From The Family Matters Mom: Balance This

NBO have just been incredibly sweet little angels the past couple of days, which means I have nothing to write about! (Hmmm, guess I'd better start feeding them more sugar, or start buying syrup again, or do something very brave, like take them out in public). So since I didn't have anything to write about them today, I thought I would share a recent post from my other blog, The Family Matters Mom. If you haven't, I would love for you to check it out, and maybe even become a follower. As always, thanks for reading!

familymattersmom.blogspot.com

Taking the Plunge...

It may or may not surprise you to know that I have mommy guilt. Actually, I have a lot of mommy guilt. It's usually about, well, whatever area that I feel I'm failing in on that particular day, and whichever child I feel has been short changed at that particular moment. That usually means I'm feeling guilty about several areas of life and at least two children on any given day.

Lately, B has been the focus of much of my mommy guilt. When N was small, she had me all to herself for three years. We went to play groups. We went to baby sign language classes. We went to a kids gym. We went to mommy and me swim classes. We went to mommy and me dance classes (if dancing to the Wiggles really counts as dancing). We went to mommy and me gymnastics classes at our Rec Center. (Fortunately, my role in this class was quite limited, as was our time in the class. Apparently, almost head butting the instructors daughter is highly frowned upon. I know-- almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades, right? That's what I thought. But apparently, it counts in gymnastics, too. And no, in case you're wondering, I was not the one who almost head butted her).

Eventually, N went to preschool, and the mommies were no longer welcome in the activities she did. (Of course, I'm still more than welcome to drive her there, and pay for it, and chase two boys around while she participates, but for some reason, once she turned three, my participation was no longer encouraged. But I'm not bitter. Anymore. Most of the time).

When B was a baby, we took one mommy and me swim class. N did not appreciate that she had to play in the shallow end while B and I played "Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall" (Huh. Not so fun to be left out, is it?). After six weeks of trying to be attentive to the baby I was holding and the four-year- old who was calling me from the other end of the pool, I gave up. Then we had O, and logistically and financially, our options became even more limited.

I looked into activities for B last year, and some of the classes N had taken just weren't available. They don't offer mommy and me gymnastics at the Rec Center anymore. Coincidence? I think not. Dancing to the Wiggles wasn't even an option.  I took B and O to the library for a while, until it was becoming obvious that B was well over a year past the age cut off for the babies group. When the other parents started giving me dirty looks when he not only took their kids' toys, but rather articulately told them he wasn't giving them back, I thought we should probably stop going before we were kicked out. I mean, I've accepted that, at some point, he will be kicked out of something. But why rush it? I'm sure there will lots of other opportunities for that.

I thought he would start preschool last fall, but that whole "I'm wearing diapers until I'm thirty-five" attitude got in the way of that. A few months ago, I decided to try a free class at the kids' gym N had gone to. I told him that morning that we were going to play. It was going to be so much fun. There were all kinds of kids there. N even went there when she was little. As I excitedly looked at him and said "Doesn't that sound like fun?" He looked at me and said, quite clearly, "No."

I ignored the voice that told me this was not a good idea (Never ignore the voice), and he eventually got in the car, but only after he had gone back in the house to get a hat. The gym is only ten minutes away. Half an hour later, we finally walked through the door. Me, O, and B.  B had finally agreed to get out of the car only if he could wear the hat. Which was actually Jimmy's adult sized ten-year-old baseball cap that said John Deere on it, and it looked every minute of its ten years.

After more coaxing, he agreed to leave the lobby and go into the gym. Where he stood behind me for most of the next thirty minutes. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't look at anyone. He had zero interest in the other kids, none of whom were wearing a cool, if way too big and disgustingly dirty, John Deere hat like his. At one point, he expressed vague interest in the ball pit, but when the instructor told him it was circle time and not ball pit time, he looked at me and said it was time to go. I thought he probably had a point.

