Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Just Another Day at Target

So, I’m in Target (‘cause it seems like I’m always in Target), doing major grocery shopping. I have Ben and Alyssa with me, per usual, and things have gone fairly well, on the whole. I have made my usual bribes to get Ben to cooperate: a cheese stick from the refrigerated section, a free cookie from the bakery section, and a cheapo bag of mini-marshmallows that he can toss in the air to himself and catch while we’re going up and down the aisles, which he will then have for dessert over the next week; so it’s both entertainment and junk food. Best of both worlds.

I have filled my cart to the absolute maximum by using my not inconsiderable spacial reasoning abilities, stacking everything like it’s a Tetris game, so that by the time I have gotten my apples, clementines, and lettuce from produce (my last stop), there is not one inch left of usable real estate, including on either side of Alyssa in the front seat.

Check out goes ok, although it always takes longer than you think, by about twice as much—especially since I have the audacity to use coupons and group my purchases into category groups (Groceries, Toiletries, Home, Medical, etc.). The checker doesn’t give me the evil eye too much, because I do, at least, have the coupons separated into the same categories as my stuff.

However, I have to drag Ben off the floor more than once, tell him “No, I’m not going to buy X, or Y, or Z,” at least three times, and threaten him with bodily harm if he goes behind the checkout station “one more time,” twice. Alyssa is doing ok, because I fed her just before we left, but she’s getting to the end of her window of happy, and the longer check out takes, the more desperate she’s starting to get.

I also have to go get another cart, because once the groceries are in bags it is impossible to fit them into one cart again. But I’ve done that before, so no worries. At the end of it all, when both the checker and I are exhausted, I apologize profusely, thanking her for her patience with me and my child, which she is gracious enough to recognize with a half-smile. I’m trying not to be embarrassed about the whole thing, but I still feel like a total loser because of the people behind me who have been waiting forever. Although, they could see the veritable mountain of stuff that I had, I didn’t try to hide it or anything, so why did they get in line behind me then?!?! (Can you tell that I’m feeling just a tad defensive?)

As I start toward the door, pushing one cart with one hand, and pulling the other with my other hand, I’m feeling ok about things on the whole. I’m definitely not super-mom (I’m still in my exercise clothes, and it’s almost 2:00 in the afternoon), but I’m also not the worst mom in the world either. I didn’t even scream at Ben (this time) when he threw a fit about…whatever it was he threw a fit about.

Yeah, that’s not gonna last.

As I walk, I start hearing this funny noise. Kind of like…a…gagging…noise…I look down, and realize that while I was paying I had absentmindedly put my grocery list down on Alyssa—and she had grabbed it, stuffed it in her mouth, and was choking on about half of it. I quickly stop the cart, do a finger sweep, get part of it, do another one, and get the rest. But in my panic I was none too gentle, and Alyssa just looks at me, as if to say, “Mommy, how could you do that to me!” And then she starts to sob. Loudly.

I try to comfort her as best as I can, but I still have to catch up to Ben, who, meanwhile, was pretending to be a bat, holding out his coat behind him like wings, and running as fast as he could to the exit. I’m about halfway to the door when I hear someone say, “Sweetie, I think you had better wait for your mom before you leave.” I hurry even more, whispering to Alyssa, who is still wailing, and find that a very nice family was playing “goalie” with Ben in an attempt to try to keep him from rushing out to the parking lot all by himself. However, Ben does not like their game, and is growling at them, with his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed, like he is some kind of feral dog.

He does that a lot.

I try to grab him, but since I have two carts it’s not going too well. I end up just half-yelling at Ben to “Stay right by me!!” but I can’t go too much with the volume, because the helpful family is still looking at us, giving me the, “What kind of mother are you?” look. I settle for hissing, “I mean it!!!” which can be given at full volume.

So here I am, crazy mom, not dressed or showered, who can’t keep track of her kids, pushing two carts, patting one sobbing baby, and attempting to corral one feral 4-year old, all the while trying to get to the car so I can have a breakdown in private. The only minutely saving grace at that point was that I didn’t have the rest of my kids with me so that all the people who look at me and shake their heads, wondering why I would have so many kids if I can’t take care of them, would not be right.

Yup. Just one more check-mark in my “Best Mommy Ever” book. :o)





But General Conference was wonderful though, wasn’t it? My two favorite talks were Sister Wixom’s about speaking softly and with mildness to our children (can you guess why?) and Elder Cardon’s about the Lord asking us to forgive "70 x 7", but that He is also willing to forgive us the same way; over and over, as long as we don’t give up, and keep trying to be better.

That gave me so much hope, since I am truly imperfect, and feel like I struggle with the same imperfections again and again. In the Savior’s atonement, there is always hope.

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