http://shortwinded.net/so-you-would-like-to-have-three-children/
I felt deeply compelled to respond to the above article.
I only have two children, so those of you who have more may tell me to "shut the hell up!" However, I am from a family of 3, so I have had the counter experience on the matter. Either way, I have some strong opinions about this article.
1. Being a parent is difficult. Everyone says so. No one tells you differently. My point - Although you may not know to what level of difficulty you have signed up for, when you become pregnant, you KNOW it is going to be a rough, learning curve. You are aware that you will be exhausted. You are aware it will take energy. You are aware that it will consume your every mental being. I will admit that you know these things, but NOT to what degree. It is infinitely more challenging than you thought you had prepared yourself for and what you were told. Or, really, you probably were, but could not truly comprehend or appreciate what your mother and friends told you. So, whether you have one or seven, the task is NOT easy!! Yes, I am certain the more you have the more difficult it becomes, particularly if all your children are close in age, are children who get into EVERYTHING, have colic, will not feed, will not sleep, etc and so forth. In other words, I do not think Mother A of 3 has the exact same level of difficulty as Mother B of 3.
2. As parents, we all have our days. You know the ones. You are tired. You are cranky. Your mind has turned to mush. You, honestly, cannot fathom rolling out of bed and tackling the day. You have NO IDEA how on Earth you are going to be able to get all the day's tasks done, WHILE taking care of your kids. Even if you had nothing to do that day BUT watch your children, you are so exhausted that even attending to your children can be the hardest day of your life. You feel like a bad parent, for some of the feelings you are experiencing AND the way you just snapped at your children. Maybe you even call up a close friend to vent, cry on your husband when he walks in the door, or go visit your mother and ask her how she made it look so easy. I firmly believe these feelings and actions are completely normal. If more mothers were totally honest and true, they would admit the same.
3. Here is the situation, though - In today's world, parenting is a competition. (You know I am right.) For all I know, it was the same in the 1950s, but it definitely is today. The moment you become a mother, two things happen. A) You are judged on how well you fill the role of parent. B) In addition to how well you do said job, you are judged on the ease in which you do it...or, in actuality, how easy you PROJECT it to look. Being a great mother is not enough. Oh, no, no! You must, also, act like it is your most favorite thing in the world AND that you barely broke a sweat. Is it fair? Nope. The stigma associated with a mother admitting her job is hard and that there are days she does not feel she can do it anymore COMPLETELY IRKS ME!! The worst part, we do it to ourselves! It is OUR fault - not society's, not our husbands - OURS! We experience postpartum depression and tell NO ONE. Even though we are utterly exhausted, we raise our heads high in public. Despite the fact we have a hellion or two at home - and we feel like we are doing something wrong - we pretend our children are angels. Why? Because for some reason, we have allowed ourselves - and the women around us - to fall into the idea that parenting is supposed to be done with a smile on our faces, with no complaining, and perfect children as the end result. (What? You are upset because I am blowing up the myth? Newsflash: We all already know the TRUTH!) One of my very close friends struggled a bit, after having her first child. During conversation one day, I was telling her how I understood what she was going through, as I had similar postpartum feelings. She looked at me and said, "What? I had NO idea! WHY did you not tell me? You always make it look so easy! Perfect children! I felt like I was the only one!" That has stuck with me, and I am - now - much more vocal and upfront about my parenting throes.
4. My main issue with this particular article - Where is the JOY?! Yes, she uses FOUR sentences to preface that she loves and enjoys her children. However, those sentences are easily forgotten, when there are 10+ PARAGRAPHS on why she is **clearly** UNHAPPY having three children. Even at the end, when she lists the "benefits" of having three children - as if you are supposed to have chilren for a "beneficial" reason, like some common decision - she merely mentions herself and her feelings: "I can nurse a baby...like nothing." "People finally stop thinking they can give you advice." Where are the FABULOUS points to having children?! I just do not understand it. Parenthood, albeit difficult, is AMAZING!! She discusses nothing that conveys being a parent (of 1, 2, 3, or more) is WORTH it!! My two girls have brought IMMEASURABLE joy to my life! Yes, there are hard days, but they are followed by some of the most amazing experiences! Feelings and experiences that ONLY **PARENTS** get to know! Children are a BLESSING!! I can literally count on almost two hands the number of friends I have who have had or are currently having infertility issues...friends that may never get to know the joy of being a mother. My heart breaks for them. I remember those friends, on the days I want to pull my short hair out; on the days my youngest is leaving a CONSTANT path of DESTRUCTION in her wake; on the days both children are crying and want to pull me in five directions; on the days I am so incredibly tired I want to melt. I remember not only them, but that I LOVE being a parent - and I LOOOOOOVE my girls!! I may have my moments. I may complain here and there. However, you will NEVER read an article I have written stating how miserable I am to have had them.
5. Being a good parent is not for everyone. Being a parent - period - is not for everyone. However, once you commit, it is your job to be the best damn parent (and human being) you can possibly be. Why? Because there are children who are looking up to YOU! Children who are needing you to teach them and guide them. I can only imagine the hurt her children will feel, when they become older and READ what she wrote about THEM. I am not certain what this woman was going for...Sympathy? Empathy? A campaign to have merely one or two children? Whatever it may be, she is not getting it from me. I fully understand that parenting is difficult, but I stand by no parent, who seems to obtain ZERO joy at having children. My heart is near EXPLOSION at how blessed I feel to have my girls. This article does not make me want to stop having children. It makes me want to have MORE children, so that I can write my own blog about how much I APPRECIATE, LOVE, and ENJOY them - even on the tough days!!
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
The moment I stop going to Walmart is the moment I no longer have anything about which to blog.
After an incredibly exhausting day at work last week, I had to swing into Corbin's Walmart. I only needed a few items, so was stupid enough to think that I could actually run in "quick as a bunny rabbit" (something my mother used to say) and get out, without any problems. (Seriously, it is like I have learned NOTHING over the years.)
Upon entering the building, the first thing I noticed was the cart corral. Contrary to its customary empty void, with three or four handicapped carts at the back end of a black tunnel, there were hundreds of BRAND SPANKING NEW carts!! I was ecstatic and immediately thought to myself, "Well, someone out there clearly reads my blog!" Due to my incessant bitching, Facebook posting, and blogging about terrible Walmart experiences - most of them referring to their grocery carts - someone finally decided to fix the problem. (You are welcome, City of Corbin! I deserve an award - or a cookie.)
Filled with excitement over my Lexus cart (ride so smooth, I felt like I was pushing it over a cloud), I began to push my cart in the direction of the first aisle I needed to visit. Not even 20 seconds into my new cart-induced high, I encounter the first insane thing. (Only not insane, it is normal, as this is Walmart - Corbin's Walmart.) A woman had her toddler on a leash. No, I am not talking about the cute "monkey on your back" leash you see at Walt Disney World. I mean a device intended for an animal. This woman had LITERALLY taken a dog harness - the kind service dogs wear - and strapped it on her child. Attached to said harness was a rope. Yes, a ROPE - like the kind you use to tie a horse to a pen (or tie a body bag closed, before tossing it into a river). THAT kind of rope. I found myself stalled, unable to move. (Otherwise, I would have snapped a picture.) I could only stand there and watch the defenseless "toddler on a rope" (similar to "soap on a rope") being PULLED about the store.
**speechless**
Once I snapped back (from wherever my mind went), I turned down the main grocery row, proceeded to the back of the store, and VROOOOOM!! I had to "slam on my brakes" (thank God for the Lexus cart), as a little boy went flying across the front of my cart - exiting the aisle on my right and entering the aisle on my left - on a BIKE! (I swear, it is like a damn zoo in there!!) I waited a few seconds - presuming there would be a parent running behind, in an attempt to catch him - but nada. He was, evidently, left to his own devices. (Naturally.)