Recently I started feeling guilty again that B has not been involved in nearly as many structured activities as N was at his age. And, since he will be starting preschool in the fall--diapers or no diapers-- he needs to get used to listening to someone besides me (not that you should take that to mean that he listens to me). So, today, I did something very brave, and took him to swim class. This was not a mommy and me swim class. This was all three-year-olds.  I wasn't sure how it would go, but I knew that it was time we tried. I also knew that there was a large sign on the door to the pool that said "NO Parents on deck" which I thought might be a good thing, once he got past the initial adjustment to me not being there.

When B was still clinging to the door and stating "I am NOT going in that pool" five minutes after the class was supposed to start, they asked me to come sit on the deck. Apparently, they made an exception for us. I always knew we were exceptional.

So I sat on the side of the pool, in my sweats, getting soaked, and attempting to hold onto O, who unlike his brother, wanted nothing more than to get in that pool. B, meanwhile, just watched us from the deck before eventually agreeing to get his feet wet. Fortunately, no one else showed up for the class today, which allowed the instructor to spend the entire class focused on B. Good thing, since he would have had to do that anyway.

B eventually warmed up a little and went in up to his knees when the instructor, Mr. Cory, threw water toys to him. In fact, B quite eagerly threw them back. At Mr Cory's head. Repeatedly. I suggested to Mr. Cory that he may want to wear a helmet to their next class. Mr. Cory was a good sport, and encouraged B to walk into the pool to get the toys back. B looked at the toys, looked at Mr. Cory, smiled, and said "No, thanks. You can get them". They repeated this exchange several times, as O tried harder to alternately jump, wiggle, and swim out of my arms and into the pool.

I was beginning to wonder if there would be a point to us coming back next week, or if Mr Cory might suggest that we try something different--like sedatives--when, at the end of the class, B surprised all of us by walking right into the pool, all the way up to his waist.

It just took O throwing his shoes in the pool.

If only I'd known that sooner.

I would have brought a few extra pairs.

Music to My Ears

We are in the car, heading to dance. We are late again, due to having to change two diapers and look for B's shoes as we should have been walking out the door. Of course, if it wasn't that, it would have been something else. I am in stress mode as we are driving, in the rain, to dance. The kids are yelling in the back seat, and I am, as usual, trying to tune them out and drive. I think that I shouldn't feel this stressed just going to dance class. I mean, it's dance class. Not even my dance class. But then the screaming in the back seat brings me back and I remember that it's not the actual dance class that's stressing me out, though it no doubt will once we get there and I try to entertain two hyper-active energetic boys as N is dancing. At this moment, though, it's the process of getting to dance class that's stressing me out. How do people do this with five and six kids? Maybe they don't have money for dance class when they have five or six kids, so they don't have to be stressed out driving them all there. But then, they would have to be home all the time with five or six kids...

I feel my eye start to twitch at the thought of being home all the time with five or six kids, and decide this line of thinking is not helping with my stressed out state. I decide to do something very brave and turn on the radio. This requires great strength on my part because I know that I have approximately 30 seconds--not even half a song-before someone realizes that the radio is on and asks me to change it to the Ballerina CD. The Ballerina song, which is the music from N's dance recital when she was four, used to make me cry every time I heard it. However, I have now listened to it 1,847 times. It doesn't make me cry anymore. Now it just makes my eye twitch.

I realize Billy Joel is singing. Billy Joel! My stress starts to dissipate at the sound of Billy Joel singing. I start to sing along. We are stopped at a light and I think the people next to us are probably thinking that I look like an idiot. I don't care. It's Billy Joel. I can't help myself.

You had to be a big shot didn't ya?
Had to open up your mouth..
You had to be a big shot didn't ya?
All your friends were so knocked out..
You had to have the last word last night..
Know whats everything's about..

I am vaguely aware of the kids making noise in the back seat, but up here, it's just me and Billy. For a brief moment, it is not 2012. I am not a stressed out mom driving my way-too-big mom mobile that holds the kids and all their crap necessary items. There are not three screaming kids behind me. It's 1989, and I'm driving a 1979 Datsun 210, and there are three--or six-- teenager girls in the car with me, singing along. We are so cool.

