Here’s another recycled incident from when the kids were a little younger…
My children are truly wonderful and well-behaved. They are clever, funny, and sweet. They constantly surprise me with things they know, say, and do. I am about as proud as a mother can be without positively bursting at the seams. I love them and my family is my world.
But, let’s be honest. Who wants to read a mother’s gushings about her little angels? I mean, really!
So, with that in mind (you know, the fact that they really are good kids), I just have to get this off my chest.
I picked Kendra up from her second day of kindergarten today then went and picked up Maxwell. Things were going well, so I thought we’d stop by Ingles on the way home to pick up a few things for dinner and tomorrow’s lunch.
When I pulled in the parking lot and saw the front “mothers with children” parking slot vacant, I thought it was going to be a fantastic trip to the market.
I got out of the car and went to the passenger’s side to get the kids.
Those of you who know Ingles, know that it is a rare occurance for that valued front space to be open, and that it would only be open if the parking lot were relatively empty. Such was the case today. Parking spaces galore.
That didn’t stop an old bat driving a classy oversized luxury car from wanting the slot adjacent to mine, even though I was clearly standing there with the doors open trying to put my daughter’s sneakers on her feet.
She inched her way into the slot, eyeballing me the whole time, so I courteously closed the door enough for her to park.
The lady could clearly see what I was doing. Last time I checked, it only takes a matter of minutes to put shoes on a child. She obviously didn’t have a minute because she threw her car in park and immediately tried to open her door though my door was blocking the way.
I was courteous once. This was too much. I gathered my kids, and quickly zapped the impatient lady with my laser-vision-I-reserve-for-the-most-annoying-of-individuals and walked my children into the store.
Little did I know, my problems would not end there.
I got a buggy to put my purchases in and Max immediately jumped on the prime spot on the front so he wouldn’t have to walk through the store. Kendra (who I feel compelled to say is very overtired both physically and emotionally from starting school this week), instantly broke down crying and whining/screaming that it was not fair for Max to get to ride. Her feet hurt. Sneakers make her feet hot. Blah, blah, blah, wah, wah, wah. You get the idea.
Well, in the process of trying to stop her from shattering the glass windows in Ingles with her shrill, piercing screams, I guess I may have maneuvered that buggy a bit too enthusiatically and, well, I threw my son off.
He landed on the floor and of course screamed louder than his older sister was.
Once again, those of you who know my son, know his unique talent of being able to vomit on command. Since Kendra’s screams were still louder than his, he pulled out the big guns and barfed all over me and himself.
I took those two little buggers to the restroom, cleaned them up, chewed them out a bit, then gave up on the whole grocery shopping endeavor for the night.
When we were leaving the store, Max shirtless and both of them afriad to cry anymore, I had to step over an ever-so-small spot of vomit in the deli department (and that, incidentally, is why you should never eat off the floor in public places). I sincerely hoped that my new dear friend from the parking lot wouldn’t be so unfortunate as to step in it.
We got in the car, with no incident this time, and left.
I still don’t know what we are going to eat for dinner.