Again, I shook off the insanity and continued pushing my cart to the back, when I realized something - my cart was veering to the right. I could not help myself. I started laughing out loud in the store, because the humor in the realization that even NEW carts veer to the right was just too much to contain! Wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes, I pulled my cart up to the dairy section. After grabbing a couple gallons of milk (By the way - is it just me or does anyone else hold their breath, when they open the dairy refrigerator?!), I headed to the juices. As it turned out, the Corbin Walmart juices were NOT expired! (Shocking, I know!) **For those who missed out, please refer to I am NOT a People Person.** I picked out a few yummy juice blends, selected some baby jar food in the next aisle over, and then pushed my sweet, stylish, continuously veers to the right cart in the direction of the cash registers.
I finally found a checkout line with ONLY three people ahead of me, so I jumped into the queue and waited. When the man in front of me made it to the conveyor belt, he started unloading his items - into two distinct piles. I honestly did not think much about it, as I am constantly behind the person who wants to have 75 separate transactions. (I, now, consider it a Walmart normal.) The cashier asked him if he would like to pay for the two piles separately. The customer - a middle-aged man in a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black sneakers - explained that one transaction was fine, the piles merely indicated sale items vs regularly priced items. (I remember thinking - "Why on Earth would one make a pile to differentiate such a thing?" - until he reached into his pocket.) Out came an entire freaking newspaper, which contained FIVE full-length pages of pictures of shit and their discounted prices. (The separate pile was so that each time a sale item was scanned, he could then "find" the pictorial newspaper version and confirm the price reflecting on the independent cash register screen. Have I mentioned this pile consisted of some 15+ items??) Truthfully, though, THIS was not the absolutely infuriating part. The EFFIN' INSANE PART was that the gentleman was having trouble finding the pictures and even said to the cashier, "I am sorry. I cannot see these pictures very well." (Who can guess why he could not see? Anyone? Anyone at all?! I shall tell you!) I had to intentionally control myself, as this JACKASS was - wait for it - WEARING SUNGLASSES!!!
**cue sounds of shotguns going off in my head**
(I am not certain you all feel my frustration yet, so allow me to continue.)
Recap: We have a DOUCHEBAG man in black in front of me, who has taken the time to separate 103 sale items from his non-sale items. He is holding the ENCYCLOPEDIA of sales newspaper advertising in his hand and is double checking EVERY.SINGLE.ITEM scanned.
(Still with me?)
Back to Present: The very last item scanned did NOT match up. By that, I mean it had scanned a full 11 cents - Eleven. E.L.E.V.E.N. One dime + one penny. - higher. When Mr. Too Cool to Remove His Sunglasses noticed the disparity, he made a forced, nonchalant comment to the cashier along the lines of, "Oh, that one is 11 cents higher. It is okay, though. It is not that big of a deal." (PAH-EFFIN-LEASE! DO **NOT** EVEN TRY TO ACT LIKE THIS IS NOT A BIG DAMN DEAL! TIS A **HUGE** DEAL AND EVERYONE HERE KNOWS IT! YOU CANNOT MAKE TWO SEPARATE PILES, COMPARE EACH ITEM SCANNED WITH A SALES AD, AND THEN TRY TO PRETEND YOU ARE AN INSANELY RICH BILLIONAIRE - WITH KNOCK OFF SUNGLASSES - WHO SHITS OUT ELEVEN CENTS EACH MORNING! NO.ONE.BELIEVES.YOU!!!!!!!! NOT TO MENTION - I WILL **KILL** YOU, IF AFTER EVERYTHING WE HAVE ALL HAD TO GO THROUGH, YOU DO **NOT** MAKE THE CASHIER DEDUCT THE 11 CENTS! **OWN IT!** MAKE HIM DEDUCT IT, DAMN IT, BEFORE SOMEONE GETS HURT!!!)
By the time Mr. I Wish I Were James Dean's transaction was completed, I found myself hating the world. (I am quite certain that 37.43% of my stress would disappear, if I would quit going to Walmart. However, the moment I stop going to Walmart is the moment I no longer have anything about which to blog.) As I moved foward, sweet and over friendly Billy greeted me enthusiastically!!! (Per usual, when I am approaching the point of internal implosion, the cashier is ALWAYS the most chipper person alive.) I mustered a feeble, "I am fine. Thank you for asking." Then, Billy went and did it. One of my ***BIGGEST*** pet peeves - HANDS DOWN! He asked me a STUPID question!!! (Seriously, ask my husband how I feel about such nonsense. I go from calm to outraged in 0.3 seconds, when asked a ridiculous question. I know they say the only stupid question is the one not asked, but that is simply not true. There are plenty of questions, where the askers' brain cells actually begin to die, once said questions are voiced. I am certain there is a study out there about it.) As he grabbed the first jar of baby food, he asked, "Do you have a baby at home?" (NO, DUMBASS! I JUST BUY IT TO TAKE UP SPACE IN MY PANTRY!!) Naturally, I just stared at him and counted to ten - out loud - with my eyes closed. (He stopped asking me questions, though.) Fortunately, Billy was smart enough to remain silent for the rest of our time together, other than when he handed me my receipt - with a shaking hand - and said, "Thank you." (Billy is a fast learner.)
After making a swift gesture forward with my upper body (just to see if Billy would urinate on himself), I took my receipt and began pushing my cart in the direction of the exit. About 25 feet from the door, however, something caught my eye. Outside the ophthalmology center was a small table, adorned with a makeshift camouflage table cloth (an obvious fail, as I still saw it), with various pairs of sunglasses sitting on top of it. Not immediately noting the camo/sunglass connection (Who would?), I steered my cart in the table's direction. (I should have minded my own business.) Upon investigation, I discovered that the brand of sunglasses on display were Duck Command (or Central or Starship Enterprise - I cannot remember). It hit me like a brick: Only in Southeastern Kentucky could one sell such a brand, and - in an attempt to "jazz up" the display - someone realized that they had a camo tshirt in their car (or more likely, was wearing it) and decided to use it as a tablecloth. (You know, in order to be all "fancy" and "decoratively astute.")
When I - finally - made it out the door, I was so entranced with leaving everything horrifying behind me that I did not see the Salvation Army/Toys for Tots/Money for Meth Labs guy standing to the right of the door. He shouted from my 4 o'clock position, "Hello, Ma'am! Would you like to..." I did not even let him finish. Without breaking my stride - I put on the best smile I could conjure, turned my head over my shoulder, threw my hand up in a half wave, and said, "No, but thank you for asking!" He smiled back. (We all know he was thinking, "BITCH!") The rest of the way to my truck, I could not help but think, "Those guys have it all wrong! They need to be standing at the ENTRANCE, not the exit." Think about it: 1) You have yet to make a purchase, so it stands to reason you have money on you. 2) You have yet to enter the Seventh Circle of Hell and have your soul sucked out. 3) You are more likely to be in a better mood entering Walmart, rather than leaving it. I truly think they could up their sales by a good 41.9% (I read a lot of studies), if they would catch patrons on their way inside. (I thought about going back and telling him, but was too tired.)
By the time I made it to my vehicle, I discerned something else - my feet were FREEZING!! (They have never been that cold from a simple, short walk.) When I looked down, obviously having forgotten about my new shoes, I instantly became irate - until I remembered that I am sticking it to "The Man!"
(Those of you who know me in person and/or follow me on Facebook are probably aware of my "shoe situation." I like regular tennis shoes. I do not need anything fancy to wear to work or run around Disney. However, I do not want shoes my father would wear. I like leather shoes - FULL leather shoes. I prefer the leather to be a neutral color - light silver, grey, or white. I do not like mesh shoes or black shoes. I want them to be comfortable. I want them to contain zero mesh, so I do not have to worry about my feet getting wet in the rain. I want them to be a normal color. Once upon a time, one could find these tennis shoes anywhere and everywhere. In today's brightly colored, mesh world - NO!! Do not get me wrong, I love my running/training shoes to be fun and festive, but NOT the shoes I wear on a daily basis.) I had searched for a replacement set of shoes for more than a year. I had worn my latest pair of shoes for so long that the inside cushions were completely worn on three sides, the shoelaces would not hold their tie tightly, and my heels would throb at the end of the day.