I picture the Datsun--my first car--and remember that it had rusting bumpers and a hole in the floorboard that allowed you to see the pavement when you shifted gears. Ok, so maybe I wouldn't want the car back. We turn a corner, getting closer to dance, and two sippy cups, a train, and a fire truck roll out from under the front seat. Hmm...rusting bumpers and a hole in the floorboards, or rotten milk and flying toys? It's a toss up.

"Mom?" B interrupts me and Billy from the back seat, "Can you turn on Ballerina?" Apparently my thirty seconds are up. "B," I say, "this is Billy Joel. He's better than Ballerina." "No, I want Ballerina". I continue to sing along, hoping I can buy myself some time. You had to be a big shot didn't ya? So much fun to be around... You had to have the front page bold type... You had to be a big shot last night... Oooo..Ooohhhh... Ooooo...Ohhhhh... B is practically begging now. Apparently my singing hasn't helped matters. "Mom! Please turn on Ballerina!" I try again. "B! This is Billy! He rocks!" N laughs, "Rocks!!! Get it?! He ROCKS!!" Clearly, This is the funniest thing she has ever heard. B asks again for Ballerina. I say "B, Billy Joel's name starts with B, just like yours starts with B!" N, because she is so smart and so incredibly helpful, says, "Uh, yeah, and just like Ballerina starts with B". Love this girl. The song is over, and while I really want to keep this station on to see if they will play more Billy Joel, or maybe Springsteen, or the Eagles, I relent and push the CD button. Ballerina plays, but I am thinking of uptown girls, and innocent men, and being born to run. I think of thunder roads, and hotels in California, and life in the fast lane. I think of long overdue phone calls to the girls who used to ride around in the Datsun. I know they won't mind the sippy cups rolling around on the floor. We are driving home from dance later, and the CD comes back on. Ballerina is over, for now, and You are My Sunshine comes on. B is singing his heart out. N is too, though she will deny it if I mention it. O doesn't know the words yet...or does he? From the back seat I hear the smallest voice say, "You aw ma sushine, ma ony sushine.." It's not quite Billy Joel, but it's still Rock n Roll to me.

Customer Service...anyone?

Don't you just love a good customer service experience? It seems like it doesn't happen as often as it used to.  In one of my first jobs, I had wonderful bosses named Ted and Deb. Ted and Deb taught us, by example, that  it was important to keep the service in customer service, since after all, that's what we were providing (well, through the sales of ice cream, lobster rolls, and chicken patty sandwiches). At the same time, they also taught us by example that the customer did not always have to be right. If a customer was being rude or completely unreasonable, it was OK to get one of your bosses so that they could diplomatically tell the customer where to go to, um, find what it was they were looking for. Over twenty years later, I still find this to be an incredibly valuable life skill.

These days, my time for making phone calls is limited. In fact, I only call customer service numbers when there is absolutely no other way to resolve an issue, since I know that it's close to impossible to resolve something over the phone with two or three kids screaming, fighting, repeatedly calling my name, or having a syrup and peanut butter party happily playing in the background. Recently, though, I called the cable company and made changes to save money on our monthly bill. They were so amazing over the phone and were more than happy to save us money. But then I got my bill, and it wasn't exactly what they said it would be. There were some undisclosed charges to make these changes, as well as a difference in the amount that they had told me. So, I did something very brave and called them, with the kids screaming  happily playing in the background. I explained the issue, and the first person I spoke to said that, while all of those charges were, according to them, valid, they would give me a twenty-five dollar credit "to resolve the issue". Now, some days I would take the twenty-five dollar credit and be done. But the actual amount in question was thirty-five, and that particular day, I just wasn't going to take the twenty-five dollar credit. Plus, I know when I am being paid to go away--something I would happily do if they were actually paying me the amount in question. But they weren't. So I asked nicely to speak with a manager, who was, I'm pretty sure, sixteen.

The sixteen-year-old manager clearly never had anyone like Ted or Deb as a boss, because he was, among other things, incredibly rude. He told me that all of the charges were valid and that I didn't get the information about additional charges because I didn't ask for that information. But after going around and around with him, with B and O screaming and tearing the house apart  happily playing around me, I realized that it felt like, well, arguing with a teenager, and that I just did not have one more second to waste on this.  I nicely said "I don't agree with this, but just go ahead and give me the twenty-five dollar credit and we'll call it a day". And sixteen-year-old manager boy on a power trip said "Well, I can't do that. That was to resolve the problem. Once you asked to speak with a manager, that offer no longer stood."

