By the time we got to the produce section the baby was screaming. Not an "I'm hungry" scream. Not a "Diaper: Fully Loaded" scream. It was an "If I was older and screaming like this I'd be called a spoiled rotten brat even by parents who detest the use of the word brat" kind of scream. Detail to note, I start my shopping in the produce section.
I pulled out the cheerios which tamed the screeches for half a second at time. I pulled out his little ring toy and even attached it to the cart. He wouldn't even LOOK at it. So I just started moving quickly. I would give those "yes, he's unhappy (we'll pretend he's tired)" glances to fellow shoppers. Some returned their own looks of compassion and others returned looks of, well, I can't write such words.
We got to the yogurt drinks and Trinity was making her choices. A strange woman walked up and told me not to get the orange ones, which Trinity had in her hand. Apparently this lady drank one once, in 1987, and it made her throw up. I thought "Who are you? And who talks to a total stranger about wretching?" So, I picked up a second pack of orange ones and tossed 'em in the basket and whisked off down the next aisle at speeds that would impress Nascar.
Finally we got to the frozen food section and it was like the Promised Land, our last stop before checking out. Other than my impending migraine from the shrill screams I'd been enduring, the trip hadn't been all that bad. Then, it happened. Will, my own personal "guy"ser, spit up more juice than a baby could ever drink. It ran down him, my purse, some of the groceries, and splashed my sandal-clad feet as it hit the ground forming a huge puddle on the floor. I was looking for a hose or something because there was no way this could have all come from him.
I looked around for an employee to help me. (Yeah, that'll happen.) My eyes searched desperately for a roll of courtesy paper towels. I knew I had only one mini-tissue in my purse and Will's burprag was already soaked from the cheerios I'd been shoveling in him through out the store. I felt panic set in. Then I calmed down, thought rationally, and did what any good mother would do. I said, "Trini, step over that and walk this way ... really, really fast."
I started piling the groceries onto the conveyor, thinking it couldn't get any worse than that. When I picked up the sour cream and there was white chunky stuff on it I got nervous. I was about to say I didn't want that carton when I noticed other items had white chunky stuff on them. Items that were not touching the sour cream. Yep. My little angel had turned around and spit up on some of the groceries. I was mortified.
We got out of the store without further incident and as the frozen section looked like the Promised Land, my garage might as well have been the PEARLY GATES. I got both kids and four bags of groceries out of the van and headed for the door. I was fumbling for the key when Trini's contribution to the trip that wouldn't quit ocurred. She dropped her opened bottle of milk and it began pouring out on the garage floor.
She picked it up but that didn't stop the spill from rolling toward me and a piece of my great grandmothers' furniture that my husband is working on in the garage. All that could stop it that I could see, and reach, was some newspaper nearby. As I reached for the stack of paper, Trinity's bottle tilted again, toward her this time, drenching her in a wave of white and escalating the flow headed at me to great speeds.
As I got the newspaper down just in time I thought I'd burst into tears. Or at the very least scream at a child or two. But I didn't do it so I know He's still working on me. I started laughing so hard. I thought, no one would even believe this story if I ever have the time to tell it or write it down. You'll have to let me know. And if you think this blog is long, remember it is a true life, real time account of my LAST trip to the grocery store with both of my kids. - Lesa
"God made man at the end of the week when He was tired." - Author Unknown