It got to the point that I had no choice but to break down and buy a colorful, mesh shoe just so that I could get through the work day, without feeling elderly. So, in typical fashion, I jumped on the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" adage. However, my personality makes it difficult for me to be defeated. For this reason, I did not simply "join 'em," I became their &*@%ing leader! I ordered the brightest, meshiest (Shut your mouth! It is a word, if I deem it so!) shoe in the world. I am rocking shoes that look like a clown threw up a rainbow. I strut myself like I do not give a damn, because I truly do not. You have a problem with my disco light shoes? You walk right over here, so I can shove one up your ass. It does not matter to me that I am wearing a pair of shoes that represents EVERYTHING I HATE about shoes. What matters is that the shoe companies of the world thought I would mentally crumble and succumb to their ways. (Bitch, please! RANDi with an 'i' chooses her OWN path!) I wear confetti shoes, because *I* choose to do so. I not only designed them, I personalized them. I made a pair of shoes that even Nike will recognize as going too far in today's brightly colored, mesh world. (I JUST MADE YOU MY BITCH, NIKE - AND MY NAME IS SEWN ON MY SHOES TO PROVE IT!!)
Upon entering the building, the first thing I noticed was the cart corral. Contrary to its customary empty void, with three or four handicapped carts at the back end of a black tunnel, there were hundreds of BRAND SPANKING NEW carts!! I was ecstatic and immediately thought to myself, "Well, someone out there clearly reads my blog!" Due to my incessant bitching, Facebook posting, and blogging about terrible Walmart experiences - most of them referring to their grocery carts - someone finally decided to fix the problem. (You are welcome, City of Corbin! I deserve an award - or a cookie.)
Filled with excitement over my Lexus cart (ride so smooth, I felt like I was pushing it over a cloud), I began to push my cart in the direction of the first aisle I needed to visit. Not even 20 seconds into my new cart-induced high, I encounter the first insane thing. (Only not insane, it is normal, as this is Walmart - Corbin's Walmart.) A woman had her toddler on a leash. No, I am not talking about the cute "monkey on your back" leash you see at Walt Disney World. I mean a device intended for an animal. This woman had LITERALLY taken a dog harness - the kind service dogs wear - and strapped it on her child. Attached to said harness was a rope. Yes, a ROPE - like the kind you use to tie a horse to a pen (or tie a body bag closed, before tossing it into a river). THAT kind of rope. I found myself stalled, unable to move. (Otherwise, I would have snapped a picture.) I could only stand there and watch the defenseless "toddler on a rope" (similar to "soap on a rope") being PULLED about the store.
**speechless**
Once I snapped back (from wherever my mind went), I turned down the main grocery row, proceeded to the back of the store, and VROOOOOM!! I had to "slam on my brakes" (thank God for the Lexus cart), as a little boy went flying across the front of my cart - exiting the aisle on my right and entering the aisle on my left - on a BIKE! (I swear, it is like a damn zoo in there!!) I waited a few seconds - presuming there would be a parent running behind, in an attempt to catch him - but nada. He was, evidently, left to his own devices. (Naturally.)
Again, I shook off the insanity and continued pushing my cart to the back, when I realized something - my cart was veering to the right. I could not help myself. I started laughing out loud in the store, because the humor in the realization that even NEW carts veer to the right was just too much to contain! Wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes, I pulled my cart up to the dairy section. After grabbing a couple gallons of milk (By the way - is it just me or does anyone else hold their breath, when they open the dairy refrigerator?!), I headed to the juices. As it turned out, the Corbin Walmart juices were NOT expired! (Shocking, I know!) **For those who missed out, please refer to I am NOT a People Person.** I picked out a few yummy juice blends, selected some baby jar food in the next aisle over, and then pushed my sweet, stylish, continuously veers to the right cart in the direction of the cash registers.
I finally found a checkout line with ONLY three people ahead of me, so I jumped into the queue and waited. When the man in front of me made it to the conveyor belt, he started unloading his items - into two distinct piles. I honestly did not think much about it, as I am constantly behind the person who wants to have 75 separate transactions. (I, now, consider it a Walmart normal.) The cashier asked him if he would like to pay for the two piles separately. The customer - a middle-aged man in a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black sneakers - explained that one transaction was fine, the piles merely indicated sale items vs regularly priced items. (I remember thinking - "Why on Earth would one make a pile to differentiate such a thing?" - until he reached into his pocket.) Out came an entire freaking newspaper, which contained FIVE full-length pages of pictures of shit and their discounted prices. (The separate pile was so that each time a sale item was scanned, he could then "find" the pictorial newspaper version and confirm the price reflecting on the independent cash register screen. Have I mentioned this pile consisted of some 15+ items??) Truthfully, though, THIS was not the absolutely infuriating part. The EFFIN' INSANE PART was that the gentleman was having trouble finding the pictures and even said to the cashier, "I am sorry. I cannot see these pictures very well." (Who can guess why he could not see? Anyone? Anyone at all?! I shall tell you!) I had to intentionally control myself, as this JACKASS was - wait for it - WEARING SUNGLASSES!!!
**cue sounds of shotguns going off in my head**
(I am not certain you all feel my frustration yet, so allow me to continue.)
Recap: We have a DOUCHEBAG man in black in front of me, who has taken the time to separate 103 sale items from his non-sale items. He is holding the ENCYCLOPEDIA of sales newspaper advertising in his hand and is double checking EVERY.SINGLE.ITEM scanned.
(Still with me?)
Back to Present: The very last item scanned did NOT match up. By that, I mean it had scanned a full 11 cents - Eleven. E.L.E.V.E.N. One dime + one penny. - higher. When Mr. Too Cool to Remove His Sunglasses noticed the disparity, he made a forced, nonchalant comment to the cashier along the lines of, "Oh, that one is 11 cents higher. It is okay, though. It is not that big of a deal." (PAH-EFFIN-LEASE! DO **NOT** EVEN TRY TO ACT LIKE THIS IS NOT A BIG DAMN DEAL! TIS A **HUGE** DEAL AND EVERYONE HERE KNOWS IT! YOU CANNOT MAKE TWO SEPARATE PILES, COMPARE EACH ITEM SCANNED WITH A SALES AD, AND THEN TRY TO PRETEND YOU ARE AN INSANELY RICH BILLIONAIRE - WITH KNOCK OFF SUNGLASSES - WHO SHITS OUT ELEVEN CENTS EACH MORNING! NO.ONE.BELIEVES.YOU!!!!!!!! NOT TO MENTION - I WILL **KILL** YOU, IF AFTER EVERYTHING WE HAVE ALL HAD TO GO THROUGH, YOU DO **NOT** MAKE THE CASHIER DEDUCT THE 11 CENTS! **OWN IT!** MAKE HIM DEDUCT IT, DAMN IT, BEFORE SOMEONE GETS HURT!!!)
By the time Mr. I Wish I Were James Dean's transaction was completed, I found myself hating the world. (I am quite certain that 37.43% of my stress would disappear, if I would quit going to Walmart. However, the moment I stop going to Walmart is the moment I no longer have anything about which to blog.) As I moved foward, sweet and over friendly Billy greeted me enthusiastically!!! (Per usual, when I am approaching the point of internal implosion, the cashier is ALWAYS the most chipper person alive.) I mustered a feeble, "I am fine. Thank you for asking." Then, Billy went and did it. One of my ***BIGGEST*** pet peeves - HANDS DOWN! He asked me a STUPID question!!! (Seriously, ask my husband how I feel about such nonsense. I go from calm to outraged in 0.3 seconds, when asked a ridiculous question. I know they say the only stupid question is the one not asked, but that is simply not true. There are plenty of questions, where the askers' brain cells actually begin to die, once said questions are voiced. I am certain there is a study out there about it.) As he grabbed the first jar of baby food, he asked, "Do you have a baby at home?" (NO, DUMBASS! I JUST BUY IT TO TAKE UP SPACE IN MY PANTRY!!) Naturally, I just stared at him and counted to ten - out loud - with my eyes closed. (He stopped asking me questions, though.) Fortunately, Billy was smart enough to remain silent for the rest of our time together, other than when he handed me my receipt - with a shaking hand - and said, "Thank you." (Billy is a fast learner.)