I can't really explain what happened after that, other than that I decided that I was done being nice to rude sixteen-year-old manager boy on a power trip. I told him his customer service skills were a joke. I told him we would be switching to another company. I told him his lack of professionalism was appalling. And then, because in a moment of weakness I apparently decided to stoop to his sixteen-year-old level, I told him, rather loudly, that his cable company and their so called customer service sucked.  Then there was a pause. A really long pause. I was about to hang up, when he said "Ma'am, um, I can't close your account over the phone today. If you call back, we can handle that in our customer service department". I hung up. I did not call back. I sent a rather pointed e-mail where I may have happened to mention a blog I have where I write about these types of things and I may have implied that said blog has a much larger readership than it actually does and explained the issue, did not get a satisfactory response, and eventually I got over it. 

Today, in the mail, I got a cable bill. Low and behold, it has a twenty five dollar credit. Huh. I wonder how that happened. Who knows what conversation took place before someone decided to issue that credit, but I'm guessing it was along the lines of,  "Give her the credit. She's crazy".

Yesterday, I had a slightly different kind of experience-- one where I was floored by how helpful the company was trying to be. After our refrigerator motor caught on fire a few weeks ago, I sent an email to the manufacturer, making them aware that a fridge we bought in 2001, a two door model with a top freezer, had caught on fire a week earlier. I wanted to make them aware in case they needed to notify other customers, especially since the man who delivered our new fridge mentioned that he had seen this happen before. Here is part of the response from them:

Thank you for contacting our Customer Experience Center.  We regret the incident described in your email. Please provide the information requested below, retain the refrigerator, and disconnect the power to the appliance (unplug or flip the circuit breaker off), do not attempt to operate the unit, and advise all household users not to attempt to operate the unit until it is inspected and deemed safe to operate or repaired/restored to safe operating condition.We appreciate your taking time to write. Please return this email and provide the following:  address where appliance is located,
model number from appliance model/serial tag, date of purchase from purchase receipt, dealer (name only) where purchased.

Wow! How helpful are they?! And they even told me to unplug the fridge. Thank God for that. Otherwise, I might still be sitting here with a burned out refrigerator STILL PLUGGED IN...while my home was in ashes around it. If only I had retained the refrigerator, so they could have come and examined it. Darn, wish I would have known. I would have just kept it next to the new one. Of course, I'd have to tell my three children to NOT OPERATE THE UNIT UNTIL IT CAN BE RESTORED TO SAFE OPERATING CONDITION. And by the way kids, don't worry about the fact that the motor caught on fire. I'm sure they can just fix that. They were trying to be helpful though, so I thought the least I could do was respond to their email. So I did:

Hi-
I bought the refrigerator from (XYZ Dept Store) 10 yrs ago. Since it was ten years ago, I do not have the rest of the info on the model, nor do I have the receipt, since, after all, it was ten years ago. While I appreciate your specific instructions, we decided that we should probably unplug the model when it caught on fire. Actually, the fire department helped us with that decision. And, since it caught on fire, we decided it was probably just a good idea to get a new one. I would love to give you the address of its current location, but it is now gone from our home since, you know, it caught on fire. We had it sitting out front for a few days, but the neighbors weren't really liking that, so it's gone now. Thanks for your interest in helping us.

I don't know if that was the right email to send. I mean, I could have at least included the address of the local dump in case they want to go look for it. I guess I could have been a little nicer and not so sarcastic. But really, I think I handled it well. It's not like I told them their appliances suck.

Give me some credit. That would have been crazy.

