The fun thing about taking kids to the grocery store is that when you forget your list you can talk to yourself out loud and it doesn't look like you're completely cray cray. For instance, today I circled the bulk foods section five times as I tried to remember each produce item that I had written on my list. And because we were circling the bulk food section, Mini Mange had his eyes opened to a whole new world of yummy goodness.
Gummy Candy
"Can we buy it?"
"No, we're going to leave it here for someone else to take home."
Jelly Beans
"What's that?"
"Jelly Beans."
"Oh. What are those?"
"Jelly Beans."
"Can I have some?"
"No. Those aren't for us."
Dried Apple Rings
"Can I try those?!"
"Um...sure. I guess I can't find any problem with that request."
Prunes
"What are these?!" Omnomnomnomnom
Yes, that is the sound of my kid snatching a prune out of the bulk bin and eating it.
"Uh oh. We need to pay for these things before we eat them. Please don't take any more out of the containers."
"This is yummy"
Chomp chomp chomp
"This is really yummy!"
Slurp, chomp, swallow
"That was yummy, mommy!"
Cue diaper detonation countdown
Later in the afternoon we took Matt to play Ultimate Frisbee on campus while we picked up our books at the library. I paid $0.25 to park for 30 minutes in the parking garage under the building. (I would call this a moment of divine inspiration.) As I put Missy Moo into her stroller, I realized that daddy didn't change her diaper after she woke up from her nap so we'd have to take care of that before we did anything else.
Mini Mange was in heaven as he pushed all of the handicap accessible buttons on his way to the elevator and the bathroom and I didn't mind because that meant I didn't have to struggle with the doors. Once inside the bathroom I realized that I needed to take care of business myself or else I was going to leave a puddle on the floor under the baby changing station. Unfortunately, there was someone in the handicap stall so we were going to have to figure out how to fit mom, a two year-old and a baby in an umbrella stroller into one of the teeny tiny stalls. After sticking Mini Mange in the corner and pleading with him not to put his hands, face or anything else near the toilet bowl and ramming Missy Moo's stroller into the side of the toilet a few times I gave up. I herded Mini out of the stall, pulled Missy in as far as I could get her, dropped trou, hoped for the fastest number one of all time and prayed that no one would come into the bathroom to witness my world-class parenting skills.
As we washed up, changed diapers and washed up again I realized that the woman in the handicap stall was not using the facilities as I had originally thought but in fact, using the bathroom as her own personal phone booth. Needless to stay I was annoyed.
The three of us wandered over to the book shelf to pick up our books on hold and sat down on the couch to look through the newest library treasures. It was then that my son showed me his poop face. I did a quick diaper check, hoping that my worst fears were not coming true but the prunes had done their worst. It was runny and messy and stinky. His diapers were in the car. In the parking garage. And then he started squeezing the back of his diaper.
Barf.
Down to the parking garage, out to the car, back up the elevator, into the bathroom.
AND THE CRAZY LADY IS STILL ON HER PHONE IN THE BATHROOM STALL! Just jibber jabbering away without a care in the world. For. Reals.
So Missy Moo is screaming to get out of her stroller, Mini Mange has poop on the inside of his pants and down his legs. I have one diaper, three wipes, no extra pants and am praying for a miracle.
After two sympathetic looks from motherly types and a "what's your problem?" look from the crazy lady as she (finally) leaves the bathroom (after what was at least a 20-minute phone call) we get in the elevator and head back down to the parking garage.
Then Mini Mange gets his hand stuck in the elevator door as it opens. I foolishly press the "Door Open" button and wonder why on earth my child is still screaming. I realize my mistake, press the "Door Close" button (which isn't working) and finally resort to yanking his hand out using brute strength.
Underneath Pants, Matt's cell phone and My sanity, I add "ice pack" to my mental list of things to pick up at home. But I still have one minute left on my parking meter so overall, I consider the afternoon to be a successful outing.
Later in the afternoon we took Matt to play Ultimate Frisbee on campus while we picked up our books at the library. I paid $0.25 to park for 30 minutes in the parking garage under the building. (I would call this a moment of divine inspiration.) As I put Missy Moo into her stroller, I realized that daddy didn't change her diaper after she woke up from her nap so we'd have to take care of that before we did anything else.
Mini Mange was in heaven as he pushed all of the handicap accessible buttons on his way to the elevator and the bathroom and I didn't mind because that meant I didn't have to struggle with the doors. Once inside the bathroom I realized that I needed to take care of business myself or else I was going to leave a puddle on the floor under the baby changing station. Unfortunately, there was someone in the handicap stall so we were going to have to figure out how to fit mom, a two year-old and a baby in an umbrella stroller into one of the teeny tiny stalls. After sticking Mini Mange in the corner and pleading with him not to put his hands, face or anything else near the toilet bowl and ramming Missy Moo's stroller into the side of the toilet a few times I gave up. I herded Mini out of the stall, pulled Missy in as far as I could get her, dropped trou, hoped for the fastest number one of all time and prayed that no one would come into the bathroom to witness my world-class parenting skills.
As we washed up, changed diapers and washed up again I realized that the woman in the handicap stall was not using the facilities as I had originally thought but in fact, using the bathroom as her own personal phone booth. Needless to stay I was annoyed.
The three of us wandered over to the book shelf to pick up our books on hold and sat down on the couch to look through the newest library treasures. It was then that my son showed me his poop face. I did a quick diaper check, hoping that my worst fears were not coming true but the prunes had done their worst. It was runny and messy and stinky. His diapers were in the car. In the parking garage. And then he started squeezing the back of his diaper.
Barf.
Down to the parking garage, out to the car, back up the elevator, into the bathroom.
AND THE CRAZY LADY IS STILL ON HER PHONE IN THE BATHROOM STALL! Just jibber jabbering away without a care in the world. For. Reals.
So Missy Moo is screaming to get out of her stroller, Mini Mange has poop on the inside of his pants and down his legs. I have one diaper, three wipes, no extra pants and am praying for a miracle.
After two sympathetic looks from motherly types and a "what's your problem?" look from the crazy lady as she (finally) leaves the bathroom (after what was at least a 20-minute phone call) we get in the elevator and head back down to the parking garage.
Then Mini Mange gets his hand stuck in the elevator door as it opens. I foolishly press the "Door Open" button and wonder why on earth my child is still screaming. I realize my mistake, press the "Door Close" button (which isn't working) and finally resort to yanking his hand out using brute strength.
Underneath Pants, Matt's cell phone and My sanity, I add "ice pack" to my mental list of things to pick up at home. But I still have one minute left on my parking meter so overall, I consider the afternoon to be a successful outing.
1 comments:
That's my girl.
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