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?"

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.

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.

Another Monday

by Angela Tadlock

"Momma! Momma! Danny is playing in the cat boxes again!"
I threw the covers against the wall as I leapt, in one breathless bound, from my bed to the door. My eyes adjusted to the sun light flooding my living room as my brain attempted to grasp the possibility that I just might be out of bed. I made it to my son's bedroom expecting the worse and discovered that it was much worse. I scanned the horror before me.
Handfuls of cat litter had been thrown everywhere. Cat litter covered his bed, the bookshelf, and his toys. His Geo Trak was buried under a mound of litter and beside the mound sat the three year old culprit complete with shovel in hand next to his dump truck. The sight was enough to snap my pre-coffee brain wide awake. The anger in my chest had swollen into my throat as I took in the vast mess before me. Only a couple words were able to break past the anger in my throat.

"YOU! BAD! BATH! NOW!"
I took hold of the boy and began to pull him out of the litter towards the bathroom. Emily followed behind us gleefully dancing as she began to tell Dan how gross he was. Danny had other things on his mind.
"Mommy, you angwy?"
I didn't bother answering him. While I started to strip him in the bathtub a new shriek cut through the air. My five week old newborn was now awake and was looking for mommy . . . That would be me.
I glare up at the clock as Emily shouted from my bedroom.
"Mommy! Elizabeth is crying!"
"I'm with Danny right now! I'll be there in a second!"
A moment later I heard Emily squeaking out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Elizabeth took that as cue to find another level of pitch so high that the neighbor's dog could hear her.

Boy stripped. Water on. Hands washed. Now on to the infant. While I fed the youngest, Emily walked by with the broom.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to clean up Danny's mess."
"No. Mommy has to do it 'cause it's dirty."
"But, Mom. I will clean it and then it won't be dirty."
She turned back toward the litter room.
"Emily! Out!"
"It's okay, Mom. I'm just going to clean it."
"I don't want to give you a bath too!" I gasp! BATH! I had left the water running. I gently, but swiftly placed Elizabeth on the couch and dashed for the bathroom. My son was now in a sea of water that was running out of the tub and onto the floor. I stepped into the pool and turned the water off. Then I pulled the plug.
"NOOOOOO! I wan' the plug!"
I decided not to reason with the toddler and, instead, I headed off to his bedroom to join Emily in cleaning the cat litter off the walls with my Danny screaming behind me.

An hour later I was able to call his room clean. I locked the cat boxes . . . again . . . and set off to pull Danny out of the empty tub. Emily had plopped herself in front of the TV for the past thirty minutes. I hate the TV on in the morning, but that morning I was willing to let it slide.
I entered the bathroom to find that Danny was no longer in the tub. I froze and the knot that clenched my stomach that morning had returned.

I went into the kitchen where I found the boy standing on a chair, naked and covered head to toe in granulated sugar. I screamed. Beyond anger a took a wrist in each of my hands and carried him back to the tub where I held him down and scrubbed him from toe to head to toe again. I pulled him from the tub and walked him to his room where I selected a pair of sweats, held him down, and stretched them over his head and legs while he screamed and kicked in protest. I walked him to the living room where I sat him before the TV in hopes to now mop up the sugar and the bath water.
Just another Monday and I haven't had my coffee yet.

The Spitter

by Angela Tadlock
It's the first day of preschool. Like all parents, I cried when I saw her ready. Armed with Miss Kitty (the white Ty-baby kitten that had been grayed with her love) Emily walked out the door. Thirty minutes later we stood in line with our camera. I couldn't believe three and a half years ago she had been placed in my arms only six pounds and six ounces. Here she was now at thirty pounds excited and nervous to be going to school.When I went to pick her up two and a half hours later I was not prepared to hear that she had spit at the teacher. My mouth fell open. I went into the room and waited a few minutes while the other children left with their parents.At last we were alone with the teacher."You spit!?" I began to shake I was so angry. Her teacher and I began to explain harshly that when mommy is gone teacher is mommy. Tears of anger formed in my eyes. I couldn't believe I was so angry that tears had formed.After an apology we went to the car where I really laid down the punishment."Give me Miss Kitty!" Now it was she who was crying."NOOOOOOOOOOO!""You want her back!? Tomorrow at school you had better be good or you won't see her until next Thursday!"That day she screamed and pleaded for Miss Kitty. I had decided that she would get her back for school (I couldn't send her to school on the second day without some comfort), but at home, Miss Kitty was banned. It was her first night without Miss Kitty. It was harder for me than it was for her.Friday morning we readied Emily for school, I returned the ragged cat just for school and with a warning."If you are naughty at school, I will take her when you get home and you won't get her back until you are good at school."It worked! Later that morning her teacher reported excellent behavior. She received Miss Kitty and my Little Princess was a princess once more.Next Thursday she bit another student at school. Here we go again.