After making a swift gesture forward with my upper body (just to see if Billy would urinate on himself), I took my receipt and began pushing my cart in the direction of the exit. About 25 feet from the door, however, something caught my eye. Outside the ophthalmology center was a small table, adorned with a makeshift camouflage table cloth (an obvious fail, as I still saw it), with various pairs of sunglasses sitting on top of it. Not immediately noting the camo/sunglass connection (Who would?), I steered my cart in the table's direction. (I should have minded my own business.) Upon investigation, I discovered that the brand of sunglasses on display were Duck Command (or Central or Starship Enterprise - I cannot remember). It hit me like a brick: Only in Southeastern Kentucky could one sell such a brand, and - in an attempt to "jazz up" the display - someone realized that they had a camo tshirt in their car (or more likely, was wearing it) and decided to use it as a tablecloth. (You know, in order to be all "fancy" and "decoratively astute.")
When I - finally - made it out the door, I was so entranced with leaving everything horrifying behind me that I did not see the Salvation Army/Toys for Tots/Money for Meth Labs guy standing to the right of the door. He shouted from my 4 o'clock position, "Hello, Ma'am! Would you like to..." I did not even let him finish. Without breaking my stride - I put on the best smile I could conjure, turned my head over my shoulder, threw my hand up in a half wave, and said, "No, but thank you for asking!" He smiled back. (We all know he was thinking, "BITCH!") The rest of the way to my truck, I could not help but think, "Those guys have it all wrong! They need to be standing at the ENTRANCE, not the exit." Think about it: 1) You have yet to make a purchase, so it stands to reason you have money on you. 2) You have yet to enter the Seventh Circle of Hell and have your soul sucked out. 3) You are more likely to be in a better mood entering Walmart, rather than leaving it. I truly think they could up their sales by a good 41.9% (I read a lot of studies), if they would catch patrons on their way inside. (I thought about going back and telling him, but was too tired.)
By the time I made it to my vehicle, I discerned something else - my feet were FREEZING!! (They have never been that cold from a simple, short walk.) When I looked down, obviously having forgotten about my new shoes, I instantly became irate - until I remembered that I am sticking it to "The Man!"
(Those of you who know me in person and/or follow me on Facebook are probably aware of my "shoe situation." I like regular tennis shoes. I do not need anything fancy to wear to work or run around Disney. However, I do not want shoes my father would wear. I like leather shoes - FULL leather shoes. I prefer the leather to be a neutral color - light silver, grey, or white. I do not like mesh shoes or black shoes. I want them to be comfortable. I want them to contain zero mesh, so I do not have to worry about my feet getting wet in the rain. I want them to be a normal color. Once upon a time, one could find these tennis shoes anywhere and everywhere. In today's brightly colored, mesh world - NO!! Do not get me wrong, I love my running/training shoes to be fun and festive, but NOT the shoes I wear on a daily basis.) I had searched for a replacement set of shoes for more than a year. I had worn my latest pair of shoes for so long that the inside cushions were completely worn on three sides, the shoelaces would not hold their tie tightly, and my heels would throb at the end of the day.
It got to the point that I had no choice but to break down and buy a colorful, mesh shoe just so that I could get through the work day, without feeling elderly. So, in typical fashion, I jumped on the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" adage. However, my personality makes it difficult for me to be defeated. For this reason, I did not simply "join 'em," I became their &*@%ing leader! I ordered the brightest, meshiest (Shut your mouth! It is a word, if I deem it so!) shoe in the world. I am rocking shoes that look like a clown threw up a rainbow. I strut myself like I do not give a damn, because I truly do not. You have a problem with my disco light shoes? You walk right over here, so I can shove one up your ass. It does not matter to me that I am wearing a pair of shoes that represents EVERYTHING I HATE about shoes. What matters is that the shoe companies of the world thought I would mentally crumble and succumb to their ways. (Bitch, please! RANDi with an 'i' chooses her OWN path!) I wear confetti shoes, because *I* choose to do so. I not only designed them, I personalized them. I made a pair of shoes that even Nike will recognize as going too far in today's brightly colored, mesh world. (I JUST MADE YOU MY BITCH, NIKE - AND MY NAME IS SEWN ON MY SHOES TO PROVE IT!!)
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
I am NOT a People Person.
I went to Walmart yesterday. (I really could end this blog post here. That sentence alone speaks for itself.)
I went to Walmart yesterday. First mistake. Before walking into the building, I was actually in a great mood. Second mistake. (One should always enter Walmart in a bad mood, as that is most certainly how you are going to leave.) Being out of town and insanely busy the past week trying to catch up on all the things I left behind, we were in DESPERATE need of groceries. (When you are offering your toddler cereal for breakfast AND dinner, you know you have hit a low point in the food - and mothering - department.) Not only were we living off cereal and water (while eyeing the cat's food), but my children's babysitter stated an urgent need for food and supplies, as well. So, I drug myself to Walmart. (It really just gets worse each time I type it.)
Upon entering the sliding doors, I looked to my right and stared into a long, deep void - the void where the grocery carts SHOULD have been. (I was, now, understanding why I had to drive AROUND carts in the parking lot. The lazy ass, high school dropout, cart kid was more than likely behind the building smoking pot - wait, sign of the times; I mean making meth - rather than doing his simple job of bringing the carts inside. Have I mentioned I am in a horrible mood, today?) At the VERY back of the cart corral, I noticed a few carts. I already knew they were going to be the cart rejects (the ones with three wheels or an overpowering desire to ONLY roll to the right), but I had no choice but to walk back there and drag one out myself, as I had to buy half the damn store, in order to maintain the right to have children. (No one turn me in. My girls are fine. Take for instance right now, Riley Mac is playing with scissors - no worries, I never allow her to run with them - while Campbell is seeing how many marbles she can fit into her mouth at one time. Both occupied and doing well, while Mommy blogs.)
Once I emerged from the darkness that is the cart corral (there was a moment I thought I would be trapped in there forever), I figured out how to operate my handicapped cart (you merely grab the front and drag it behind you, while all three wheels refuse to roll - easy peasy) and began to shop. Shockingly, the baby aisle was uneventful. (I will not go into detail, but I have seen some things - things I wish I could unsee.) After I was done filling up more than half the cart with baby food, formula, diapers, and wipes, I drug my cart to the back of the store to grab some milk and juice. The first EIGHT - oh yes, I eventually started counting - juices I came to expired Feb 26. I looked around in disgust, as if hoping someone would feel my pain, but I was in Walmart - no one cares about pain there. (Tis where they all go to die.) I quickly came to the realization that my children did not need nutritious premium juice blends from Tropicana. (They could survive off Pepsi and Kool-Aid like all the other thriving kids in America.) My first instinct was to go find a Walmart manager and express my concern in that there were at least 12 - I stopped counting - expired juices. That is when I came to my second realization: I just used the words "Walmart" and "manager" together in my head. The hilarity of the whole thing made me start laughing out loud (yep, became "that" mother - the one in sweats having a complete and public mental breakdown), and I came to the conclusion that the food options and managerial structure in a Russian orphanage are probably better (currently Googling "Russian orphanage food options and managerial stylings").
Juiceless and irritated, I continued on. By the time I got to the baking aisle, my cart was so full and heavy that I had to formulate Plan B. Rather than dragging a cart the weight of a dead cow down each aisle (now Googling "how much does a dead cow weigh"), I decided I would drag it from the beginning of each aisle - park it in the center, beside the random food pallets, so that it was out of the way of traffic - and just carry the items I needed in each aisle back to the cart. As I walked down the baking aisle to grab some blueberry muffin mix, I saw it - Betty Crocker's Super Moist Rainbow Chip cake batter. (Now is a great time to go off script and incorporate a little backstory.)
