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?"
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
The Voiceless Speaks
by Angela Tadlock
Despite the bustle of shoppers, the fruitcake slicing, mistletoe kisses and the magic adrift on the moonlit snow, politeness, during the holidays, leaves a lot to be desired. The rudeness that accompanies the irate mother and the disrespect that linger in the shadows of the impatient customer the other eleven months of the year, suddenly rages forth like a leviathan the morning that dark Friday arrives.One lesson I learned while working in retail was that a person chooses to be rude. It costs nothing to be polite. The only requirement is that you not care about other people or how they may perceive you.I have worked in retail for five years and have formally retired to the stock room where I oversee the organization and preparation of the back stock. In that stock room I work alone, away from people and their malcontent. Unfortunately, my job insists that I must trudge out to the sales floor on occasion where I am forced - or rather paid - to stand behind a counter and ring out customers’s sales of whom, most are rude.Most talk on their cell phones and don’t respond properly when you cordially say, "Hello." Others permit their children to pull clothes off the racks, and some return clothes emitting the strong scent of cigarette. But above all, it’s their demeanor that offends. A refusal to smile. Persistence to stay on the cell phone throughout a transaction. A lack of propriety as they gossip endlessly about their private affairs.In the mass of rude conduct, I will always remember a single child who showed me that thankfulness still exists out there in the material world. Her stringy hair was light brown, which covered the glasses she wore. Her eyes seemed to bulge from the refracted optical lens making her appear slightly frog-ish. Her smile was as big and as bright as her eyes. She was the most polite child I have ever met in my life, standing only forty-five inches high with a scraggly frame. She tried to bottle an enthusiasm that hopelessly poured over. But what I remember most of this child, was the enormous hole in her neck.Her eyes glistened with joy as her grandmother placed a little knit purse on the counter. I’ve seen parents and grandparents lay down more than three hundred dollars for a single child at a time. During the holidays parents will ask for twelve boxes to wrap four outfits so they can "wrap each item individually so they’ll have more underneath the tree.""Ungrateful," I think to myself every year."You’re promoting materialism!" I want to shout in place of the cheery "Merry Christmas!" I wish them. But I’m paid to give them their boxes and not discuss the materialism that has infiltrated our society.Now, before me, there stood this little girl with nothing but a single knit purse clenched in her tiny hand. So happy to be getting this purse . . . or so I thought."Hello." I said with a genuine smile.A short, raspy "I," was her reply, which resembled the scratchy squeak of a soprano clarinet in the anxious hands of a student. The sound plunged a bucket of ice water into my stomach as I fought to hold the smile unaltered on my face. Her grandmother began to explain."Four weeks ago she had surgery. She’s four and has never been able to speak before." The ice water froze in my stomach as my throat tightened."The surgery has allowed her to speak for the first time since she was born." Her grandmother continued. "I’m buying her a purse today ‘cause she’s been such a good girl."I continued to smile despite my hardened gut. Her face beamed with pride, not over the purse in her hands, but the voice she finally had. I looked into the eyes of this child as I thought of what ordeal this four-year-old already had to bare. I no longer saw her stringy hair or her bulging eyes. Only the proud smile that said, "I can talk," spoke the words she was unable to articulate. I looked at the angel as selfless and as thankful as the heavens could send and for the first time in my life, I was humbled.I felt the tears sting my eyes, which I fought back. I composed myself quickly unsure of what to say while I gulped down the knot in my own neck. I finished the transaction and bagged her little purse in a small accessory bag – the children always love that."Goodbye," I called to them as they turned to leave.Without hesitation she turned back to me waving her whole arm, refusing to miss an opportunity to omit any kind of sound."I," She called back with her new voice, smiling like never before over the power to speak.As they turned away once more, my thoughts filled with my two-year-old daughter, who had spent that morning shrieking inane babble at me in between shrieking no’s. In an instant I became grateful that my daughter could tell me "no" for she could also tell me "I love you."The next time she screams I’ll be grateful that she can and, despite the materialism, there is one angel I know of who was grateful enough for the voice she finally had.
