Losing It

I have never considered myself a frenzied mom until I had my fourth child. Upon my last trip to the sporting goods store it occurred to me that I need to have the words, “Frenzied Mom” hot stamped across my forehead as a warning for those around me. For the first six minutes in the store I really had a handle on both my little guys. Strolling through the isles trying on catcher’s gear and batting helmets was acceptable as long as I followed them, plucking up goods dropped along the way and returning them to them to their proper compartment.

If I had no agenda and could sit for hours while the two of them annihilated the baseball section all would have been great, but I had the audacity to think that I could complete a transaction which involved a return and purchase while my children ran amuck. My attention was taken away from my boys when the store manager, whom I’ve known for several years, approached me and began to engage in conversation. As we talked about our families, my youngest kept disappearing and reappearing from underneath the rounder of sweat suits and my other child, like a broken record, pointed at some replica major league baseball home plates and repeated, “Mom, we need to get that, Mom, we need to get that, Mom, we need to get that.” I ignored both of them.

I continued in conversation while the cashier asked me questions and the baby shot out from the rounder and grabbed a plastic bag that was lying on the counter. As he stood directly behind me and out of my view, the manager opened his eyes wide and said, “That can’t be good.” Slowly I turned my head and discovered that my son had placed the plastic bag over his head and was spinning around laughing. The fact that no one hauled me away in handcuffs is beyond me. I managed a quick good bye, grabbed my goods and hurried the reluctant two out of the store, chasing them as they dashed around ping pong tables and display racks.

As we moved toward the car I could sense their resentment for leaving. I managed my unrelenting toddler into the car seat as he kicked with both feet, arching his back in anger. They both screamed most of the two mile drive home and I checked the scoreboard. I lost. At this observation I managed a quick mental note; “Never try to go anywhere to get anything done, with children and plastic bags.”

Comments

Sarah Markley said…
I agree with the plastic bag thing - too funny! No one who has kids thinks you are strange.

By the way, thank you for all of you encouragment/pushing =).