Feeling ashamed of my behavior (but only slightly, as I was feeling devilish and loving it, too), I walked the blueberry muffin mix back to my parked cart. Before pulling back out into the main Walmart row, I noticed a man SLOWLY pushing his cart in my direction. Noting that he was not only super creepy, but my elder (and possibly high or experiencing an dementia episode) and that I could not quickly move my beast of a cart and jump ahead of him, I decided to be polite and wait for him to pass. (It felt like it took hours, but it was probably closer to a 30 second wait.) I was standing directly beside my cart, with the handle facing the row of traffic. It was NOT stuck out. (I made sure this man had an entirely clear path.) As he drew nearer, I was trying to determine if it was merely his slow speed that made my eyes think he was drifting closer to me or if he was in fact heading in my direction. (It quickly became clear, with a loud crash.) I watched this man, blind side my cart - at an insanely slow speed - push on through my cart and the food pallet on the other side of it, and just keep walking - SLOOOOWLY - without so much as an acknowledgement or an apology. I was all, "DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!" (Again - mouth gaping open - looking around in an attempt to find some support, before noticing everyone around me looked just like him.) In a moment of passion and irritation, I considered grabbing the can of Crisco on the pallet and bashing him in the back of the head, before I realized with much excitement - I JUST SAW MY FIRST ZOMBIE!!! (MY BROTHER IS GOING TO FREAK, WHEN HE READS THIS!) I was all, "I *KNEW* the Zombie Apocalypse was coming! I KNEW IT!!" However, no one else around me seemed to notice or care. Then, it hit me, "HOLY HELL! THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE IS *NOW,* RIGHT HERE IN LONDON'S WALMART! I CANNOT BELIEVE I LEFT MY AK-47 IN MY TRUCK!" This moment of euphoria and panic lasted a mere minute, before I concluded, "The Zombie Apocalypse happening right now?! RIDICULOUS! One zombie - completely believable! An entire Walmart full of zombies - no way!" (Nonetheless, I kept the can of Crisco in my hand, until I could no longer see the zombie - just incase.)
***At this point in the story, you have got to be thinking, "There is no possible way Randi's situation could get any worse!" Wait for it, People! Wait for it!***
After hurriedly finishing up my shopping (could not shake the feeling that I would be safer outside, where I could run - if necessary), I felt immensely better to find a line with only ONE person in front of me - and she only had THREE items left to be scanned! (Honestly, I felt like I had survived a near zombie attack AND won the Walmart lottery - all in one day!! I was damn near high!) However, I was slammed down from that high in an instant. (Again, "they" will NOT let you leave happy.) As I started unloading my cart, I heard the woman in front of me tell the cashier, "I can barely believe this myself, but these were sitting on a shelf that said $1.96!?" Cashier Jay accepted the two identical cleaning items and said, "Umm..these run close to $10 a piece." Woman, "That is exactly what I thought! I thought, 'There is no way! That is such a good deal!' The good deal part is why I grabbed TWO of them! That is what I thought!" Jay - super sweet and patient Jay, "I know they are around $10, but if you like, I can ask my manager." Woman, acting like it was no big thing, but at the same time would have lost her mind if Jay did NOT talk to his manger, "I mean, you do not have to. I just thought..." Jay politely excused himself and walked toward his manager. I could barely believe Jay was actually taking the time to indulge this lie and outright attempt to steal, but I urged myself to keep unloading and say nothing. (For all I knew, she was a zombie, too.)
I continued to mind my own business, when I felt the zomb - I mean - woman's presence behind me, as my head was upside down in my cart. I stood upright (slowly - never a good idea to startle a zombie) and faced her. Smiling, she said, "You may want to hang tight. Always something here, right?" I began to taste it - blood. My head started to swirl. I had no idea what zombie trick she had just pulled, but there it was - I was dying, by the hand of a zombie, in the middle of Walmart. She said something else. I could see her mouth moving, but I felt like I was underwater. I could only hear muffled sounds. I grabbed my cart to support my weight, as I could feel my legs giving way. I slowly pulled my free hand up to my mouth, when I snapped back to reality. I was not dying; although, I WAS bleeding. In an effort to bite my tongue, after hearing the woman's last statement of, "Always something here, right," I ACTUALLY bit my tongue. I mean, the entire thing was ludicrous!! This woman gave me the "always something" remark, as if she was NOT the "always something!" The stupidity of her words were too much. My body literally started to shut down. I cannot thrive amongst such insanity, and my body knew it. I did the only thing I could - forced a half smile and pretended to answer my (non-ringing) cell phone.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jay returned. In his chipper voice, he said, "These items are $10; however, the manager said I could give you ONE of them for $1.96." (WHAT THE?! ARE YOU EFFIN' SERIOUS?! I REALLY *AM* THE ONLY PERSON OF INTELLIGENCE IN THIS BUILDING!!!) Woman, "Ooooh! That would be just great! You know, I thought to myself, 'That is just such a good deal! I thought that!'" I tried to scream, but when I opened my mouth, blood started to spill out. Jay scanned her last three items - one of which she STOLE - they exchanged pleasant goodbyes, and she left. It was all I could do to contain myself. Jay greeted me with an all too upbeat "HELLO" and stretched out his hand to grab my first item, but before he was able to pick up my children's Pepsi - I grabbed the three gallons of milk that were at the end of my line of items, slammed them down in front of him, and said through bloody teeth, "The sign said these were FREE! You may want to go get your manager."
Once I loaded my majority purchased/partially stolen bagged groceries, I headed out the door - DARING the sweet, elderly lady to stop and ask for my receipt (the Lord was on her side, as she did not ask) - and walked to my vehicle. As I always do - I used the remote to electronically raise my liftgate, while I parked the cart beside it, and began to unload. I had just finished placing the first set of bags as far back as I could reach, when I felt my legs being crushed. Obviously, my mind started screaming, "ZOMBIES! ZOOOOOMBIES!!" It quickly became clear that it was not zombies, but rather my truck trying to EAT me! 40+ pounds of pressure were weighing down on my body, rendering me helpless. You see, the "supposed" good news about having a power liftgate is that if the system fails and it tries to shut - say while a person is still standing there - a mere touch/counter pressure will immediately send the liftgate swinging back up. Tis a nice safety feature - UNLESS THAT SAFETY FEATURE FAILS, TOO!! (I am not making this up, People! I do not even have the imagination to do such a thing!) Not only was my power liftgate NOT swinging back open, it was FORCIBLY trying to shut! There was no backup manual system, no safety release, no emergency button to push - nothing! It was a massive door, a third of my body weight, trying to snap my legs in half! (When that much pressure is applied to your body, there is not a whole lot that you can do.) After the initial shock, I thought to myself, "This is it - I am dying, by the power liftgate of my truck, in the middle of Walmart's parking lot." (Is there a more pathetic way to go?)
Convincing myself that I had to at least TRY to fight off death, I twisted the top half of my body around (much like an owl's head) - so that I was basically facing the liftgate - while my legs were facing the opposite direction. (To think that before this incident, I actually thought I knew what pain really felt like.) Mustering all the energy and strength I could, I used the palm of my hands and pushed. In that moment, all I could think was, "It is clear that I need to get back to the gym." (Truthfully, if it were not for the adrenaline, I am certain today's newspaper headline would have read, "Woman found dead in Walmart parking lot. Truck ate her.") I pushed like there was no tomorrow (mainly because I did not think there would be a tomorrow) and managed to squeeze myself downward and out, before the liftgate slammed completely closed, while nearly taking my head off. I stood - supporting myself with one hand on my vehicle - trying to catch my breath and thanking God that I was alive and had a head, all the while trying to determine if my hat had landed on the ground or if my truck was successful in swallowing it.
Once I found my hat and composed myself, I started loading the largest haul of groceries I have ever purchased in my life, throughout various areas in my truck. I had to climb in and out, over and under car seats, all the way back to the third row. By the time I was done, I was mentally and physically zapped. The thought of driving home was almost unbearable. Nonetheless, I "crawled" into the driver seat of my vehicle and proceeded to back out - right into a car coming down the aisle (LOL! JOKING! Very well could have happened in this story, though!) - and leave the parking lot. When I pulled up to the stop sign, there were three cars in front of me and an enormous, jacked up truck perpendicular to the line - waiting to turn left, across those of us at the stop sign. (Why I decided to be nice - particularly after nearly dying..TWICE - I will never know, but I had a moment of weakness and went the kind route.) Not only did that JACKASS nearly take off the front of my vehicle, there was no wave, and he just glared at me as if HE was the one doing ME the favor!! I would have whipped my truck around - followed him - and blasted his tires with my AK-47, but all my strength had been drained from trying to release myself from the liftgate and loading enough groceries to feed a Russian orphanage. Instead, I continued to exit the parking lot, deciding Starbucks was never needed more. Sadly, I became so distracted with the woman driving in front of me, who had her blinker on and was waiting to turn FROM THE DRIVING LANE - *NOT* THE TURNING LANE, that I went sailing by Starbucks. (I cursed myself and everyone around me the entire way home.)