Mommy Rules

When N was a baby and I was a full time stay-at-home mom beginning to feel my sanity slipping away, we joined a mom's group. It went OK for a while. We met a few moms we clicked with. We had play dates or group activities every week or so. And then, after about a year, I started to realize that there were a lot of rules. Rules, of course, can be a good thing. I'm all for rules. When you need them. But sometimes, some rules are just....a bit much. Even unnecessary, perhaps. Some people are really good at following rules. Some people are really good at enforcing rules. Yeah. I'm neither. So, eventually, because some of the rules were just incredibly dumb not really rules I could see myself following, I became a moms group drop-out. And no, in case you're wondering, I didn't leave because they wouldn't let me bring a pitcher of margaritas to meetings, though that was also an incredibly dumb a rule that I thought was probably unnecessary.

As our lives have changed, there is longer a need, or the time, to be part of a mom's group. I work part time, I have B and O, we have Jimmy's business, and N has friends from school and other activities. When possible, we get together with friends--either NBO's or mine. But mainly, because I have two children still at home all day and one in school, my days revolve around them, which often means a whirlwind of cooking, cleaning, laundry, bill paying, diaper changing, crying (them), cleaning some more, diaper changing some more, cooking some more, cleaning some more, crying (me), driving, homework, crying some more (them and me), cooking, and cleaning. OK, fine, some days there is some blogging in there...but I don't take lunch. Or dinner. Or, come to think of it, breakfast. Unless you count standing over the counter shoving whatever is for breakfast, lunch, or dinner in my mouth, as I tell everyone not to talk with food in their mouths.

I wouldn't mind so much, but at the end of the day, you wouldn't know that I have cleaned the same areas of my house four times, because those same areas are trashed again by bedtime. And, you wouldn't know that I spent a large chunk of my day cooking, since at eight o'clock, when they should be in bed, someone is, without fail, telling me that they're hungry--starving, even. Before anyone accuses me of complaining, let me say, I am not complaining. I am glad I "get" to be home with them and for them. But just because I'm where I want to be doesn't mean it's a walk in the park (though, some days, we do that, too).

So, occasionally, I do think it would be nice to have a "group" to belong to...one where people understand me and what my life is like, one where we can get together on a regular basis instead of the once every month or two that other friends and I manage to work into our schedules. One where we can sit around and drink mimosas coffee as our children play at our feet. But then I think, no, a group like that would have rules, and well, we know how I do with that. I wonder if I would have done well as a 50's housewife, when all the other moms were home, too, and would stop over each other's houses for Irish coffee in the morning. Then I realize that I never could have kept my house clean enough for people to just stop by whenever they want (not to mention, it could be nap time). And besides, didn't 50's housewives all know how to sew, or quilt, or crochet? Not that I'm against any of those things, of course, but I think there's a reason God wanted me to be born in the 70's.

Recently, I started rethinking what it is, exactly, that I'm looking for. Yesterday, I did something very brave and took B and O out to lunch with a friend, and my friend, who we'll call Mary Margarita for blogging purposes, came back to the house with us. I put B and O down for naps, and my friend and I sat outside, on an unseasonably warm January day, and, without the interruption of children, actually got to have a real conversation. And then, because it was an unseasonably warm January day, and my children were sleeping, and I didn't have to pick N up for a couple hours, we decided to have a Bud Light cup of tea. And, I thought, wow, it has been such a long time since I've sat outside in the middle of the day, without my children, and actually enjoyed a Bud Light cup of tea with a friend.  No, I did not have a second Bud Light cup of tea. Just the one. But it was a really, really good Bud Light cup of tea.

After Mary Margarita left, I started thinking not about the moms group from my past, who would have highly frowned upon a Bud Light cup of tea in the middle of the day, but about the one I have now. We don't have scheduled meetings, and our get togethers are generally pretty small--often only two adults, but sometimes as many as six kids. Five or six kids easily entertain each other, which frees up the moms to chat--at least until the five or six kids all start fighting, or ask if they can jump off the deck, or become obsessed with what else their hostess might have for them to eat, or start a competition to see who can jump off the bunk beds and land on their feet.

Other times, the only kids present are mine, as some friends have older kids, and can remind me that this, too, shall pass. Some are friends without kids who help me more than many moms could, because they've known me forever. Some live far away, but when they visit it feels like they've been here all along. Others I see hardly at all, but when they say "Thank you for writing that. I feel that way, too", it's almost as if they are sitting next to me. And, of course, some aren't friends, per se, but sisters, cousins, sisters-in-law and nieces--and a few are second moms to NBO. Some of us get together more than others, and some of us may not see each other nearly as much as we'd like, but I get way more out of my moms group than I ever could have gotten from the group with all the rules.