Despite the bustle of shoppers, the fruitcake slicing, mistletoe kisses and the magic adrift on the moonlit snow, politeness, during the holidays, leaves a lot to be desired. The rudeness that accompanies the irate mother and the disrespect that linger in the shadows of the impatient customer the other eleven months of the year, suddenly rages forth like a leviathan the morning that dark Friday arrives.One lesson I learned while working in retail was that a person chooses to be rude. It costs nothing to be polite. The only requirement is that you not care about other people or how they may perceive you.I have worked in retail for five years and have formally retired to the stock room where I oversee the organization and preparation of the back stock. In that stock room I work alone, away from people and their malcontent. Unfortunately, my job insists that I must trudge out to the sales floor on occasion where I am forced - or rather paid - to stand behind a counter and ring out customers’s sales of whom, most are rude.Most talk on their cell phones and don’t respond properly when you cordially say, "Hello." Others permit their children to pull clothes off the racks, and some return clothes emitting the strong scent of cigarette. But above all, it’s their demeanor that offends. A refusal to smile. Persistence to stay on the cell phone throughout a transaction. A lack of propriety as they gossip endlessly about their private affairs.In the mass of rude conduct, I will always remember a single child who showed me that thankfulness still exists out there in the material world. Her stringy hair was light brown, which covered the glasses she wore. Her eyes seemed to bulge from the refracted optical lens making her appear slightly frog-ish. Her smile was as big and as bright as her eyes. She was the most polite child I have ever met in my life, standing only forty-five inches high with a scraggly frame. She tried to bottle an enthusiasm that hopelessly poured over. But what I remember most of this child, was the enormous hole in her neck.Her eyes glistened with joy as her grandmother placed a little knit purse on the counter. I’ve seen parents and grandparents lay down more than three hundred dollars for a single child at a time. During the holidays parents will ask for twelve boxes to wrap four outfits so they can "wrap each item individually so they’ll have more underneath the tree.""Ungrateful," I think to myself every year."You’re promoting materialism!" I want to shout in place of the cheery "Merry Christmas!" I wish them. But I’m paid to give them their boxes and not discuss the materialism that has infiltrated our society.Now, before me, there stood this little girl with nothing but a single knit purse clenched in her tiny hand. So happy to be getting this purse . . . or so I thought."Hello." I said with a genuine smile.A short, raspy "I," was her reply, which resembled the scratchy squeak of a soprano clarinet in the anxious hands of a student. The sound plunged a bucket of ice water into my stomach as I fought to hold the smile unaltered on my face. Her grandmother began to explain."Four weeks ago she had surgery. She’s four and has never been able to speak before." The ice water froze in my stomach as my throat tightened."The surgery has allowed her to speak for the first time since she was born." Her grandmother continued. "I’m buying her a purse today ‘cause she’s been such a good girl."I continued to smile despite my hardened gut. Her face beamed with pride, not over the purse in her hands, but the voice she finally had. I looked into the eyes of this child as I thought of what ordeal this four-year-old already had to bare. I no longer saw her stringy hair or her bulging eyes. Only the proud smile that said, "I can talk," spoke the words she was unable to articulate. I looked at the angel as selfless and as thankful as the heavens could send and for the first time in my life, I was humbled.I felt the tears sting my eyes, which I fought back. I composed myself quickly unsure of what to say while I gulped down the knot in my own neck. I finished the transaction and bagged her little purse in a small accessory bag – the children always love that."Goodbye," I called to them as they turned to leave.Without hesitation she turned back to me waving her whole arm, refusing to miss an opportunity to omit any kind of sound."I," She called back with her new voice, smiling like never before over the power to speak.As they turned away once more, my thoughts filled with my two-year-old daughter, who had spent that morning shrieking inane babble at me in between shrieking no’s. In an instant I became grateful that my daughter could tell me "no" for she could also tell me "I love you."The next time she screams I’ll be grateful that she can and, despite the materialism, there is one angel I know of who was grateful enough for the voice she finally had.
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