The best, the worst and all of the in-between shit happens, for me, at Target.
By the time I had made my second trip yesterday at 3:30pm because I forgot tampons (a fairly essential need), shampoo and extra Valentine candy for the kids' homemade cards, I was so ready to get in and to get out.
With all three kids in tow, I made the quintessential mistake of making one last pit stop into the accessories section to see if by chance, they had an evening clutch, I could use for an event on Friday...I know, everything in the eleventh hour.
The most critical need of the very small hand bag was that my phone fit inside. After enduring endless rashes of shit for purchasing the iPhone 6 Plus, I now know why one should not own a phone that large and in charge. Somehow, someway, I fit it snugly into the clutch, clicked the top button and thought, woo-hoo, I have a cute, fun bag for the evening. As I attempted to open up the fucker, it was an absolute no-go. Shit, shit, shit. Now, what do I do?
My youngest e exclaimed, "Just bang it, mama on the side of the cart, it's bound to open."
My middle babe proclaimed, "She can't do that, Claire or she'll break the phone into a million pieces."
With my heart rate accelerating faster by the second, my oldest said, "You've got to wedge it out of there mom and for God sake, get out of the aisle, everyone can see you."
Yes, that's it...we must jimmy it out...but how?
My 10-year old son grabbed a hanger and began surgery on the clutch to retrieve the smart phone unharmed. While we were both tearing the shit out of our fingers and nails, by the last stroke of luck, the fucker opened and the phone was safe...but unfortunately, the bag was not.
Mind you, the problem with Target after school is that every mother is there with their children. And so, in the short span of 15 minutes, I bumped into 3 different school families, 2 of which witnessed the clutch snafoo. Damn, damn, damn.
Thankfully, a lovely Target employee walked by and assured us that they could "damage out" the bag saving both my ego and my pocket book.
Walking to the car both exasperated and relieved, my son turns to me and says, "I guess sometimes we have to decide if technology is worth it, right, mom?"
Sweet Jesus. Another day, another dollar, another joy ride at the local Target.
Showing posts with label Target. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Target. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
My Crazy Life
I've been a bit disoriented lately...scattered, not yet in a routine, trying to adjust to the school schedule and lots of concentrated one-on-one time with my two-year old daughter, Claire.
And so true to form, I've had these, "Are you fucking kidding me?" moments that well, just need to be written down.
The first occurred in the toy room of a Hospice center. My 15-year old cousin is dying of Leukemia which is painful and really hard to witness. And so, on a recent visit, I decided to take the smaller kiddos into the fun toy room while I took a moment to breathe and pray. While sitting in the rocker in the corner, I observed the following conversation...oh, here's the back story...Kate, my six-year old daughter is playing the doctor and Lilly, my four-year old niece is playing the mommy leaning over a table with a doll baby.
"See, the problem is that you have a fake baby...yes, that's right...your baby is actually a robot. It's ribs are waaaaayyyy too big. I'm not sure that there's much we can do," says Kate.
"Oh God...Oh no...help my baby!!!, " replies Lilly.
To which, I nearly peed myself in laughter.
The next morning, I went on a 13-mile training run in preparation for my next half marathon race. Feeling good about the weather, my pace, and in general, my endurance, I came home with a smile on my face. After stripping down to dive into the tub, I realized that I had some nasty chaffing on my inner thigh...i.e. bikini line and thought I was going to die. You know what a rug burn feels like? Pretend it's nearly on top of your vagina...yeah, it sucked. Until my husband suggested that I use neosporin and a bandaid. That's right. I put a fucking bandaid on my 'how ya doin' and when it was time to strip it off, I screamed like a fucking banchee making the neighbors think that a woman was being murdered. Fuck me...don't ever do that.
The following afternoon, I took Claire (2.5) to the park to build sand castles. After successfully creating four decent sized castles complete with a moat and twig decorations, she alerted all of the moms in the vicinity that she had a good sized amount of sand in her vagina. Yes, it was as awkward as you're imagining.
