Shopping With Kids

If there is one task a mother hates, it is grocery shopping with children. Lynn is nearing her eighth week and so far, we had managed to avoid grocery shopping with all three kids . . . until now.

My husband hadn't been alone in more than two months and was definately in need of some alone time. So on pay day I called a girl friend over and we dared take the three kids to Walmart. A decision I am still recovering from.

During the ten minute drive they were great. I should have picked up a hint that things would evolve into melt down when Hunter threw himself onto the pavement in the parking lot. An action I interpreted as "Run me over!" My friend had to throw Hunter over her shoulder to carry him into Walmart. Knowing I was bulk shopping, we grabbed two carts. One for the kids and one for the food. I'm breast feeding, so the baby bjorn is inconvenient and I hate the car seat sitting in front of me (I'm only 4 foot 11). So I laid down the changing pad and a blanket in the cart seat and nestled Lynn in. Nice and snug. Whereupon we set out on the daring expedition.

I had a new debit card with me and needed to test the card first with a small purchase. I had it all planned. I grabbed a twelve pack of boxed juices and two small bags of combos. The card worked. I handed each child their bag of combos and a juice box. My kids had snacks and so we commenced.

My friend and I pushed the carts down to the dairy aisle in the back. We made it from aisle five to aisle seven. At that point, Hunter decided to sit in the seat of the food cart. Separating Anne from him would be a better choice so we made the swap and journeyed on. We then stopped at aisle nine. Lynn needed to be fed. So for fifteen minutes, I stood there beside aisle nine and fed the infant. Already we were thirty minutes into our shopping and had only grabbed six cans of soup, which had been displayed in the aisle.

I discreetly pulled myself together and settled Lynn down. We finally made it to the yogurt and butter to begin the shopping. We grabbed the yogurt.

"No, Hunter. You can't have yogurt now. Eat your combos." I grabbed butter and margarine.

"Lynn. Mommy's here. You're okay." I grabbed cheese and picked up the dropped juice box off the floor. Then I grabbed the hot dogs.

"No, Anne. I'll get you a hot dog when we get home." We arrived at the meat. I am almost a vegetarian and know nothing about buying meats.

I grabbed the cell phone and called home.

"Okay, I'm at the meat. You want 93/7. Okay." I grabbed the medium size package of hamburger and moved onto the beef where I felt sick from the sight. So we grabbed a turkey and headed over to the aisles.

Aisle ten. "No! You can not have popcorn right now. We're in the store." Aisle eight I grabbed the cheerios and Kix then picked up the dropped juice box.

"Maybe for your birthday you can have the Princess cereal. I'm not getting it now. Hunter, get out of the food!"

"Mommy! I have to go potty!"

"Mommy, I gotta go pee-pee too!" Hunter was wearing a pull-up soI grabbed Anne and Lynn and dashed for the bathroom.



Twenty minutes later, after a diaper change and a bathroom break, we were back. Aisle seven, "Mommy, I wanna walk!"

"Mommy, I want to walk too!"

"Anne, put the pig's feet down! We don't eat that!"

"Hunter, don't throw yourself in front of that lady's cart!"

"Mommy, I have to go potty!"

"You just went potty! You're fine!"

"But juice makes me pee!"

"Then no juice for you! Hunter! Don't touch! That's it! Back in the cart! Right now!"



By aisle six Lynn was hungry. I now began a balancing act of nursing, remaining concealed, pushing a cart, and shopping.

"I wanna get down!"

"No!"

"Beth, she's loosing her socks." My friend handed me a sock and I pulled off Lynn's remaining sock and stuffed them in her hat then placed them in the grocery bag of juice. Then, I picked up the dropped juice box.



We turned the corner into aisle five where my friend discovered the trail of combos Anne was leaving. We had been there for an hour and a half. I hadn't even made it to the veggies, frozen goods, or fresh produce yet. I had to press on and endure. I began to grab the store brand products hoping that it would be cheaper. Hunter was getting louder.

I spotted the Duncan Donuts brand coffee and grabbed a bag of original.

"I deserve it!" I announced to my friend. We made it through aisle five and Hunter was getting louder.

