“We’re gonna need a wet clean-up in aisle two”, I heard over the PA system of my local grocery store. We froze in our tracks, tipped our hats and offered a curtsy towards the other shoppers in our vicinity. I’d love to tell you that this was the first and last time this ever happened, but I’d be a liar.
Most parents think I’m nuts when I tell them that taking the kids to the grocery store has become a moment of solace for me. It’s an excuse to get them out of the house. They aren’t running full-tilt through the living room, sniffing out vulnerabilities in my home defense system or playing frisbee in the kitchen with the blu-ray’s. Charlie wasn’t up to his elbow, noodling for catfish in the toilet and Ava wasn’t screaming because she got her arms twisted up in a princess costume.
They were confined to the stroller. A relaxing moment for me. I got to let my guard down and work through my grocery list at a comforting pace. I may have looked a little like Stevie Wonder when he really gets into a jam…my head, tilted back towards the heavens, swaying left and right as I took in some mild UV rays from the overhead fluorescents.
And like a car wreck, my sunshine daydream was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and a strong waft of Vlasic bread n’ butters.
With each glass of milk and apple slice they have, these kids arms and legs grow longer and stronger. Clearance specifications from the week before may not be the same this time around. In a perfect world, she would’ve raked her arm down the canned pasta aisle, so at least we could’ve grabbed a damage discount on some Spaghetti-O’s, but alas, my luck isn’t that good.
As the attendant walked towards us, I lobbed out a ‘sorry’ and did my best to accept responsibility for the mess, all while motioning my eyebrows towards the kids.
Blaming the kids always works… when you’re caught in a pickle.