And the best part? There are no rules.

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An Act of Courage

Today, I made a choice to do something that I thought was very brave. I decided to take N and B to K-Mart. What's so brave about that, you say? You didn't even have all three! True, as Jimmy had come home for lunch and offered to stay with O, who was already half asleep. As it turns out, this was probably a really good thing. However, I didn't just take N and B to K-Mart. I took them to K-Mart when B hadn't had a nap, and it was way past nap time. I knew this would require a great deal of strength on my part. In fact, there was a little voice telling me, "This is NOT a good idea. You just get this whole K-Mart idea right out of your head, put that child down for his nap, and go later". But I didn't listen. Instead, I ignored the voice. I thought I was doing something very brave, but it turned out I was just doing something really, really stupid.  Never, ever ignore the voice.

The reason for my obsession with going to K-Mart? Coffee. Our coffee maker has been broken for a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks! I don't know how I have survived that long, but I have. Since I am the only coffee drinker in our house, it's only impacted me, and coffee runs to Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and Caca's (no, not like WaWa's...she's my sister) have gotten me through. I've even started drinking tea in the morning, but today when I was contemplating a third cup of tea to help me wake up, I finally accepted that it was time for a new coffee maker.

 On the way to the coffee maker aisle (no, I know it's not called the coffee maker aisle, but in my mind, that was the single most important thing in that aisle, so that's what I'm calling it), B decided he wanted to be a mannequin. Just like the ones in the store. Well, except that he wanted to keep his head. He did, however, want to be up on the little stage that they're on. So that's where he went. Several times. He did a perfect mannequin imitation. Several times. Not that hard, you say? It involves standing completely still. And this is B. Need I say more? Eventually, he agreed to come with us to the coffee maker aisle, but only after he had waved good -bye to the mannequins, and eventually accepted that they weren't going to wave back.

I had no idea there were so many different kinds of coffee makers. I am amazed by all the choices. I wonder if I should go cheap and simple or get something a little more expensive that will brew individual cups on a timer. I imagine coming downstairs in the morning and having a fresh hot cup of coffee waiting for me. Then, the fireman's daughter in me thinks that can't possibly be safe, and I decide a timer is not a good idea. But maybe the individual cups are. I am contemplating all this as N and B are behind me...somewhere. I look to see N curled up on a lower shelf. B is telling her to push over. N says "Hey mom! Didn't you get left in a store once when you did this?" I tell her no, that was Caca...or Uncle Pat. Who can remember. I wasn't even born yet. I just know it wasn't me.

I know I should tell N to get down, but she is usually so set in her role as responsible older sister that part of me is happy to see her laying on a shelf in K-Mart, and I decide to let her stay there. Besides, it looks sturdy, and it's keeping them relatively quiet. I go back to looking at coffee makers, and start thinking that maybe timers are a good idea after all. I discover that the prices go up to a hundred bucks, and I wonder if one of the more expensive ones will make me a single cup of coffee on a timer, add cream and sugar, and bring it to me in bed. N is off the shelf and standing behind me talking about...something. B has taken N's spot on the shelf, and I realize that N is talking about martial arts. I briefly wonder why she is talking about ninjas, but realize I will hear the whole story again on the way home anyway, so I don't focus too much on what she's saying until I hear these magic words..."Look! It makes frozen drinks!"

A machine that makes coffee AND frozen drinks? Why didn't I think of that?! Whichever one it is, I am getting it. What a perfect combination! I turn around to see her standing in front of a large blender looking thing. "Look mom! It's a Ninja! I've seen it before. It makes frozen drinks and salsa!" I have a crappy mommy moment when  I realize that my daughter must have seen this on an infomercial, and yet I have never seen it, or heard of it. And aren't those infomercials on at 3 am? I make a mental note to check the parental controls on our TV. And then I get back to the Ninja. It does not make coffee, but it does make frozen drinks and salsa. The box has the most beautiful picture I have ever seen--of a frozen strawberry something-or-other, and it is talking to me. "Buy me! You won't regret it!". Never ignore the voice! I decide that a cheap coffee maker and a Ninja is as good as a two for one deal, and put them both in my cart.

