“I don’t want to sit, I don’t like to sit, sitting is BAD!” Natalie informed me as I struggled to get her into the Wal-Mart shopping cart. She started off kicking and then she went limp, which made her thirty pound frame feel like it was 100 pounds. If I exercised and lifted weights, this wouldn’t be a problem. As it is, I don’t exercise or lift weights, so I almost fell to the floor.
God. We were going to end up on peopleofwalmart.com, weren’t we?
“Natalie,” I said through clenched teeth. Shoppers passed us and a few frowned in our direction.
“What? Do you think you can do any better?” I shouted. Well. Not really. I just thought it.
Supernanny Jo Frost’s voice popped in my head. “Am-bah. You’re allowing Natalie to dictate what she will and will not do. That is NOT good parenting.”
Ahh hush, Jo. You’re from a place that makes something to eat called a Spotted Dick.
Still. I had to show Natalie who was boss.
“Natalie,” I said firmly. “You will go into the cart. I’m tired and cranky and want to get this shopping trip over with so I can go to Sonic. Okay?”
Natalie scowled at me.
“If you would actually stay with me, I’d let you walk on your own. But you like to run off and Mommy is too hungry for cardio. You can sit in the basket of the cart instead of the front. Deal?”
Natalie believes she’s above sitting in the front of the cart. She’s believed this since she was two.
“Ohhhh-kay,” Natalie reluctantly agreed.
Look, there are some things that I just know about myself. They are the following:
A) I’m not smarter than a fifth grader
B) The chick who sings that Friday song has an annoying nasally voice that reminds me of Urkel’s from Family Matters
C)I’m perfectly fine with having ice cream for dinner
D)I have very little patience
Now, my patience has grown a bit since having kids, but not much. I am who I am and patience doesn’t magically come when you have children. You either have it, or you don’t.
I really don’t.
Want to know what my first reaction is when my kids won’t listen to me?
To curse. A lot. To scream, “I’ve motherfu*king had it with your behavior!”
Now, clearly that’s not appropriate. So what I’ve learned to do is take deep breaths and keep my temper in check.
“I don’t like this cart,” Natalie informed me as I started my shopping at the circus known as Wal-Mart. Where else will you spot a woman in spandex or a man with neon green hair talking to his box of Wheaties?
“You have to stay in it for awhile longer,” I explained as I quickly gathered what I needed. With kids and husbands, you have to hurry and get the shopping done. Otherwise they’ll start to whine. I’m perfected the Quick Shop.
“Blah,” Natalie responded, slumping down. She reminded me of a caged animal who has admitted defeat.
“I want a toy,” Natalie told me primly as though she expected me to bow down and go, “Of course. And you shall have one.”
Instead I went, “I want a tummy tuck and a bit of liposuction.”
“Goshhh,” Natalie sniffed. I imagine she’s going to be even more annoyed with my quips as she gets older. For instance, when she says she’d like a car, I’ll say, “I’d like my boobs lifted. You did a number on them.” Or when she’s like, “I NEED the fifty dollar shirt, everyone ELSE has one,” I’ll say, “I feel I NEED an iPad 2 but unfortunately, money doesn’t rain down on us like it does on Donald Trump.”
I was nearly done with my shopping when I spotted the blue box from the corner of my eye. I didn’t think much of it because A) I was rushing and B) Natalie was begging me for Super Mario fruit snacks and I told her no, she couldn’t have them because she had THREE other shapes of fruit snacks already and she was displaying hoarder behavior and it was making me nervous.....
Wait. The blue box looked familiar....it....it...
“Holy crap. Dunkaroos!” I shouted, interrupting Natalie’s whining. I even blogged about Dunkaroos before. Twice. I wrote how I was bummed that I couldn’t find them anymore. And there they were, at Wal-Mart.
“Dunkaroos!” I said again, rushing towards the box. A man was beside it and he did a double take when he saw a twenty-something mother rushing at him. “It is Dunkaroos. I’m not seeing things!” I grabbed the box and hugged it to me. The man took a couple steps away.
“I’m not crazy,” I told him. “It’s just, I haven’t seen these in YEARS.”
“Uh, okay,” the guy said and hurried away.
I scared him off.
But I didn’t care. I had Dunkaroos again.
I might be on peopleofwalmart.com. I’m the one in baggy jeans and oversized t-shirt hugging the box of Dunkaroos.
The Dunkaroos made the aggravating shopping trip worth it.
(And yes, I’ve eaten the entire box already. No, I did not share.)