Upon pulling into the garage and getting out of my truck, the bitter truth set in - I was going to have to unload ALL of the groceries, sort which were mine and which were intended for the sitter, and then load them all over again. I nearly started crying. (Typically - I just open the liftgate, stand at the back, and quickly sort without having to unload everything. NOT TODAY!) Adrenaline having clearly worn off, the bags of groceries doubled in weight. My breaking point was grabbing ONE bag, immediately noting its insane weight, feeling it slip through my fingers, attempting to grab it with my free hand, and then watching it fall to the ground. I thought, "I cannot be THAT tired! What the hell was in that bag?!" I bent down - searing pain (forgot my legs were nearly snapped in half) - to gather the ripped bag and its contents, when I saw it: THAT BASTARD JAY HAD BAGGED MY FREE GALLON OF MILK AND THE BRAND OF "JUICE" I DID NOT WANT (pure sugar - not even 1% actual fruit in it - but was not expired) IN THE SAME EFFIN' BAG! YOU KNOW WHAT I WOULD BAG WITH A GALLON OF MILK - A MOTHER$%@^*& COTTONBALL! *THAT* IS WHAT I WOULD BAG MILK WITH, JAY! (AGAINST POPULAR BELIEF, I AM *NOT* A PEOPLE PERSON. THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER - I HATE MOST OF THEM.)
***DAMN IT! It just occurred to me that the first bags I loaded, before the liftgate crushed me, are still in my truck! #$*&%(*^@&#@!!!!!
I went to Walmart yesterday. First mistake. Before walking into the building, I was actually in a great mood. Second mistake. (One should always enter Walmart in a bad mood, as that is most certainly how you are going to leave.) Being out of town and insanely busy the past week trying to catch up on all the things I left behind, we were in DESPERATE need of groceries. (When you are offering your toddler cereal for breakfast AND dinner, you know you have hit a low point in the food - and mothering - department.) Not only were we living off cereal and water (while eyeing the cat's food), but my children's babysitter stated an urgent need for food and supplies, as well. So, I drug myself to Walmart. (It really just gets worse each time I type it.)
Upon entering the sliding doors, I looked to my right and stared into a long, deep void - the void where the grocery carts SHOULD have been. (I was, now, understanding why I had to drive AROUND carts in the parking lot. The lazy ass, high school dropout, cart kid was more than likely behind the building smoking pot - wait, sign of the times; I mean making meth - rather than doing his simple job of bringing the carts inside. Have I mentioned I am in a horrible mood, today?) At the VERY back of the cart corral, I noticed a few carts. I already knew they were going to be the cart rejects (the ones with three wheels or an overpowering desire to ONLY roll to the right), but I had no choice but to walk back there and drag one out myself, as I had to buy half the damn store, in order to maintain the right to have children. (No one turn me in. My girls are fine. Take for instance right now, Riley Mac is playing with scissors - no worries, I never allow her to run with them - while Campbell is seeing how many marbles she can fit into her mouth at one time. Both occupied and doing well, while Mommy blogs.)
Once I emerged from the darkness that is the cart corral (there was a moment I thought I would be trapped in there forever), I figured out how to operate my handicapped cart (you merely grab the front and drag it behind you, while all three wheels refuse to roll - easy peasy) and began to shop. Shockingly, the baby aisle was uneventful. (I will not go into detail, but I have seen some things - things I wish I could unsee.) After I was done filling up more than half the cart with baby food, formula, diapers, and wipes, I drug my cart to the back of the store to grab some milk and juice. The first EIGHT - oh yes, I eventually started counting - juices I came to expired Feb 26. I looked around in disgust, as if hoping someone would feel my pain, but I was in Walmart - no one cares about pain there. (Tis where they all go to die.) I quickly came to the realization that my children did not need nutritious premium juice blends from Tropicana. (They could survive off Pepsi and Kool-Aid like all the other thriving kids in America.) My first instinct was to go find a Walmart manager and express my concern in that there were at least 12 - I stopped counting - expired juices. That is when I came to my second realization: I just used the words "Walmart" and "manager" together in my head. The hilarity of the whole thing made me start laughing out loud (yep, became "that" mother - the one in sweats having a complete and public mental breakdown), and I came to the conclusion that the food options and managerial structure in a Russian orphanage are probably better (currently Googling "Russian orphanage food options and managerial stylings").
Juiceless and irritated, I continued on. By the time I got to the baking aisle, my cart was so full and heavy that I had to formulate Plan B. Rather than dragging a cart the weight of a dead cow down each aisle (now Googling "how much does a dead cow weigh"), I decided I would drag it from the beginning of each aisle - park it in the center, beside the random food pallets, so that it was out of the way of traffic - and just carry the items I needed in each aisle back to the cart. As I walked down the baking aisle to grab some blueberry muffin mix, I saw it - Betty Crocker's Super Moist Rainbow Chip cake batter. (Now is a great time to go off script and incorporate a little backstory.)
My husband is a grown child. (I am serious.) His favorite ice cream at Cold Stone is Birthday Cake Remix. His favorite cake is Funfetti - the cake with the colorful stuff in the batter. Being the good wife that I am, I thought it would be sweet to bake him his favorite cake on his birthday one year. I pulled out all the stops. Riley Mac and I slaved away, while he was at work, excited about surprising him. When he came home, we unveiled the fruits of our labor - with smiles on our faces. It quickly became obvious that he was not nearly as ecstatic as we expected. Upon further investigation, Warren likes Rainbow Chip - NOT Funfetti. "APPARENTLY," there is an ENORMOUS difference!! One has colorful sprinkles, whereas the other as colorful chips. Both are merely compressed sugar - that taste the same - but in a different form. (I am sure you, now, understand the vast error that was made.) So, although he had a colorful birthday cake designed for a four year old, he was not excited by our efforts. (Did I mention I was pregnant with his second child, during this time?) I learned two things that day: 1) Not only does my husband like four year old desserts, he - also - acts like a four year old. 2) It will be a cold day in hell, before I ever even "consider" baking him another cake - birthday or otherwise!So, there I am - for the first time in my life - seeing an ACTUAL box of Rainbow Chip mix. I was stunned and completely excited - until I remembered the backstory. I shoved that box of Rainbow Chip batter in the very back of the shelf, behind the FUNFETTI mixes. (I figure if I change my mind, the juices support my theory that the Rainbow Chip box will still be there - expired - and in the only form I would bake him a cake.)
Feeling ashamed of my behavior (but only slightly, as I was feeling devilish and loving it, too), I walked the blueberry muffin mix back to my parked cart. Before pulling back out into the main Walmart row, I noticed a man SLOWLY pushing his cart in my direction. Noting that he was not only super creepy, but my elder (and possibly high or experiencing an dementia episode) and that I could not quickly move my beast of a cart and jump ahead of him, I decided to be polite and wait for him to pass. (It felt like it took hours, but it was probably closer to a 30 second wait.) I was standing directly beside my cart, with the handle facing the row of traffic. It was NOT stuck out. (I made sure this man had an entirely clear path.) As he drew nearer, I was trying to determine if it was merely his slow speed that made my eyes think he was drifting closer to me or if he was in fact heading in my direction. (It quickly became clear, with a loud crash.) I watched this man, blind side my cart - at an insanely slow speed - push on through my cart and the food pallet on the other side of it, and just keep walking - SLOOOOWLY - without so much as an acknowledgement or an apology. I was all, "DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!" (Again - mouth gaping open - looking around in an attempt to find some support, before noticing everyone around me looked just like him.) In a moment of passion and irritation, I considered grabbing the can of Crisco on the pallet and bashing him in the back of the head, before I realized with much excitement - I JUST SAW MY FIRST ZOMBIE!!! (MY BROTHER IS GOING TO FREAK, WHEN HE READS THIS!) I was all, "I *KNEW* the Zombie Apocalypse was coming! I KNEW IT!!" However, no one else around me seemed to notice or care. Then, it hit me, "HOLY HELL! THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE IS *NOW,* RIGHT HERE IN LONDON'S WALMART! I CANNOT BELIEVE I LEFT MY AK-47 IN MY TRUCK!" This moment of euphoria and panic lasted a mere minute, before I concluded, "The Zombie Apocalypse happening right now?! RIDICULOUS! One zombie - completely believable! An entire Walmart full of zombies - no way!" (Nonetheless, I kept the can of Crisco in my hand, until I could no longer see the zombie - just incase.)