B had been very quiet during this time, but at this point, he decided he was done. He was so done, in fact, that when I said it was time to go, he just laid on the floor. And stayed there. No tantruming. No screaming. Just kicked back. Arms under his head. In the middle of the ninja aisle. N and I walked an aisle over and came back to find him in the same spot. Twice. He was not budging. Someone made an announcement over the loud speaker, and I told him, "Didn't you hear, B? She said that little boy needs to get up off the floor". Believe it or not, this has worked for similar situations in the past. Not this time. This time, he just looked at me and said, "No. I don't think so. I didn't hear her say my name". We tried walking away again. He didn't budge. Finally, I went back and said  "Bye, B. We love you. We hope you enjoy your stay here. We'll come back to see you on alternate Wednesdays." A staff person walked by and then came back and waited to make sure I wasn't really leaving him there. Whatever.

Eventually he got up, and as we headed for the register, he and N decided to look at kids place mats. And then they decided to take them out. And then B decided to throw them all over the floor. Repeatedly. A woman walking by observed this, and shook her head at me as she walked by. This was not a smiling head shake. This was not an "I've been there, honey" head shake. This wasn't even a "Better you than me" head shake. No, I've seen my share of head shakes, and this was definitely a "your children are going to end up in prison" head shake. So, I did what any good mother wanting to model appropriate social skills for her children would do. I smiled and said somewhat loudly, "Yup, They're mine. Lucky, aren't I?"

We finally made it to the register, and B was holding on to the front of the cart, facing me. I've heard you're not supposed to let them do this. I've heard it's because the cart may tip over. I've heard it's because they may fall. I've never heard it's because their foot may get stuck in the bottom part of the cart, and they will be unable to move, and that, even though you are just a cart's length away from them, at the cash register, surrounded by people, they will loudly and repeatedly scream, "Mommmmmm!!!!! I'm STUCK! Get me OUT!!!!!" I've never heard that it's because it's very awkward to try to remove a foot from the underside of a shopping cart while also holding onto the child whose foot it is, to prevent him from falling face first onto the dirty K-Mart floor (that he was just laying on) once you eventually remove his foot. I've never heard that. But now you have. So don't say you didn't know.

The other thing I never heard is that, once you realize that your child is not injured, and that he's not screaming in pain, you will laugh uncontrollably as you attempt to remove his foot from the shopping cart. This really doesn't help the process. However, it does provide great entertainment to the man behind you in line, who is buying newborn size diapers and bottles, and in all likelihood has no idea that his life will, in a few short years, look very much like yours.

Fortunately, we left without having to call the fire department, but I realized that I needed to pick up my W2 at work, only a two minute drive away. I decide it couldn't be any worse than K-Mart, and I really needed to get it today. So, I ignored the little voice again and took them with me to my office. We took the elevator up to the second floor, where B was excited to see that we could look down on the lobby below. He stood at the railing and looked down, and as a man I assume is a client of a co-worker came out of my office suite and stood next to us to wait for the elevator, B announced loudly, "Mom! I'm gonna jump! I'm gonna jump!".  The man was kind enough to talk him down, and tell him that while it did look like fun, it probably wouldn't have great results. Why did I ignore the voice? Never ignore the voice!

Some days I come home fairly surprised that we are all still in one piece. Today I also came home happy that we didn't have to call the fire department to remove B's foot from the shopping cart, thankful that B only talked about jumping over the railing in my building, and glad that no one was left--voluntarily or otherwise-- at K-Mart.

I also came home thinking that, in spite of days like this, life is good. At least I have a sense of humor to get through these moments. These are the small things, and in the big picture, the only parts of them that we'll remember are the parts that made us laugh. And, if my biggest problem--today, at least-- is working around nap time (or not) to go get a coffee maker, then I am truly, incredibly fortunate.

Life is good.
Cause I have a Ninja.

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