Shopping with Goats

Well, I had an interesting experience last week.  It was one of those hazy summer days where we didn't really have anything that had to be done.  Our city is starting school on August 9th (sniff) so I decided it was as good a day as any to start back-to-school shopping.  So, pajamas are stripped off, clothes put on, teeth brushed (2 out of 3 anyway), shoes located and children pushed out the door while I grab my purse, refresh my coffee and furiously look for my sunglasses (which were sitting on top of my head).

Then, I close the door behind me, chase Meatball out of the front seat, where she's been happily pushing buttons, referee annother argument over whose turn it is to sit in the captain's chair and get the car started.  I'm a little sweaty at this point, which, had I been more caffeinated, might have served as a warning but, since I didn't have my brain fully fed, I couldn't hear it humming, "If you're sweating before you leave the house, you may want to rethink this impromptu outing!" 

We're off.  We're going to the store with a long shopping list but there are only three things on that list that we must have: milk, eggs and salsa.  So, along with school supplies, we should be able to get those three things.  Well, about halfway through the store, I feel that ball of anxiety growing at the base of my ribcage that always arises when my three little 'goats' go to the store.  I hear myself saying with growing intensity, "Please, wait for me.  Come back here, please.  Put that back, please.  No, it says large pink erasers that cost $0.50 a piece, not a $5.00 eraser covered in plastic.  Meatball, you MAY NOT play with scissors and by the way, why on earth are scissors being merchandised on the lower shelves!  Did you get the yellow folders?  No, it says yellow, I know your favorite color is blue, but the sheet says yellow.  Excuse me, Mam, that's my child throwing things in your cart by mistake.  Where is Meatball? All right, good-bye, I'm leaving you."

Finally, I herd my goats to the cash register.  We pay for new backpacks, half of the items on the first grade supply list, Pokemon cards, napkins, bandages and toothbrushes with various licensed characters, a jar of salsa and two lollipops with rubber fans on top.    (The two lollipops were scanned and then thrown in the trash can.  Why, you ask?  Well, when you find one on the shelf that has been previously opened and you start sucking on it while I'm not looking, you a) have to pay for it out of your own allowance, b) have to throw it in the trash right away and c)wait it out to see if you develop some sort of disgusting lip fungus.  And, when little sister sees you enjoying one and automatically pulls one open, you have to pay for that one too and throw it away while she's distracted by some other shiny object.) 

By this time, I'm frazzled and I'm sweating, I still don't have milk or eggs and I just need to get the heck home.  However, I'm starving and I figure I'll run through the drive-thru and grab something greasy to make myself feel better.  And, on the way to the drive-thru, I'll swing through the carwash because it's been months since I've had my mom-mobile cleaned. 

The reason it's been months is that Meatball is scared of the carwash.  But, it's been awhile so I figure maybe she's outgrown it.   Nope, the moment I pull into the line, the whimpering begins and by the time I'm paying for it, there's screaming, convulsing and enormous tears.  So, I reach around and unbuckle her carseat, thinking she'll sit on my lap as she's done in the past.  Nope, she races to the back to be comforted by Sharkbait (which is overall more cute than hurtful).   So, I take 2 minutes to chill.

As we're heading into the dryer, she decides she should sit in my lap and as I turn around to pick her up, I notice that my seat is wet.  And at that moment, everything slowed down.  It was as if, I couldn't quite process what was happening.  Wait a minute?...water from the roof?...I slid open the cover and as the rush of water hit my face, I finally grasp what has happened..."I chased Meatball out of the front seat where she had been happily punching buttons..."  With my mouth hanging open and beads of moisture soaking my clothes, I stare wide-eyed at this tiny creature cowering in my lap who, once again has brought me to my knees.  She, in turn, looks up at me and say, "Mommy, you got me all wet."

Catching up

So, it's been awhile and I thought I would play catch up of on some of the hi-jinx taking place over the last month or so.  Here's my top five:

Just like her Mama

5. Chuckles has a new game she plays with her Pop Pop.  She stands up, puts her hands on her hips and shouts, "I've HAD IT!"  Then, she stomps into another room and slams the door.  Though many others enjoy watching her play this game, I actually do not.  Mostly, because I know where she learned it and there's nothing quite like having your two-year-old put on a performance of your greatest moments.  (See  also "To Mimitate").

