It’s a hard sell after a long day at pre-school to get little Kolby anywhere near the grocery store. I’m afraid to even suggest the appalling word –Pavilions, knowing it will bring on growls and whining.
All Kolby can think about is driving straight home, noshing on MACANONI, plowing through eight or nine books, taking a bath with her Dora shampoo and falling into mommy’s arms exhausted by 7:45pm.
My two-year-old loves routine.
But mommy had to pick up dinner for the family and the pain of a cranky toddler was a necessary evil.
In we trooped to the store and quickly made our purchases. Kolby commented on the balloons, the cards, and the Christmas decorations. She pointed out the green bananas, offered her critique of pepperoni vs. sausage pizza and spelled out the letters on every sign.
In the checkout line Kolby noticed the man behind her. She smiled at him and struck up a conversation. I felt a tug on my leg. “Mommy, who is he?” she whispered.
Overhearing her, the man replied, “My name is Garrett. What’s yours?”
Kolby stuck out her tiny hand. “I’m Lamby-pants, nice to meet you.”
I corrected her and giggled, “Her name is Kolby and sometimes Lamby-pants.”
Kolby’s smile vanished. “Mom, I am Lamby-pants! That’s what you call me,” she shrieked as only a small child can.
(It’s the scream from Hades every parents fears and it ALWAYS happens in the checkout line)
All commerce stops. All eyes turn to the parent to see how they will react. After three kids I know the routine. If I freak out, I can guarantee someone will recognize me as the pastor’s wife and make a thinly veiled comment. My only option is to ignore the pounding in my head, offer a firm but calm response and to flee from the scene ASAP.
“Mr. Garrett my name is Lamby-pants,” she spitted out, glaring at me with all the hostility she could muster.
Mr. Garrett nodded at my small child who morphed into Carrie, afraid her head would spin around and spew out green vomit if he disagreed.
I raised my eyebrows, shook my scarlet cheeks, and paid for my frozen pizza and wings. “Ok Lamby-pants, let’s say goodbye and get the hell out of here,” I muttered under my breath, trying not to look at anyone.
I tried to knock off the big L on my head as I ran out the door, but it refused to budge.
Note to self * After 5:30pm, Dominoes is always WORTH the cost of delivery*
What’s your most embarrassing moment as a parent?
