So by noon, my child was on his third outfit of the day, I was on my second. By the end of the day, we'd each accounted for another wardrobe change. Joey gets a 3-P trifecta and I get up close and personal with my washing machine.
And I thought girls changed clothes a lot...
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Warehouse
Yesterday I had to "run in" to the Costco.
I recognize the irony in that statement since 1) I don't run unless I'm being chased or on fire. Or being chased by someone on fire. And 2) no one in the history of mankind has been able to "run in" to Costco. Every visit more closely resembles a "choose your own adventure" novel than an errand. And 3) I had The Nugget with me who turns every errand into a test of your willingness to survive, going from 0 to "Screaming Meatloaf Level 10" in under 90 seconds.
I digress.
By the time I had crossed the street and pumped gas for 15 minutes, The Nugget had fallen asleep. This was problematic as my plan had been to place crying baby into the front-load carrier and have him nodding off happily after I'd made the mile long walk from the parking lot to the front door and thus treating my fellow Monday afternoon shoppers to as peaceful an experience as possible. So, plan B became placing the car-seat gingerly into the shopping cart in such a manner as to make stacking 800 rolls of paper towel and toilet paper as conveniently as possible.
The Good Lord must have taken me off the "watch list" as I made it through the entire store (slowly, quietly) with no Nugget Malfunction. I get to the check out "area" which resembles a stampede at a riot after the cops throw in the tear gas. I make my way toward a line as calmly and quietly as possible in the interest of not poking the bear (waking the sleeping baby). I carefully veer to the left so that I'll be close to the exit and can avoid the mad rush of shoppers to the 2-foot hot dog and gallon cup of soda line. My life is all about the planning.
In an instant our successful venture was nearly a disaster. There was a cart in the middle of the "checkout area/riot scene" being manned by two elderly foreign ladies. One could turn her head a full 360 degrees to ascertain which line might be moving fastest so they could avoid the 2-minute wait ahead of them. Faster than I could blink my sleep-deprived eyes, she veered in front of me and I nearly killed her since you can't change the course of an over-laden Costco-sized shopping cart full of paper goods and bulk milk very quickly. Before I could recover from that near-miss, her accomplice came from behind me and rammed my cart (with the sleeping baby in it) trying to follow her crazy leader through the crowd. This was not just an audible bump, I had to hold on to the cart to keep it from killing the patiently waiting child in front of me.
File that under poking the bear.
I recognize the irony in that statement since 1) I don't run unless I'm being chased or on fire. Or being chased by someone on fire. And 2) no one in the history of mankind has been able to "run in" to Costco. Every visit more closely resembles a "choose your own adventure" novel than an errand. And 3) I had The Nugget with me who turns every errand into a test of your willingness to survive, going from 0 to "Screaming Meatloaf Level 10" in under 90 seconds.
I digress.
By the time I had crossed the street and pumped gas for 15 minutes, The Nugget had fallen asleep. This was problematic as my plan had been to place crying baby into the front-load carrier and have him nodding off happily after I'd made the mile long walk from the parking lot to the front door and thus treating my fellow Monday afternoon shoppers to as peaceful an experience as possible. So, plan B became placing the car-seat gingerly into the shopping cart in such a manner as to make stacking 800 rolls of paper towel and toilet paper as conveniently as possible.
The Good Lord must have taken me off the "watch list" as I made it through the entire store (slowly, quietly) with no Nugget Malfunction. I get to the check out "area" which resembles a stampede at a riot after the cops throw in the tear gas. I make my way toward a line as calmly and quietly as possible in the interest of not poking the bear (waking the sleeping baby). I carefully veer to the left so that I'll be close to the exit and can avoid the mad rush of shoppers to the 2-foot hot dog and gallon cup of soda line. My life is all about the planning.
In an instant our successful venture was nearly a disaster. There was a cart in the middle of the "checkout area/riot scene" being manned by two elderly foreign ladies. One could turn her head a full 360 degrees to ascertain which line might be moving fastest so they could avoid the 2-minute wait ahead of them. Faster than I could blink my sleep-deprived eyes, she veered in front of me and I nearly killed her since you can't change the course of an over-laden Costco-sized shopping cart full of paper goods and bulk milk very quickly. Before I could recover from that near-miss, her accomplice came from behind me and rammed my cart (with the sleeping baby in it) trying to follow her crazy leader through the crowd. This was not just an audible bump, I had to hold on to the cart to keep it from killing the patiently waiting child in front of me.
File that under poking the bear.
Thanks for nothing you crazy cart lady!
Let's Get This Party Started
Dear Friends,
It's been recommended that I find myself a hobby. Brace yourself Internet, for this is it. Since I can't seem to make it more than 48 hours without having at least one "you are never going to believe what happened today" moment, I've decided that writing them down will assist my sleep starved brain to remember them long enough to relate to the next adult I come into contact with. (The Nugget is not yet impressed with my story telling abilities.)
It's been recommended that I find myself a hobby. Brace yourself Internet, for this is it. Since I can't seem to make it more than 48 hours without having at least one "you are never going to believe what happened today" moment, I've decided that writing them down will assist my sleep starved brain to remember them long enough to relate to the next adult I come into contact with. (The Nugget is not yet impressed with my story telling abilities.)
Cheers!
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