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.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

When you move into a new home, you have many hopes for what your house will have.  For me, I hoped granite or Corian countertops, a main floor 1/2 bath, solid-core doors and neighbors with a great sense of humor.  What was that last one?  It's not because of my great joke-telling prowess, but because with my family comes a certain amount of chaos that could lead to a) a lot of laughs for the witnesses or b)my family being run out of the neighborhood.

Many of you remember my FB post about my daughters' Crayola 'huffing' habit.  Yes, Crayola made scented markers and my girls now associate their coloring books with the sweet smell of artificial pine, lemon, raspberries and lime, among others.  This 'addiction' has led to many an afternoon spent wandering around the Rizzuto homestead with a rainbow-colored mustache that would put the Lucky Charms leprechaun to shame.

Well, today, we took our habit a little too far when I found them peer-pressuring the neighbor girl in our game room.  I walked in to find her with a marker up each nostril and Chuckles and DQ shouting, "Heew, mell dis wun," and "Oooh, this is my very favorite!"

I venture a guess that we have made quite an impression on our neighborhood, the current situation not withstanding.  My toddler, who was potty-trained before age two (there, I got in a snarky, braggy parenting remark), is quite capable of taking off her pants, scaling the toilet and doing her business all by herself.  But, being a toddler, she has not mastered the all-important skill of putting the pants back on.  And, being a Rizzuto, she does like to be naked.  So, neighbors, landscapers and door-to-door solicitors have all had the unfortunate experience of witnessing my toddler streaking the neighborhood.  (Sad thing is, her brother is totally jealous and yes, he's six).

And, you have all heard about DQ's propensity toward the scream.  Well, she uses the scream without discretion and the volume is quite impressive (again, her father's side of the family).  Whether she is being pulled around by a canine or her brother has turned the hose on her or her sister is holding her watering can, she has managed to bring more than one neighbor to their window to make sure there isn't a murder being committed on the sidewalk.

And, then there's Sharkbait.  Where to begin.  Actually, I'm not going to begin because I only have a few minutes to write.  I'll just share with you that within the first three months of living here, one neighbor made the comment to me that "he's the most appropriately named kid I've ever met."  And we'll just leave it at that.

So, here we are.  We cleaned up the friend before she made her way home, but who knows what information is now being delivered to her parents.  I'm sure this is only the beginning of the excitement we'll be bringing to the neighborhood.

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