"I wanna get down!"

"No!"

Lynn started crying again. I picked her back up and began to burp her. Hunter had finally reached his point.

"I want down NOW!"

In the corner of my eye I could see combos fly into the shelf and pour onto the floor. I simply glared at the boy, "You are in so much trouble when we get home." My eye began to twitch as I picked up the dropped juice box off the floor.

Exasperated we moved on. Pitiful looks showered down on us by other knowing mothers as we continued. I was certain I had entered a perverted form of hell. Visions of my husband came to mind of him lounging peacefully on the couch. I started to snarl.

We made our way into aisle three where I could grab the french fries, tater tots, and frozen pizzas. An earsplitting scream shot through my brain. It took me a moment to realize it was my subconscious having a mental break down.

It was during my search for the fish sticks and frozen veggies that I broke.

"Okay! We're done!" I did a one eighty and headed for the registers.



We grabbed the shortest and closest line we could find. My friend dashed to a ten items or less line to check out her own things. Lynn began to scream full now. She was sensing my stress and the noise from the store was finally getting to her. My heart went out to my little girl. I held her to my chest and bounced, rocked, and swayed her. She continued to scream. I took her blanket and wrapped it around her body for added security. Hunter started to kick his shoes off. Anne wanted to go with my friend and began crying.

"Where did his shoes go?" My friend asked as she returned. I couldn't take it anymore.

"They're on the floor."

"I'm going to go get the car. I'll be right back."

She took Anne with her and I began to load up the conveyor belt with one hand. Lynn screamed now each time I laid her down. Hunter started to grab the groceries and hand things to me. The fates were starting to pity me. They had apparently finished their sick, little joke. The lady ahead of me finished her check out then took mercy on me and began helping me load my groceries onto the belt. If I hadn't been holding Lynn, I would have thrown myself on her feet with thanks.

My friend returned and took Hunter and Anne to the car. My groceries were loaded and Lynn had finally fallen asleep on my shoulder. I was able to lay her down just as another lady asked if I needed a hand. I love the sisterhood. I felt a little more in control and politely thanked her, but refused her help.

With the groceries nearly added up, I began to search for Lynn's socks and hat, which I couldn't find anywhere. It was now a chilling forty degrees outside and the wind was blowing. I wrapped her blanket more securely around her and took a moment to calm down.

131 items, two carts of groceries, three children, and all my patience spent. I wish I had taken my Zoloft before I left. I pushed and pulled the carts out of the store and made it to the car. Now I wanted to throw myself down on the pavement and announce, "Run over me!" My friend and I exchanged looks of despair and then started home.

I took up Lynn and immediatly dashed up the stairs with Lynn in my arms. I found my husband resting peacefully on the couch. My hands were shaking from stress. I handed Lynn to my husband and grabbed my Zoloft. Tears started to form in my eyes.

"How was the shopping?"

TAGGED

If we can tag our pets why can't we tag our children? Insert a small locater chip and if our children are lost or taken from us a GPS satellite can locate and recover them within hours. Tag pedophiles so that authorities can identify their location at all times. Access records to find out where they were during a particular crime. Allow the public to have their own locator installed so if the situation ever arises they will be found. Or is this just another way for Big Brother to keep watch over us? Would you want your children "tagged" if the option were available?
It gives "Home Again" a whole new meaning.

http://www.findmadeleine.com/

Operation: Civilize Hunter

In the past week, I've discovered a side of my boy that I hadn't taken care to notice before. Hunter likes to see how things work. There were plenty of signs around the house for months that I didn't take the time to realize. The printer suddenly was broken. The TV fell on the boy. The VCR had more vegetables shoved into it than Hunter's mouth. Still, I excused him as being accident prone. Wild. Barbaric even. Beyond any peak of frustration I may have encountered before, I declared, one day, that it was time to begin Operation: Civilize Hunter. My goal was clear. The boy needed to be potty trained (that was evident), but he also needed to stop terrorizing his sister and taking my shoes and running with them while giggling deviously while I'm trying to put them on. The moment had come when his hard skull had smashed into my nose too many times.

