by Erin Evans
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“I yon’t ike it!” Cassie screamed at me, crossing her arms tightly across her body.
“I don’t care,” I smiled back calmly. “Your Tinkerbell shirt is dirty. You have to wear Cinderella today.” I waved the shirt in front of her face, “See? Cinderella! She’s so pretty, you love Cinderella!” (The parenting books say it’s important to remain calm and positive when arguing with a toddler.)
Cassie was just starting to be convinced when Megan piped in.
“She said she doesn’t like it, Mom.” Like I hadn’t understood. “She wants her Tinkerbell shirt.”
“Thank you so much, Megan. Now please be quiet.”
Cassidy was watching her sister so I took the opportunity to slip the shirt quickly over her head. “There! You look beautiful!”
She started wailing and threw herself on her bed sobbing. I shrugged. Oh well. She’d have to get over it sooner or later. Megan was shaking her head. “I told you she didn’t like that shirt.”
I glared at her. I was not going to be one of those moms who let their children wear the same clothes day after day because they wouldn’t wear anything else. I had principles. I had standards. I glanced over at the laundry bin and briefly thought about sniffing the Tinkerbell shirt to see how bad it smelled. No! We do not give in to terrorists!
“Come on girls. It’s time to go!” I put a lot of forced cheer in my voice in an attempt to jolt Cassie out of her crying.
“Where are we going?” asked Megan.
“Shopping!” I said with excitement.
I hate grocery shopping. If there is anything I hate more than grocery shopping, it’s grocery shopping with two little children. But, unfortunately, we have to eat.
Cassidy jumped up, tears forgotten, “opping!” she squealed and raced Megan to the back door.
Ten minutes later, after another diaper change, a hunt for a missing shoe, and a quick check through the pantry to make sure I hadn’t left anything off the list, we were ready to get buckled in the car. Car seat manufacturers like to make sure that only three-armed mutants can easily buckle a child into their seats. I’m sure it’s for safety purposes, but sometimes I miss the days from my childhood when we would lie on the floor of the van and color while mom drove. Now we strap kids down like they’re going to the moon and then turn on the car DVD player so their minds can turn to mush on the way.
Mark still hasn’t figured out why I don’t go out and do a whole lot of stuff during the week. Anytime I say that I’m getting cabin fever his response is, “Why don’t you go out and do something?” He doesn’t realize that just getting the kids in the car, out of the car, into a shopping cart, out of a shopping cart, back in the car, and then out of the car again at home is a hassle. Forget all the shopping drama and unloading and putting away the groceries!
Finally we were all safely strapped down to the car and ready to go. There was the constant argument of what to listen to in the car. On most days I am the most accommodating of mothers and let them listen to Junior Asparagus sing toddler songs to their little hearts’ content. But other days if I hear Junior mangle another melody in his high pitched fake child voice I will scream. On those days I turn to the country station and sing along.
“Ooo-ee/shudma outh/slap my grandma!” Megan sang loudly from the back, before stopping to ask, “What’s ‘badonkadonk’ mean? And why should I slap Granny?”
I quickly hit the volume. “It’s just a song, honey. That’s not what it really means.”
“But why did the man say it then?”
“Just because, baby. Here! Let’s listen to Junior!” They always win in the end.
We pulled into the Super Walmart parking lot while Junior was still loop-de-looing on a Saturday night. “Opping!” Cassie yelled.
“Yes, we’re at the shopping place. Now what are the two rules, Megan?”
She had to think, “No touching and no biting.”
Not quite what I had in mind, but good rules. “Close honey, No touching anything in the store and no wandering off. Stay close to Mommy the whole time, ok?”
“Can we watch a movie in the car on the way home?”
Sure, why not. Bribery works at least some of the time. “If you are very, very good.”
The next forty-five minutes were horrific. Everyone in the store knows my children’s names by the time we are done. “Don’t touch that, Cassie. Come back here, Megan. Leave that alone, Megan. No, Cassie, put that down. Megan! Cassie! Come back here right now! Get off the floor, Cassie, it’s dirty. Megan, stop kicking your sister.”
On a bad day, if the actual shopping time was unpleasant, the checkout line is nothing short of pure torture. Once you have your groceries on the conveyer belt, you are trapped until the process is done. Whatever lane you pick is the slowest and the people in front of and behind you give you disapproving looks as if to say, “My children would never behave that way in public! Why doesn’t that woman do something!”
By the time we got home, and I unloaded the car and put the groceries away, I was exhausted. Then it was time for lunch and naps. When I was a kid I never understood why my mom lay down for a nap every day. After all, naps are for babies right? Big people get to stay up and party. Ha. Naps are an integral part of staying sane.
Of course Megan and Cassidy never go quietly into that good night or good naptime. You would think I was starting a new form of torture every day. For some reason they never remember that they had to take a nap the day before and the day before that, and the day before that and so forth.
Lucky for me, no sooner had I drifted off to sleep than the doorbell rang. Now, I have this lovely little sign, hanging in the window by the front door that says ‘Please Do NOT Ring Doorbell. Baby Sleeping,’ but apparently ninety percent of Americans really are illiterate. Stumbling towards the door I heard Megan and Cassidy waking up in their room. Argh. We had only slept for forty-five minutes which was at least an hour short of my goal.
When I saw who was peering through my front window I wanted to turn around and go back to bed.
It was Satan.
Okay, so it wasn’t the Lord of Darkness, but I swear she does sub work for him when he’s out on vacation.
It was my mother-in-law.