musings of Mother Hood

New(est) Obsession

So we have these neighbors.

They're such nice neighbors. They probably aren't aware that since the weather has been nice recently and we can play outside some when we get home from school, I have been hefting my kid up on my shoulders and allowing him to peek over their fence and into their yard.

But they're such nice neighbors that they probably wouldn't mind.

They probably also aren't aware that their backyard happens to contain the single most fantabulous thing EVER - in this toddler's humble little opinion.

Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Desperate pointing. Near hyperventilation. Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Puppy dogs! Mama do you SEE the puppy dogs!?! More desperate pointing. 

But they're such nice neighbors so they probably wouldn't mind. Right?

WARNING: Toddler in Swing Looks Older Than Hardly Seems Possible

That there is my not-even-two year old. Yeah that one. The one swinging on the big kid swings all by himself even after his Mama tried to convince his Paw he was "definitely too little to be swinging on the big kid swings all by himself". The one that laughs in the face of danger. And is WAY too cool for the more age appropriate jungle gyms on the other side of the park.

 

The one that is convinced he has the ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound. The same one that believes any slide worth sliding is worth sliding head first. The one who, incidentally, received a face full of dirt and mulch about a half second after this photo was taken:

But brushed himself off, got an encouraging fist bump from his Paw, and was ready to get back on the horse.

The same one that still cannot be bothered with boring tasks like sitting still long enough for his Mama to get a decent picture of the front of his jug.

  

 

 

 

Yep, that's my munchkin. The one that has already learned to bribe his Mama with kisses.

 

Cute AND smart.

 

 

The Bait and Switch

I know better than to go to Walmart on Saturday afternoons. Really I do. But darn if it isn't the most convenient time of the week to go grocery shopping. And when I go, and circle the lot 27 times just for a chance at a parking spot a quarter mile away from the door, and dodge traffic on my way into the store, I sometimes fantasize about my grocery shopping routine of years past.

In college, I would go to Walmart after work, which sometimes meant after midnight. And hoo boy, I'm here to tell you - THAT'S a convenient time to go to Walmart. I had my pick of front row parking spaces, never had to play chicken with other shopping carts in the cereal aisle, and rarely had to stand in line to check out. No "patiently" waiting while the lady down the aisle from me (whose cart is casually positioned diagonally, carelessly blocking BOTH lanes of shoppers) meticulously decides between brands of chicken broth. No carefully stepping around a Mom having one of "those" days wrangling a cart full of toddlers pulling sugary cereals off the shelves whilst shrieking to the heavens a barely distinguishable jumble of "not fair!" and "puleeeeeeeze".   

That was the life.

Nonetheless, I brave the store almost every Saturday afternoon while The Boy takes his nap. I take my list. (And I still forget things.) And I follow my usual route through the store - toiletries first, then back across to the grocery side, shoot up the side through the meat then back to the front going down each aisle, back and forth - small detour over to the Baby Department for diapers and butt paste - then back to the front to check out this week's People Magazine. Riveting, I know.

Every week is more or less the same. Sometimes I bump into someone I know and chat for a minute. Sometimes it's a holiday weekend and the aisles are double crowded. But nothing really bothers me about this process - grocery shopping. I have my routine down to a science and I stick to my list and my route.

I have carefully considered every last detail, including the checkout. Especially the checkout. You see, the checkout at Walmart is a sociological experiment, of sorts. The checker I choose is far more important to me than the length of the line at each register. Meaning, I will NOT get into the shortest line if it means I will have to deal with the wrong checker. Sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.

I'll admit, it took me a while to learn this lesson. I used to scan the front of the store for the winning combination of shortest line and emptiest carts and make a bee line for the prize. But no more. I've been burned too many times by the mirage - the shortest line. It's not all it's cracked up to be.

And I've learned to make The Checker Decision very carefully. I've learned to respect the fine line that exists between being old knowledgeable enough to understand that I don't want my hamburger meat to share a bag with my milk or dish soap yet not so old as to think my reusable shopping bags are newfangled nonsense. I've learned that teenage-ish boys do not appreciate the deliberate order in which I place my items on the belt - cold stuff together, baby stuff together, bathroom stuff together, etc. It's almost entirely subjective, and I cannot describe the perfect checker - but I know it when I see it.

This weekend I was had. I scanned the checker selection and made my choice. It was a fairly short line - bonus! I emptied my cart onto the belt - cold stuff first, blah blah. I waited patiently while both shoppers in front of me zipped right through the line. I grinned, satisfied that I had made a wise decision, almost irritated that I didn't have to wait in line long enough to catch up on my Words with Friends.

Then. It happened. As I leaned over to hand my shopping bags to the nice, capable, efficient checker, another checker appeared behind her, smacking her gum to punctuate her arrival. It was shift change. The Josie and the Pussycats stunt double was there to relieve MY checker. And my heart sank. Nooooo. My mind was racing. Can't you wait just five more little minutes? Just one more customer? Look - my stuff is already on the belt! I'll be quick! I promise! Please don't leave me with the girl with blue hair and black nails! I don't deserve this!  

And as it turned out, my discriminatory, preconceived prejudices were 100% deserved. (This time.) Before I was granted my receipt, I had the opportunity to explain to this girl that eggs really do need to be bagged horizontally, and that bread doesn't go in the bag before, well, anything -- and a manager visited our register TWICE to override some fool thing she'd entered into the machine. I could feel the eyes of the shoppers in line behind me boring into the side of my head, but I refused to look up and respond with a sheepishly apologetic shoulder shrug. No! I was tricked!

Maybe if I were to call Mr. Walmart and explain to him my theory on the checkout. Maybe if I proposed some sort of policy that would require a suitably comparable substitution for checkers - little old lady for little old lady, teeny-bopper for teeny-bopper. Maybe. Or maybe I persevere, and practice a little patience. Maybe. 

Tooting My Own Horn

I'm getting old. Well, my blog is anyway. 5 years, people. Happy Blogiversary to me! Yep. This week marks five whole years of this wonderful nonsense.

All of it's there, but I don't really recommend you go back and read any of those early posts as the literary merit is, well, arguable. And the pictures are blah. And the (at times) surly attitude leaves something to  be desired. But, you know, I wouldn't trade it. I wouldn't trade my "humble beginnings" on Xanga or my somewhat bitter bartender/waitress/college student persona or my random, random rambling.

I have loved this little blog. I have nurtured it and grown it from its original purpose as a landing place for all of my immature rantings and grainy cellphone pictures to a medium that I rely on to share my family - and myself - with all of you.

I've learned to write fewer things like this and more things like this. You've been with me through times like this and even this. And I dare say I've grown. In the last five years I've grown from The Single Gal to a Wife and Mama. And the more I read back through some of my (sometimes painfully embarrassing) old posts, the more I learn about myself, both who I am and who I want to be.

In honor of the occasion, I'm doing some refreshing of the ole blog. You might notice some design changes over the next few weeks. Don't be alarmed. Just doing a little makeover. And don't forget to check out things like the (gajillions of) photo albums along the right hand side over there and the links page for some of my personal favorite blogs.

Happy Blogiversary! Here's to the next 5 years!