***At this point in the story, you have got to be thinking, "There is no possible way Randi's situation could get any worse!" Wait for it, People! Wait for it!***
After hurriedly finishing up my shopping (could not shake the feeling that I would be safer outside, where I could run - if necessary), I felt immensely better to find a line with only ONE person in front of me - and she only had THREE items left to be scanned! (Honestly, I felt like I had survived a near zombie attack AND won the Walmart lottery - all in one day!! I was damn near high!) However, I was slammed down from that high in an instant. (Again, "they" will NOT let you leave happy.) As I started unloading my cart, I heard the woman in front of me tell the cashier, "I can barely believe this myself, but these were sitting on a shelf that said $1.96!?" Cashier Jay accepted the two identical cleaning items and said, "Umm..these run close to $10 a piece." Woman, "That is exactly what I thought! I thought, 'There is no way! That is such a good deal!' The good deal part is why I grabbed TWO of them! That is what I thought!" Jay - super sweet and patient Jay, "I know they are around $10, but if you like, I can ask my manager." Woman, acting like it was no big thing, but at the same time would have lost her mind if Jay did NOT talk to his manger, "I mean, you do not have to. I just thought..." Jay politely excused himself and walked toward his manager. I could barely believe Jay was actually taking the time to indulge this lie and outright attempt to steal, but I urged myself to keep unloading and say nothing. (For all I knew, she was a zombie, too.)
I continued to mind my own business, when I felt the zomb - I mean - woman's presence behind me, as my head was upside down in my cart. I stood upright (slowly - never a good idea to startle a zombie) and faced her. Smiling, she said, "You may want to hang tight. Always something here, right?" I began to taste it - blood. My head started to swirl. I had no idea what zombie trick she had just pulled, but there it was - I was dying, by the hand of a zombie, in the middle of Walmart. She said something else. I could see her mouth moving, but I felt like I was underwater. I could only hear muffled sounds. I grabbed my cart to support my weight, as I could feel my legs giving way. I slowly pulled my free hand up to my mouth, when I snapped back to reality. I was not dying; although, I WAS bleeding. In an effort to bite my tongue, after hearing the woman's last statement of, "Always something here, right," I ACTUALLY bit my tongue. I mean, the entire thing was ludicrous!! This woman gave me the "always something" remark, as if she was NOT the "always something!" The stupidity of her words were too much. My body literally started to shut down. I cannot thrive amongst such insanity, and my body knew it. I did the only thing I could - forced a half smile and pretended to answer my (non-ringing) cell phone.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jay returned. In his chipper voice, he said, "These items are $10; however, the manager said I could give you ONE of them for $1.96." (WHAT THE?! ARE YOU EFFIN' SERIOUS?! I REALLY *AM* THE ONLY PERSON OF INTELLIGENCE IN THIS BUILDING!!!) Woman, "Ooooh! That would be just great! You know, I thought to myself, 'That is just such a good deal! I thought that!'" I tried to scream, but when I opened my mouth, blood started to spill out. Jay scanned her last three items - one of which she STOLE - they exchanged pleasant goodbyes, and she left. It was all I could do to contain myself. Jay greeted me with an all too upbeat "HELLO" and stretched out his hand to grab my first item, but before he was able to pick up my children's Pepsi - I grabbed the three gallons of milk that were at the end of my line of items, slammed them down in front of him, and said through bloody teeth, "The sign said these were FREE! You may want to go get your manager."
Once I loaded my majority purchased/partially stolen bagged groceries, I headed out the door - DARING the sweet, elderly lady to stop and ask for my receipt (the Lord was on her side, as she did not ask) - and walked to my vehicle. As I always do - I used the remote to electronically raise my liftgate, while I parked the cart beside it, and began to unload. I had just finished placing the first set of bags as far back as I could reach, when I felt my legs being crushed. Obviously, my mind started screaming, "ZOMBIES! ZOOOOOMBIES!!" It quickly became clear that it was not zombies, but rather my truck trying to EAT me! 40+ pounds of pressure were weighing down on my body, rendering me helpless. You see, the "supposed" good news about having a power liftgate is that if the system fails and it tries to shut - say while a person is still standing there - a mere touch/counter pressure will immediately send the liftgate swinging back up. Tis a nice safety feature - UNLESS THAT SAFETY FEATURE FAILS, TOO!! (I am not making this up, People! I do not even have the imagination to do such a thing!) Not only was my power liftgate NOT swinging back open, it was FORCIBLY trying to shut! There was no backup manual system, no safety release, no emergency button to push - nothing! It was a massive door, a third of my body weight, trying to snap my legs in half! (When that much pressure is applied to your body, there is not a whole lot that you can do.) After the initial shock, I thought to myself, "This is it - I am dying, by the power liftgate of my truck, in the middle of Walmart's parking lot." (Is there a more pathetic way to go?)
Convincing myself that I had to at least TRY to fight off death, I twisted the top half of my body around (much like an owl's head) - so that I was basically facing the liftgate - while my legs were facing the opposite direction. (To think that before this incident, I actually thought I knew what pain really felt like.) Mustering all the energy and strength I could, I used the palm of my hands and pushed. In that moment, all I could think was, "It is clear that I need to get back to the gym." (Truthfully, if it were not for the adrenaline, I am certain today's newspaper headline would have read, "Woman found dead in Walmart parking lot. Truck ate her.") I pushed like there was no tomorrow (mainly because I did not think there would be a tomorrow) and managed to squeeze myself downward and out, before the liftgate slammed completely closed, while nearly taking my head off. I stood - supporting myself with one hand on my vehicle - trying to catch my breath and thanking God that I was alive and had a head, all the while trying to determine if my hat had landed on the ground or if my truck was successful in swallowing it.
Once I found my hat and composed myself, I started loading the largest haul of groceries I have ever purchased in my life, throughout various areas in my truck. I had to climb in and out, over and under car seats, all the way back to the third row. By the time I was done, I was mentally and physically zapped. The thought of driving home was almost unbearable. Nonetheless, I "crawled" into the driver seat of my vehicle and proceeded to back out - right into a car coming down the aisle (LOL! JOKING! Very well could have happened in this story, though!) - and leave the parking lot. When I pulled up to the stop sign, there were three cars in front of me and an enormous, jacked up truck perpendicular to the line - waiting to turn left, across those of us at the stop sign. (Why I decided to be nice - particularly after nearly dying..TWICE - I will never know, but I had a moment of weakness and went the kind route.) Not only did that JACKASS nearly take off the front of my vehicle, there was no wave, and he just glared at me as if HE was the one doing ME the favor!! I would have whipped my truck around - followed him - and blasted his tires with my AK-47, but all my strength had been drained from trying to release myself from the liftgate and loading enough groceries to feed a Russian orphanage. Instead, I continued to exit the parking lot, deciding Starbucks was never needed more. Sadly, I became so distracted with the woman driving in front of me, who had her blinker on and was waiting to turn FROM THE DRIVING LANE - *NOT* THE TURNING LANE, that I went sailing by Starbucks. (I cursed myself and everyone around me the entire way home.)