After gracelessly exiting the park, we high tailed it to Target for a few items. Hanging out in the check out lane, I smelled a huge pile of shit and realized that it was eminating from my daughter. I quickly grabbed her and ran to the family changing room only to discover that I had no wet wipes or diapers in my purse. I had to use her dress to sop up an unGodly amount of poop and then carry her out of the store naked. It was a banner motherhood moment.
And then finally this morning after drinking wine last night with my girlfriends and running hard with a bit of a hang over, I settled into the toilet to do my business....upon which my six-year old daughter Kate barged in to brush her teeth and promptly said, "Oh God, mama...what's wrong with you...you need to get that checked out."
Beautiful.
I write these things so that you can feel better about you're own life. I've decided to give up on any pretense of a Martha Stewart inspired life. At this point, I'm just trying to survive and doing so by living on love.
And so true to form, I've had these, "Are you fucking kidding me?" moments that well, just need to be written down.
The first occurred in the toy room of a Hospice center. My 15-year old cousin is dying of Leukemia which is painful and really hard to witness. And so, on a recent visit, I decided to take the smaller kiddos into the fun toy room while I took a moment to breathe and pray. While sitting in the rocker in the corner, I observed the following conversation...oh, here's the back story...Kate, my six-year old daughter is playing the doctor and Lilly, my four-year old niece is playing the mommy leaning over a table with a doll baby.
"See, the problem is that you have a fake baby...yes, that's right...your baby is actually a robot. It's ribs are waaaaayyyy too big. I'm not sure that there's much we can do," says Kate.
"Oh God...Oh no...help my baby!!!, " replies Lilly.
To which, I nearly peed myself in laughter.
The next morning, I went on a 13-mile training run in preparation for my next half marathon race. Feeling good about the weather, my pace, and in general, my endurance, I came home with a smile on my face. After stripping down to dive into the tub, I realized that I had some nasty chaffing on my inner thigh...i.e. bikini line and thought I was going to die. You know what a rug burn feels like? Pretend it's nearly on top of your vagina...yeah, it sucked. Until my husband suggested that I use neosporin and a bandaid. That's right. I put a fucking bandaid on my 'how ya doin' and when it was time to strip it off, I screamed like a fucking banchee making the neighbors think that a woman was being murdered. Fuck me...don't ever do that.
The following afternoon, I took Claire (2.5) to the park to build sand castles. After successfully creating four decent sized castles complete with a moat and twig decorations, she alerted all of the moms in the vicinity that she had a good sized amount of sand in her vagina. Yes, it was as awkward as you're imagining.
After gracelessly exiting the park, we high tailed it to Target for a few items. Hanging out in the check out lane, I smelled a huge pile of shit and realized that it was eminating from my daughter. I quickly grabbed her and ran to the family changing room only to discover that I had no wet wipes or diapers in my purse. I had to use her dress to sop up an unGodly amount of poop and then carry her out of the store naked. It was a banner motherhood moment.
And then finally this morning after drinking wine last night with my girlfriends and running hard with a bit of a hang over, I settled into the toilet to do my business....upon which my six-year old daughter Kate barged in to brush her teeth and promptly said, "Oh God, mama...what's wrong with you...you need to get that checked out."
Beautiful.
I write these things so that you can feel better about you're own life. I've decided to give up on any pretense of a Martha Stewart inspired life. At this point, I'm just trying to survive and doing so by living on love.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
A Chance Shit Encounter at Target
Admittedly, I was tired.
And spent and probably stretched a little thin.
And well, having it out with a random person in the check out line at Target is maybe not the most productive way to spend a morning,
But damn it. When did people think that it was okay to get in your business?
"She's really cute. She looks just like you."
"Aw, thank you. She's our third and definitely the feistiest one of the bunch." Cue in Claire throwing shit from the cart onto the conveyor belt, including a dozen eggs.
"You stay home with them?" She says dressed to the nines holding a box of tampons and a pack of gum.
"I do. Do you see any syrup or chocolate milk on me? I usually can't escape the house without wearing some part of their meal." I say laughing as the cashier greets me.
"No, you look like you just came back from the gym. That must be nice to do that during the day."
Feeling a little put off, "Nope. I head out at 5am for a run and get back before the cows come home. Just rarely get a chance to change."