The operation went down with a long and tedious fight. After months of teaching, instructing, and a little brainwashing, Hunter finally was saying "please" and "thank you". He was also announcing that he was "angwy" instead of hitting his sister. And slowly, the house quieted . . . just a little. It was shortly after that I stumbled upon Hunter and the remote. There he was pensively dissecting the remote control. I handled it well. My husband made funeral arrangements. A light went off in my head and I suddenly made the connection. The printer didn't just break. The paperclips we found stashed in the VCR may not have been as accidental as we had believed. His unending fetish with emptying the bagless vacume cleaner . . . It allw began to make sense. Hunter was mechanically minded. A side of me relaxed. My chest puffed out with pride like a marshmallow. Hunter was inquisitive and had to know how things around him worked. By the end of the day I found myself allowing him to dissect the staple gun with endless curiosity. So what if I had to replace it later. My boy was not an accident proned barbarian. He was a scientist.

New Mommy: Take Three

A numbness had settled in as the weeks droned on. I felt like I was reduced to just heaving myself through the day. I was unmotivated. I wanted to do nothing and what was worse, I was in a mental ditch that felt more like a canyon and I was trapped between the mountains on either side. I was tired and I just didn’t care.
I was pregnant. It was my third child and as lazy as I felt, my husband felt the same for frustration towards me. I wasn’t completely milking the situation. Every other day I really did feel like I couldn’t move without feeling a wave of severe nausea. It’s been a cruel nine weeks. I have been given the nose of a dog, yet, ironically, certain odors make me vomit. I’ve been cursed with a severe increase of hunger that I am unable to satiate because of that on-going nausea.
It doesn’t take more than a week before I realized I was playing a numbers game. Four out of five food attempts will cause me to vomit regardless of what my choices will be. After the cabbage, pickles, cereal, and ice cream, the peanut butter sandwich is bound to come back and haunt me.
To make matters worse, my loving husband has anointed himself official coach over my nausea and diet.
"You know you can’t eat that! It’s acidic!"
"Last time you ate vegetables you threw them up!"
"You know you can’t eat that stuff!"
Occasionally, I use the last bit of my remaining strength to lift my head out of the toilet and glare at him with my evil eye in hopes that he’ll gain the hint and abandon me at my post in peace.
But it never fails. Shortly after my stomach has found a moment’s peace, I’ve retired to the couch to regain my strength. It wouldn’t be complete without my retch referee reprimanding me about my lack of motivation and poor eating habits.
"I told you not to eat that stuff!"
"You’re bringing this on yourself."
"Maybe next time you’ll listen to me."
I can’t believe I have allowed myself to forget this from the first two rounds of pregancy.

Keeping Strength

by Angela Tadlock
It seems, no other topic rises such rivalry when a woman becomes pregnant than the bottle vs breast debate. breast feeding, as wonderful, natural, and nutritional as it is, is hard. Though I not always believed this.There was no need to think about it, I thought. My grandmother breast fed. My aunts all breast fed. My mother breast fed. I would breast feed. Like most new moms not yet introduced to the truth about parenting, I was arrogant. Breast feeding is natural. If cave women could do it then I sure as heck could! I went in prepared with a plan.I would have my child. Then, before I would plant my first kiss on her cheek, I would take her to breast and we would bond. Beautiful bonding in a picture perfect scene.I did not foresee the emergency c-section. The thirty minutes in the recovery room where I had to argue with a nurse about bringing me my daughter. I did not plan on my morphine making me so comfortable that pain from an inappropriate latch did not send the signals to my brain telling me that her latch was incorrect.By the end of the first day my left nipple had cracked so much that it looked as if the nipple was lacerated. The pain was enough that I screamed when Emily suckled on the left side. The lactation consultant came to instruct and correct, but the damage was done. The next month would be filled with excruciating midnight feedings. My milk supply would diminish on my left breast making me look lop-sided and grossly unbalanced.Every night my husband pleaded with me to formula feed until I was healed, at least. But I knew that once my milk dried up, I would have no milk. It was not an option. I bore down on the pain and suffered through it and finally, FINALLY, after a long month of a torn, bleeding nipple being suckled off with every feeding, I healed.My daughter was breast fed – as was my son and my second daughter. Only now, I’m wiser and less arrogant.Breast feeding is work, but the reward pays off. Go in knowing that it will be hard at first and that the process will "toughen up" your nipples. The first week is the most difficult and challenging. But don’t place your child’s nutrition on the line if it ends up being more than you bargained for. The difficulties you experience end a lot sooner than the benefits your infant will gain from breast feeding.

