Possessed

I should seriously have my head examined.  Why?  Because I do things that normal people would probably not do.  Maybe my sanity has finally left me for good.  I think it just got fed up and said "I'm outta here, woman."  I suspect this is what happened.  For today, I was muttering to myself, in a store, like a crazy old woman who hoards cats.  But I believe that I brought on this latest psychotic break purely because I went clothes shopping with two kids, of which one was dangerously close to nap time.

Today being “Elect a Liar” day (thanks Jeff); my daughter has the day off from school.  So I thought it would be a good day to do some fun things.  We went out to breakfast at the Shack and got some pancakes.  First mistake, giving a three-year-old sticky food to eat.  He does well with his fork, but if a bite of pancake falls off the fork before reaching his mouth, he picks it up and eats it with his fingers.  That’s okay, this is what kids do.  But as the parent, you have to be quick on your game, and have the wet wipe ready to clean the sticky mess from the fingers before said fingers grab Mommy’s freshly washed sweater.  No coffee + no sleep = slow Mommy.

After getting cleaned up after the breakfast mess, we set off to visit Borders.  My daughter loves this store, and has, at any one time, fifteen gift cards to spend.  We got to Borders without incident.  She had all of her books selected within five minutes of getting there, so I decided to look around a little.  Mistake number 2.  Three-year-old boys do not like book stores.  Yes, they like to touch everything in the store, and run through the racks playing hide and seek, but they do not appreciate book stores like girls do.  On several occasions in the fifteen minutes inside the book store, my son wriggled out of my grasp and proceeded to either run in the opposite direction, or disappear altogether.  Now I know why they have child leashes.  How much are these and where can I get one?

At this point, I was ready to throw in the towel, give up and go home.  However, my daughter reminded me that I needed to go to Kohl’s to get her an outfit for her audition on Saturday.  Therefore, I redirected my car towards Kohl’s.  After warning my son in the parking lot that he either behaves or he would be sorry, we ambled into Kohl’s.  This is where my daughter begins to regress from a rather able-bodied twelve-year-old to a whiney five-year-old, literally dragging her feet through the aisles.  She hates clothes shopping and hates trying on clothes.  I think she would be happy wearing sweatpants and pajamas throughout most of her teenage years.  So with a pouty bottom lip, she tried on several selections.  While I’m trying to help her and look at the fit, my son is on his hands and knees looking under the stall wall into the adjacent stall.  I yelled at him, and secretly doing the sign of the cross thanking God there was no one in the next stall.  How embarrassing!  We finally decide on an outfit for Saturday, and dragging my son through the check out, we made it out of Kohl’s.  By now, the children are still intact, but Mommy is a mess.  I am still afflicted by some phantom stickiness left over from breakfast, which I trace back to my keys.  I heave the younger child into the car seat, who is blubbering still about being forced to hold hands with mean Mommy while crossing the parking lot.  I take a deep breath, thinking that I can go home now, only to remember I still have to go to Big Y. CRAP!

By the time I get to Big Y, I am hoarse from yelling and in my mind I’m wondering how I am not a raging alcoholic.  I place my son in the cart because I’m not in the correct state of mind to allow him to walk.  Once inside the store, I realize I have absolutely no idea why I am there, what I’m supposed to buy, and why children just can’t live on cereal.  I begin to gather what is left of my thought process, and start to collect some items.  By this time my son has given up, thankfully, and lies down in the cart.  Once things are semi-quiet, I can begin to piece together some semblance of meals for the next couple of days.  We get back to the car, get everything in, and start the drive home.  HOME!!!  What a beautiful word, home.  I love home. 

Now I’m sitting here wondering what possesses me to do errands with two kids.  Someone always ends up crying, and most of the time it’s neither of the children.  What possesses me to think that a morning of errands would be fun?  This is why I tell my husband that the next time I get any brilliant ideas, just to shoot me.  But every week, I forget the homicidal or suicidal tendencies and I do it all again.  Maybe I am a glutton for punishment, or maybe I’m just that naïve to think that “it will be different this time.”  Either way, I’m glad I’m doing this with just two kids and not six.  No wonder my grandmother would brandish wooden spoons like tomahawks.  She was possessed too.