Off to kindergarten

4.  The last month of school Sharkbait would wake up at 5:30am, get dressed and come into my room asking for breakfast.  Now, in order to make a 7:45am bus, he would have to get up at 7:15 at the latest.  So, you can imagine my reaction to a fully dressed six-year-old in my face at 5:30am.  By the last Tuesday of school, I'd had it (see also #5).  I marched him back to his room, tucked him in (still fully dressed) and managed to get him to go back to sleep (yeah!).  Then, at 7:15, I got him up (still fully dressed) marched him through toothbrushing, breakfast and handed him his backpack at 7:43.

Well, apparently the experience made an impression on him, as well.  That night, after finally getting everyone in bed and sleeping,  I went in to check on him and found him completely dressed for school in jeans, two t-shirts and socks.  He had decided that pajamas really aren't necessary at all and changing in the morning was just too inconvenient.  After much negotiating, we stalemated at "I-don't-care-if-you-sleep-in-your-clothes-you-will-change-in-the-morning."  This agreement is still in place.

3. As many of you know we traveled to Florida in May and I have to admit, my kids were ROCKSTARS on the plane!  I was so freakin proud (yes, that's what it takes to get my juices going these days)!  Of course, they were dialed into a movie for a lot of the flight, but whatever.  On the way back, we even decided they could have a 'real' coke (as in, caffeine and all) on one of the flights which they were pretty excited about because caffeine ranks right up there with full-sized candy bars on the list of banned substances around our house.  (You can all imagine why there isn't a lot of caffeine floating around our house, I mean, accept for mine, that is.)

Time at the beach!

So, the flight attendant comes around during the middle of the movie and my husband asks DQ what she wants.  Without taking her headset off, she answers, "WELL, I'LL HAVE A SPRITE BECAUSE I KNOW IT DOESN'T HAVE CAFFEINE AND I CAN'T HAVE ANY MORE CAFFEINE TODAY BECAUSE I HAD ONE ON THE LAST PLANE.  AND, I DEFINITELY CAN'T HAVE ANY ALCOHOL, RIGHT DADDY?"  With the headset on, you can imagine the volume level at which this conversation took place.  My poor husband looked at me across the aisle in shock and all I did was slouch and turn away, leaving him to explain to the flight attendant.  It went something like "our-children-do-not-partake-of-alcohol-but-we-have-taught-them-that-they-must-ask-us-before-taking-a-drink-from-our-cup-because-sometimes-we-do-I-mean-not-too-often-but-occasionally-so-they-have-to-ask-because-they-know-it's-not-for-kids-and-can-make-them-sick-and-Oh, hell, give me a vodka tonic and a Sprite for the little one."

2.  A couple of weeks ago, I spent about 20 minutes watching a group of five neighborhood boys (Sharkbait included) trying to light something on fire with a Razor scooter that throws sparks when you apply the brake.  They were running, hunched over, holding out a piece of grass or twig or something, behind the scooter.  The rider would apply the brake, throw the sparks and the runner would go face first into the rider's butt and the item would, of course, not catch on fire. Each boy was so sure he could accomplish what the others could not and I enjoyed the hilarity of watching seven-year-olds trying to make fire.  My question was, what would they do if it did catch on fire?!

1.  So, this weekend I was in charge of picking up 25 (five bunches of five) balloons for our neighborhood pool party.  I decided that this would be a cool time to take DQ out and between placing and picking up the balloon order, we could check out the new costume jewelry store at Clay Terrace.  We always prefer Dad's car over the mini-van (shocking, I know) so we hopped in, opened the sun roof and we were off.

We placed the order and headed down the street to the jewelry store, which was closed.  No big deal, we had lunch, window shopped and headed back to the party store.  I was beginning to wonder how the balloons would fit in the car, but, I figured we would manage.  Well, after 18 minutes and three separate strangers stopping to offer their assistance/commentary, I had 18 balloons (I had purchased three additional balloons, one for each of my kids) and one kindergartner in the backseat.    However, the two remaining bunches (ten balloons total) were now hopelessly tangled with the first group yet would not fit in the car.  Now, please note that it's 78 degrees and the car is black, with a kindergartner inside.  So, as ten balloons are blowing around in the breeze, I very carefully (and I'm sure quite comically) reach into the front to turn on the car and crank the air conditioning.

