In the throws of starting a farm, we made a couple of "cuts". #1. Was lawn service. We have livestock, it's a no brainer. #2, Cable TV. Because who's got time? #3 Gym membership. Once again, who's got time? To be honest, I DO have time, however, I prefer old-schooling it and running, biking or WHATEVER it is, doing SO outdoors. Hey, don't get me wrong, while looking directly into the eyes of the sweaty 75 year old man virtually on his death bed, yet attempting to do the exact same thing that you are doing is extremely empowering (who EVER decided that ANY sports equipment should face one another hates themselves and life in general) It's just not for me. The repetitive droning of the
Anyway, bringing this full circle and back to those horrid (for Florida) temperatures. I just, could not in good conscience take my son on a 5 mile run-trek into the beach head-wind no matter how much "warmth" I strapped to his little body. I had to surrender. I had to, for his safety (and MY sanity) head back to the gym.
My son, due to his no fear personality (no, seriously, this kid has NO FEAR almost to the point of stupid) is sort of a "celebrity" there. So, walking through the doors after it's been a while is kinda magical. We were warmly welcomed back as I ushered him to his most FAVORITE place ever. The "playroom". The thing about the playroom is, that for him it's not the toys that hold his interest. It's the amazing ladies who run it. Ms. Twinkle and Ms. Shannelle. (stop trying to auto correct me) They LOVE him and in turn, he adores them.
It was like a talk-show-host approved family reunion today. Big ole bear hugs all around and perhaps a few unspoken tears shed, it was nice to be "home". Of course the, "where have you been's", followed by the "WAIT what's?" were exchanged. And, after all stories became "up to date", and my repetetive 5 miler was completed, before even finishing saying our goodbyes, a certain "little" someone had found something "shinier" and was off and running. They seemed concerned, as well they should be, it's what we pay for... however, I was less enthused. As his mother, for... ALL HIS LIFE, I knew exactly where he was heading. You see, there's this popsicle freezer near the front door, it's a sure thing every time. And there he was, already having picked out and now attempting to open a strawberry popsicle. I was once again suckered into the bribe and let him have it. We had errands to run since we were in town anyway, so if it helped that pill go down just a little smoother, so be it.
First stop, Walmart. Now usually my son either leaves what's left of the sticky slobbery mess- on- a- stick in his cup holder OR he asks, "mommy could you hold this?" which really translates into throw it away for me. However, this time he actually announced that the "ice stick" would be accompanying him into the store. I was a little surprised, but also just thankful that I wasn't going to have to "hold it". About 2 minutes into our excursion, he lost interest and resorted to that old ploy. I declined and said that if he wanted it anymore at all, then he would just have to hold onto it himself and finish it. To which he agreed to my amazement. And only seconds later handed me the popsicle-less stick.
All was right with the world... until my son burped. Now don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with burping especially if you're polite about it and say excuse me, which he did. It wasn't his manners that raised the red flag. It was the watery-over full sound that made me regret not taking it away when I had the chance. He seemed ok afterwards so we proceeded further and further into the maze of the chaotic discount forrest that is Walmart.
I was perusing the canning jars when I heard it. "Mommy, I feel like I have to throw up." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I knew it! I should have listened to that motherly gut-wrenching instinct when the "watery burp" had erupted which screamed at me to get within a 3 foot radius of the nearest bathroom ASAP. However, the sinister evil selfish twin of that instinct won the battle because canning jars just so happened to be on the way. I prodded at him a little, trying to make him (and myself) believe that he didn't really need to throw up, but those efforts were immediately thwarted by the sudden and all too familiar dry heave reaction he countered with.
I quickly glanced at my surroundings, for something, anything with which to catch the inevitable looming spewage. Canning jars in a sealed box were a no-go, however darting my eyes to the left, it just so happened that the canning supply aisle was parallel to the trash bin aisle! I grabbed the first one without a lid that I saw, no matter how oversized and bright cherry obvious red it was, and just in time too. Out it came. In all its liquidy strawberry smelling glory. And I caught every last drop in the ginormous red bin.
He exclaimed that he felt "much better!" So, like a good mother on a mission would, we paraded the trash can through the store grabbing the last item on our list on the way to the front and the checkout counter. I then regaled the less than amused cashier of the woeful tale assuring her that I the heroine, had thoughtfully grabbed this massive red bin and struggled to not let so much as a single drop touch their precious floor ,while she shriveled back in recoil as if it were nuclear waste sure to kill us all and called for "maintenance". Not even so much as a half hearted thank you? C'mon!
When maintenance finally arrived, gloved up and ready, she was glancing around at the floor (obviously looking for a puddle or some sort of mess) to which I then quickly chimed in that I had caught all of the material needing to be "maintained" in this red plastic bin. She was thrilled! "Thank you so much for not getting it all over the floor!" she exclaimed. Finally! Vindication!
We strolled out of the store, heads held high, basking in the moment, that is until my son asked why it was that he couldn't have a doughnut....
No comments:
Post a Comment