"Yeah...my friend stays at home with hers. I always tell her that it must be a sweet deal to not have to get out of your sweat pants and have permission to eat the kids' macaroni and cheese." She retorts chuckling.
Yeah...it's fucking Disneyland. Every. Minute. God damn roller coaster ride of joy....I think and then blurt out, "That's funny. I was just gonna compliment you on your shoes. I was thinking of getting a pair similar to them, but then we sliced our income in half."
I have no idea why certain comments send me into a tail spin. Whether you work outside of the home, inside, both, or not at all....the whole life deal with kids is a crazy ass roller coaster ride.
When you're wearing a suit, you just want to wear yoga pants. And when you're wearing sweats, you yearn to dress up. When you see your kids at the end of the day, you wish you could watch movies in your pjs and hang out all the time. When you spend hour after hour with them, you just want a break.
The times I feel most put off are when I'm tired. When I'm wiped. And I should just know better. Plus, if she's holding a box of tampons and expecting a visit...she probably should have known better too.
And spent and probably stretched a little thin.
And well, having it out with a random person in the check out line at Target is maybe not the most productive way to spend a morning,
But damn it. When did people think that it was okay to get in your business?
"She's really cute. She looks just like you."
"Aw, thank you. She's our third and definitely the feistiest one of the bunch." Cue in Claire throwing shit from the cart onto the conveyor belt, including a dozen eggs.
"You stay home with them?" She says dressed to the nines holding a box of tampons and a pack of gum.
"I do. Do you see any syrup or chocolate milk on me? I usually can't escape the house without wearing some part of their meal." I say laughing as the cashier greets me.
"No, you look like you just came back from the gym. That must be nice to do that during the day."
Feeling a little put off, "Nope. I head out at 5am for a run and get back before the cows come home. Just rarely get a chance to change."
"Yeah...my friend stays at home with hers. I always tell her that it must be a sweet deal to not have to get out of your sweat pants and have permission to eat the kids' macaroni and cheese." She retorts chuckling.
Yeah...it's fucking Disneyland. Every. Minute. God damn roller coaster ride of joy....I think and then blurt out, "That's funny. I was just gonna compliment you on your shoes. I was thinking of getting a pair similar to them, but then we sliced our income in half."
I have no idea why certain comments send me into a tail spin. Whether you work outside of the home, inside, both, or not at all....the whole life deal with kids is a crazy ass roller coaster ride.
When you're wearing a suit, you just want to wear yoga pants. And when you're wearing sweats, you yearn to dress up. When you see your kids at the end of the day, you wish you could watch movies in your pjs and hang out all the time. When you spend hour after hour with them, you just want a break.
The times I feel most put off are when I'm tired. When I'm wiped. And I should just know better. Plus, if she's holding a box of tampons and expecting a visit...she probably should have known better too.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Rainy Day Irritability
Why is it that rainy days have this wonderful way of making me sleepy and lethargic...and then, when I can't rest because of parenting, I get pissy (Is that a word?...I'm really good at making them up).
It started with mass this morning. We woke up with plenty of time, everyone had breakfast, showers, and an opportunity to lolly gag...and then, we made it out the door...on time. Only to arrive at church, with a baby who refused to go into the nursery (really...she was kicking, screeching and in general, not happy) and two big kids who couldn't sit still to save their lives.
Making it only until the end of communion, we packed our bags and decided to call it good. My husband headed home with the kids to make lunch and I headed to my second home, Target.
All was good. I talked to my favorite Starbucks lady and treated myself to a cup of joe, gathered a few snacks for a play date, and then, bam got smacked up at the pharmacy. I was trying to buy Zrtec-D and upon giving my ID to the pharmacist was told that I'd reached my limit for the month. Sweet Jesus! What is the limit? Well, after delivering the news in grams and me asking for layman's terms, he said, about one box of 24 pills a month. And then, he proceeded to give me the stink eye, as if I was a pseudoephedrine addict. Christ!
After grabbing my additional items while fuming, I walked outside to a huge thunder cloud and a shitload of rain. Soaked in my car, I drowned my sorrows in NPR programming.