After another 7 minutes, (and two balloon pops), I disentangle the remaining balloons and cram them into the front passenger seat.  Sweating and quite annoyed, I crawl into the drivers seat and realize there is no freaking way I can back into traffic because I can't see anything but red, blue, yellow, green and orange latex.  I take some deep breaths and with the assistance of the five-year-old in the back, I manage to see through the yellow and orange ones enough to safely back onto the street.  Once we were on the road I take a minute to determine that I only have to make right turns to get home. THANK GOODNESS!   Not to mention my kid thought it was totally awesome!  (And, it sort of was.)

Chuckles was torn between her desire to have a balloon and
fear that she, too, might be eaten by the Balloon Car.

Monon Mayhem

So, since we've moved to Indiana, I've been purposely avoiding the Monon.  The Monon Trail is 16.7 miles and stretches from 10th street in downtown Indianapolis to the north side of Carmel.  It's loaded with restaurants and art exhibits and people.

My kids spent their first years walking, wagoning, triking, biking, skipping, scooting and running the 35-plus miles of paved walking trails in Maple Grove, MN.  Our neighborhood had direct access to one of the larger trail systems, complete with a brand-new footbridge over CR-81 and directly into Elm Creek Park.

These trails are great for kids and full of fantastic views, scurrying wildlife and, of course, dog poop.  They rarely cross a major road and even on weekends, they aren't very crowded. (Which is handy when your kid unexpectedly drops his pants and urinates on nature.)

The Monon trail 'culture' is radically different than the trail culture of Maple Grove.  The Monon is serious business.  It's busy at nearly all hours of the day and the runners, bikers and walkers who use it are there with a purpose.  It also crosses several major roads.  So, you can imagine the concerns I have had for my offspring who are used to treating trails like a golden path on which chaos is king.

But, last week, I decided to try it.  My friend, Raygan, lives right on the trail so I thought, what the hell, we're Hoosiers now and we should experience the Monon.  Which brings me to the other theme of this story: my less-than-stellar parenting decisions.  Raygan is the very proud owner of Charlie, a 3-year-old Springer Spaniel (he's actually a special sort of Springer who, funny enough, was born in Minnesota).

So, after much shuffling and coordinating and urinating (in advance this time), we hit the Trail.  The kids couldn't wait to walk Charlie and DQ (the Drama Queen) was up first.  Because my kids lack dog-walking experience, I suggested to Raygan that we tie the leash around her waist in case she dropped the leash. WHAT?!  Yes, I actually suggested that for Charlie's safety, we should tie a 50-pound hyperactive pooch to my 38-pound five-year-old.   From my perspective, what happened next took place in slow motion.  DQ's waist was pulled forward and her long skinny legs tried desperately to catch up but to no avail.  Within a moment she was facedown on the pavement being drug forward by a most-excited dog.  She went maybe five yards but as I felt the guilt set in, it looked more like 50.

In the moment after that, a funny thing happened on the Monon Trail:  there was silence. There were no birds singing, no rhythmic tennis shoes hitting the pavement and even my oldest, who was already 1/2-mile ahead, paused to take notice.  They were waiting, as was I.  They were waiting for the wail that only this particular five-year-old can produce.  And, she delivered.  Blood began running out of the hole in her new leggings and that's all it took.  The screaming could be heard for what I imagine to be miles.  So, there we are, two adults trying to catch a dog, call a six-year-old back from his 1/2-mile lead and wrangle two toddlers back the way we came all while I was carrying a five-year-old who is screaming repeatedly, "WHY?  WHY OH WHY did you tie me to the dog!!!!!????" (A valid question for which I did not have the answer.)  Needless to say, we left the Monon.

I am still paying for this particular bad parenting decision as she keeps banging open the scab and reliving the 'pain' with every bath.  The screaming begins as the water starts to run and I scurry around the house closing windows.  We are new to this neighborhood after all.  We avoided any reports to CPS while I was on the Monon but you can't get in your car and drive away as fast as possible when you're in your house and half your offspring are naked (that's a different division of CPS).  It's not the first time that punishment has been spread out over weeks, maybe years and I know it won't be the last.


AFTERWARD: I spoke with Raygan today and found out that Charlie and another of her friend's had a similar incident this weekend.  The latest victim was an adult who sacrificed her wrist and knee in order to shield her camera.  After our incident, we hit a park, where Charlie was let off his leash and had no less than six kids throwing sticks for him to chase.  We didn't realize that by moving our party to a more manageable location, we were in fact, creating a canine monster.  So, if you see someone being pulled along the Monon by a crazed Springer, throw a stick toward Raygan and be sure to say 'hi' to Charlie!