Snake Noodles and Turtle Socks

by Angela Tadlock
Being a mother of two - two toddlers that is - has taught me a couple of valuable lessons I’ll always take to heart. My three-year-old, Emily, constantly shows me what seemingly goes unnoticed. My two-year-old, Danny, teaches me everything I missed the first time around. Despite the stress accompanied with mothering two toddlers, Emily’s continual lesson in the English language has earned a smile on my face more than once, from "snake noodles" (spaghetti) to "He has issues" (In reference to her brother’s tantrums).
With every day I look for ways to compliment and praise my children. One way to go about this easily, I found, is to allow my three-year-old the gratifying pleasure of dressing herself. But that occasional sock that doesn’t go on quite right can be enough to start an array of frustration, the prelude to any tantrum. The sock becomes twisted. She pulls harder. The sock then catches on her toes and she screams. Regrettably, the turtleneck is much like a sock one attempts to fit over their head instead of their foot.
One day, while my daughter attempted to squeeze her head into the extra-long neck, she became quickly flustered when her head didn’t slip through as quickly as it usually does. Seeing frustration on the rise, I stepped in.
"Emily, slow down and think." I reminded her. "This is a turtleneck."
"A turtleneck?" She inquired calmly. I could see her little nose protruding slightly through the fabric. I find the quickest way to avoid a tantrum is to teach something new. As I pulled the sweater off her head I proceeded to help her dress, confirming that yes, it is a turtleneck and the neck is longer.
By then the sweater was on and I rolled the extra fabric down around her neck. I picked up her pants and she presented me with her newest inquiry.
"My turtleneck?" She asked again. "Are these my turtle pants?"
I permitted a chuckle as I pulled her pants on then went on to her socks.
"And are these my turtle socks?"
The rest of the day was committed to a repeated fashion show of turtlenecks, turtle pants, and turtle socks. I can’t wait to see what new perspectives Danny has in store.

Operation: Birthing Eli

by Angela Tadlock
"How many kids do you have?"
"Three, just like you."
My doctor had just lifted Elizabeth out of me and was currently sewing me back up. I laid there feeling a pulling in my abdomen as I chatted with my doctor. I could hear my baby girl crying from the corner of the room and was gasping for air out of relief. The baby had rested high and for nearly five months my lungs had been unable to expand to their full capacity disabling my breath.
We hadn't planned this one. She was an accident. And the most wonderful mistake we ever made in our lives. I was crying all the same.
I don't believe in God. But each time I see a sleeping babe I am convinced that they came from Heaven. Where else could something so beautiful come from?

My husband kissed the top of my head as a cleaned, bundled Elizabeth was placed down beside my face. I kissed the little white and pink face through my tears. In a moment she was carried away and my husband followed her to the nursery.
I laid there wide awake looking around the room. The stainless steel surrounding me. What else was there to do besides chat with my doctor as she put me back together. Visions of the show House flashed through my head. I knew what was happening on the other side of the sheet in front of me.
Don't think about that. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and began to study the room. My cousin was a nurse in that hopsital and she was able to assist my doctor in delivering my baby. Periodically I looked for her or called out. It would be another twenty minutes before I would be taken to the recovery room.
A flash of metal caught my eye as I glanced at the metal cabinets. I could see the tools in the doctor's hand reflected in the cabinet - And beside me I could see . . . well . . . me. It didn't scare me or make me sick. I was curiously interested in the miracle before me. There I was wide awake on the table. I had been opened and my child taken out of me. I had spent that time talking, crying, laughing, and memorizing and now, I was watching my own surgery.