Following Target, my kids invited over two of their favorite friends and proceeded to scream like banshees for two hours. I screamed at my husband to scream at them and then we all started screaming at each other and well, here I am. Looking out the window at the rain thinking, "Fuck it...let's reboot. Where's the sunshine?"
Sometimes, rainy days are a pisser especially, when you can't hang out in your pajamas all day.
It started with mass this morning. We woke up with plenty of time, everyone had breakfast, showers, and an opportunity to lolly gag...and then, we made it out the door...on time. Only to arrive at church, with a baby who refused to go into the nursery (really...she was kicking, screeching and in general, not happy) and two big kids who couldn't sit still to save their lives.
Making it only until the end of communion, we packed our bags and decided to call it good. My husband headed home with the kids to make lunch and I headed to my second home, Target.
All was good. I talked to my favorite Starbucks lady and treated myself to a cup of joe, gathered a few snacks for a play date, and then, bam got smacked up at the pharmacy. I was trying to buy Zrtec-D and upon giving my ID to the pharmacist was told that I'd reached my limit for the month. Sweet Jesus! What is the limit? Well, after delivering the news in grams and me asking for layman's terms, he said, about one box of 24 pills a month. And then, he proceeded to give me the stink eye, as if I was a pseudoephedrine addict. Christ!
After grabbing my additional items while fuming, I walked outside to a huge thunder cloud and a shitload of rain. Soaked in my car, I drowned my sorrows in NPR programming.
Following Target, my kids invited over two of their favorite friends and proceeded to scream like banshees for two hours. I screamed at my husband to scream at them and then we all started screaming at each other and well, here I am. Looking out the window at the rain thinking, "Fuck it...let's reboot. Where's the sunshine?"
Sometimes, rainy days are a pisser especially, when you can't hang out in your pajamas all day.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Birthing Me...not a Babe
So, I've got a story for you.
It's funny now, but wasn't at the time.
A couple of weeks ago, I was late. Not for the movies or for mass...but for my monthly date with a friend...we'll call her Flo.
Freaking out, I made a mad dash to Target with my kiddos in tow and grabbed a test. Fielding questions from my son about what was inside the box...I made the executive decision to pee on the stick in the restroom stall. Humbling, I know.
All humility out the door, I sat in a public restroom praying the "Hail Mary" aloud hoping that I wasn't expecting anything other than a period.
The test that day and for a few days following came back negative. I didn't get it. Why was I so late?
The morning that Flo did come to visit, I told my husband, "I'm good. I'm really happy with our family. Thankful for the health of our kids. Grateful that I get to experience mothering a boy and 2 girls. And, selfishly if anybody gets to be birthed in this mix...I'm ready for it to be me."
I feel bad claiming that I want my body back...but I do. I know that many women are yearning to have a baby and would be grateful for the opportunity and my heart goes out to them. To that end, I am happy to sell Claire. She's cute and doesn't take up too much space.
But for now, I'm ready to birth me and not a babe. Is that so wrong?
It's funny now, but wasn't at the time.
A couple of weeks ago, I was late. Not for the movies or for mass...but for my monthly date with a friend...we'll call her Flo.
Freaking out, I made a mad dash to Target with my kiddos in tow and grabbed a test. Fielding questions from my son about what was inside the box...I made the executive decision to pee on the stick in the restroom stall. Humbling, I know.
All humility out the door, I sat in a public restroom praying the "Hail Mary" aloud hoping that I wasn't expecting anything other than a period.
The test that day and for a few days following came back negative. I didn't get it. Why was I so late?
The morning that Flo did come to visit, I told my husband, "I'm good. I'm really happy with our family. Thankful for the health of our kids. Grateful that I get to experience mothering a boy and 2 girls. And, selfishly if anybody gets to be birthed in this mix...I'm ready for it to be me."
I feel bad claiming that I want my body back...but I do. I know that many women are yearning to have a baby and would be grateful for the opportunity and my heart goes out to them. To that end, I am happy to sell Claire. She's cute and doesn't take up too much space.
But for now, I'm ready to birth me and not a babe. Is that so wrong?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)