few homes and have found one that we are thinking of making an offer on. During this process, Sam has been asking the boys if they would like a new house. Truett was all for it and began to cry when he realized that Daddy didn't actually have a new house to take him to. Jem was interested as well but had a few questions.
Jem: Are we going to the new house today?
Me: No buddy. We don't have a new house yet. Did you know that this new house is built near the woods?
Jem: Why? (yep, there it is, the dreaded "why")
Me: I don't know. It just is.
Jem: Will it have a kitchen area?
Me: Yep and a special room just for your toys.
Jem: What kind of toys will it have?
Me: Buddy, houses don't come with toys.
Jem: Yes they do Mommy. I've been to houses and they have toys in them.Me: Honey, we have to take our own toys to the new house. It won't have any toys.
Jem: Oh.
photo by Faiz
http://www.flickr.com/photos/faizzaki/3597405086/
This journey of motherhood is hard. Like super hard. Yes, there are beautiful moments but there are also those moments like tonight when I swept a wooden yo-yo off of the dining room table because I was so sick of finding it everywhere except where it belongs. And moments like those make me even more thankful that I have been blessed with friends who are on the same journey with me.
My one friend, whom I have known since I was 15 or 16, has three boys. Her oldest is about 6 months older than Jem. Her second boy is about 8 weeks younger than Tru and her third boy is about 7 months older than Caia. We have been in step pretty much the entire time. And it has been such a help. We get together and try to have grown-up conversations while encouraging our boys to play nicely. We have commiserated on sleepless nights, teething and the pain of breastfeeding. We laugh and groan over how alike our second children are as they scream at each other and pitch fits. We encourage each other simply by admitting that, "yes, I have lost my temper."
I have other friends who have kids slightly older than mine. I am able to watch them and see what behaviors might be coming, like talking back. And I can see how they handle it and learn from them. I can talk to them about my current struggles and they can assure me that it will change, that they won't always behave like preschoolers.
I have friends who are just starting out on their parenting journey. And for once, I'm able to offer up a little bit of encouragement.
That is one of the reasons I wanted to do this blog. I think that most moms really just want to know that someone else is having the same struggles. I remember waking up at 2am to breastfeed Jem and sitting in the dark nursery alone. I would cry (stupid hormones) because I felt so alone and overwhelmed and tired. And it helped to know that my friends understood that feeling. It helps to know that I am not the only one who gets frustrated with my children. It helps to have someone to talk to and bounce ideas off of. There isn't an instuction manuel for these little people and we've never done this before so asking for help seems necessary and good.
So this one is for my homies. My fellow moms who have helped me, encouraged me, made me laugh and given me hope. Thanks ladies!
Truett is in this stage right now where he goes from zero to sixty in one second. If I'm buckling him into his car seat and he decides that he wants the doodle to draw on he immediately goes full tilt. He doesn't even bother to ask if he can have it. He just screams and cries. And I'm talking veins popping out on his forehead and tendons sticking out on his neck. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I tell him that he will not get anything by yelling at me or reminding him of how he should ask for things. It's like there isn't an in between with him. It is either docile child or screaming banshee. I do my best to meet his impatience with calm reminders that he isn't to speak to me that way or asking him to try again. But there are times when it just seems like I've spent my entire day trying to diffuse my three-year old and I'm not sure that I can handle one more emotional explosion. Thankfully, that is usually around the time that Sam gets home from work and I'm able to walk away from the crying and yelling.
This wasn't something that I had to deal with from Jem. But they are two very different boys. Tru has a lot of passion and right now it is coming out in mostly negative ways. Someday, that passion will be a wonderful thing if I can keep my head on straight and continue to teach him how to channel it.
Growing up my dad did all of the grocery shopping. In fact, he still does the grocery shopping. He is one of the only men I know who can be trusted to actually stick to the list and not come home with donuts, chips and some random type of meat. Of course, if there is a sale on ice cream then all bets are off, but for the most part, he goes in and gets what my mom has asked for.
When I was little, I would go with him to the store. It was our fun father/daughter time. I felt so grown up and helpful and I loved having my dad's attention all to myself.
I'm not sure what happened but at some point I began to really dislike going to the grocery store. It became this huge time-sucking place that attracts the slow and the oblivious like moths to a flame. I'm all for taking your time and enjoying life. But I admit that I get peeved off when I get stuck behind someone who is shuffling through the grocery store and counting out change from their embroidered coin purse.
And I definitely have an issue with the oblivious people. You know who I am talking about. The ones who park their cart in the middle of the aisle and then wander off to look at something ten feet away. A few weeks ago the woman in front of me struck up a conversation with the cashier. No problem. Except that she continued the conversation after she had already paid for and bagged her groceries. Did I mention that she was still standing in the middle of the lane? My groceries were already headed down the little conveyor belt and I couldn't even push my cart through. I said, "Excuse me please." And she looked at me and said, "Oh, did you want me to move." I replied, "That would be nice." And she huffed off. All she had to do was move out of the check-out lane and continue her conversation there.
The grocery store brings out my ugly side. The side that is impatient and judgemental. I don't want to give grace to the lady with her cart blocking the entire soup section. I don't want to wait behind the mom who is letting her child count the number of marshmallows on the Lucky Charms box. I just want to get my stupid groceries and go home.
In case you were wondering, I just got home from the grocery store before I started writing this post. I apologize for the ugliness but I promised to be honest and this is honest. This is me being ugly and small. It happens and I'm learning to notice it in the hopes that I will, one day, be able to change it. Today is not that day.