Upon pulling into the garage and getting out of my truck, the bitter truth set in - I was going to have to unload ALL of the groceries, sort which were mine and which were intended for the sitter, and then load them all over again. I nearly started crying. (Typically - I just open the liftgate, stand at the back, and quickly sort without having to unload everything. NOT TODAY!) Adrenaline having clearly worn off, the bags of groceries doubled in weight. My breaking point was grabbing ONE bag, immediately noting its insane weight, feeling it slip through my fingers, attempting to grab it with my free hand, and then watching it fall to the ground. I thought, "I cannot be THAT tired! What the hell was in that bag?!" I bent down - searing pain (forgot my legs were nearly snapped in half) - to gather the ripped bag and its contents, when I saw it: THAT BASTARD JAY HAD BAGGED MY FREE GALLON OF MILK AND THE BRAND OF "JUICE" I DID NOT WANT (pure sugar - not even 1% actual fruit in it - but was not expired) IN THE SAME EFFIN' BAG! YOU KNOW WHAT I WOULD BAG WITH A GALLON OF MILK - A MOTHER$%@^*& COTTONBALL! *THAT* IS WHAT I WOULD BAG MILK WITH, JAY! (AGAINST POPULAR BELIEF, I AM *NOT* A PEOPLE PERSON. THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER - I HATE MOST OF THEM.)
***DAMN IT! It just occurred to me that the first bags I loaded, before the liftgate crushed me, are still in my truck! #$*&%(*^@&#@!!!!!
Friday, February 8, 2013
Things I have learned about myself and others in the past 48 hours.
1) I have the capability to remain completely calm and centered on the outside, while medical people pop in and out of my daughter's pre-op room, asking me a million questions and telling me a million and a half things. I, also, have the capability to do nothing but smile, when they take my daughter away, so she is not afraid. I do NOT, however, have the capability to remember *ANYTHING* that was said to me - by any of those people - the entire time I was there.
2) Sweet, cuddly, all smiles Campbell is nothing but a ROID RAGE baby, after coming off of anesthesia! She literally stood on Warren's lap, facing him, arms out to her side (as if on a cross), fists clinched together, and turned reddish purple as she screamed as loudly as she possibly could. We would have been alarmed, but it was so damn hysterical that we started cracking up. I am sure the nurses think we are horrible parents for saying, "BAHAHA! Come look at this! She is straight street roid raging right now! I think she is about to start throwing punches!!" As I told my sister-in-law, after she mentioned how lucky we were that Campbell could not talk during her rage, "OOOH, NO, NO! She was PERFECTLY clear! She did not need words!" (I have never seen a 9 month old tell her parents and surrounding medical staff to go eff themselves, but my sweetheart of a baby managed to do just that.)
3) Despite my almost immediate reaction to vomit, when someone else around me does so, I now know I am able to hold my baby forward - while she projectile vomits all over herself and her father, in order to prevent her from choking, as the anesthesia wears off. Warren may think he took one for the team that morning, but I really think I was the one who saved the day and conquered some inner vomiting demons - for if he were the one throwing up, I would have ran into the other room and hurled my guts up, while curled up in the fetal position (even if I heard him choking).
4) Somewhere - deep inside - I have the inner strength and willpower to bite my tongue, when the waitress at the restaurant we ate breakfast at following Cam's surgery said, "Aww! Poor thing! At least she will be able to speak *good* now." I, immediately, found myself covering Cam's ears. (I would hate for her to hear such poor grammar on her first day of clear hearing.)
5) I would HIGHLY recommend Dr. Albert Speach for all ENT needs! Name me one other practitioner who personally picks up the phone and calls his patient's mother on her cell phone, in order to check up on her and her baby post-op!? The surgery was two days ago, and I have been contacted three times. (ABSOLUTELY ASTOUNDED!)
6) I am able to fight back tears and vomiting, while I give an enema to a miserable, in pain, screaming and crying, constipated toddler - all by myself - and then allow her to shit (one of the foulest substances I have ever smelled) all over me and the bathtub, for a period of almost an hour. Warren may have come home to find a DISGUSTING bathroom - Riley Mac happy in the tub watching Doc McStuffins - while I sat slouched on the floor, leaning up against the corner of the bathroom wall and tub, with tear stains on my face - but damn it, I EFFING ROCKED AS A MOTHER LAST NIGHT!!
7) My body is able to withstand a 115 degrees F shower, while scrubbing myself with bleach and a wire brush (normally used to get out pesky concrete stains).
8) There are not many greater joys than that same post-constipated toddler curling up in bed with me (after we were both freshly bathed), physically pushing me over so we could "share your pillow together, Mommy," holding my hand, and telling me how much she loves me - and Doc McStuffins.
9) The cure for a two week insomnia flare is simply the shock and stress of finding out that your infant needs/undergoes an emergent surgery, your toddler becoming severely constipated/subsequently given an enema/shitting on you, and a good ten minute cry. Although Campbell is like a new baby (no more ear pain), Riley Mac is like a new toddler (no more rectal or abdominal pain), and Warren is like a new man (allowing himself to sleep in this morning) - I would guarantee that I slept better than anyone else in my house last night (including my lazy ass pets)!!
2) Sweet, cuddly, all smiles Campbell is nothing but a ROID RAGE baby, after coming off of anesthesia! She literally stood on Warren's lap, facing him, arms out to her side (as if on a cross), fists clinched together, and turned reddish purple as she screamed as loudly as she possibly could. We would have been alarmed, but it was so damn hysterical that we started cracking up. I am sure the nurses think we are horrible parents for saying, "BAHAHA! Come look at this! She is straight street roid raging right now! I think she is about to start throwing punches!!" As I told my sister-in-law, after she mentioned how lucky we were that Campbell could not talk during her rage, "OOOH, NO, NO! She was PERFECTLY clear! She did not need words!" (I have never seen a 9 month old tell her parents and surrounding medical staff to go eff themselves, but my sweetheart of a baby managed to do just that.)
3) Despite my almost immediate reaction to vomit, when someone else around me does so, I now know I am able to hold my baby forward - while she projectile vomits all over herself and her father, in order to prevent her from choking, as the anesthesia wears off. Warren may think he took one for the team that morning, but I really think I was the one who saved the day and conquered some inner vomiting demons - for if he were the one throwing up, I would have ran into the other room and hurled my guts up, while curled up in the fetal position (even if I heard him choking).
4) Somewhere - deep inside - I have the inner strength and willpower to bite my tongue, when the waitress at the restaurant we ate breakfast at following Cam's surgery said, "Aww! Poor thing! At least she will be able to speak *good* now." I, immediately, found myself covering Cam's ears. (I would hate for her to hear such poor grammar on her first day of clear hearing.)
5) I would HIGHLY recommend Dr. Albert Speach for all ENT needs! Name me one other practitioner who personally picks up the phone and calls his patient's mother on her cell phone, in order to check up on her and her baby post-op!? The surgery was two days ago, and I have been contacted three times. (ABSOLUTELY ASTOUNDED!)
6) I am able to fight back tears and vomiting, while I give an enema to a miserable, in pain, screaming and crying, constipated toddler - all by myself - and then allow her to shit (one of the foulest substances I have ever smelled) all over me and the bathtub, for a period of almost an hour. Warren may have come home to find a DISGUSTING bathroom - Riley Mac happy in the tub watching Doc McStuffins - while I sat slouched on the floor, leaning up against the corner of the bathroom wall and tub, with tear stains on my face - but damn it, I EFFING ROCKED AS A MOTHER LAST NIGHT!!
7) My body is able to withstand a 115 degrees F shower, while scrubbing myself with bleach and a wire brush (normally used to get out pesky concrete stains).
8) There are not many greater joys than that same post-constipated toddler curling up in bed with me (after we were both freshly bathed), physically pushing me over so we could "share your pillow together, Mommy," holding my hand, and telling me how much she loves me - and Doc McStuffins.
9) The cure for a two week insomnia flare is simply the shock and stress of finding out that your infant needs/undergoes an emergent surgery, your toddler becoming severely constipated/subsequently given an enema/shitting on you, and a good ten minute cry. Although Campbell is like a new baby (no more ear pain), Riley Mac is like a new toddler (no more rectal or abdominal pain), and Warren is like a new man (allowing himself to sleep in this morning) - I would guarantee that I slept better than anyone else in my house last night (including my lazy ass pets)!!
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