Today, after work, Moosey and I had to go to Kroger to pick up a few things for dinner. The walk into Kroger was fine. Great, actually. We were making funny sounds and she was laughing hysterically. When we got to the cart corral, she opted to sit in the big part of the cart, which was fine since we only needed 3 things.
In the entrance to Kroger was a group of college girls collecting supplies for their mission trip to Ghana. They were really sweet and Myra enjoyed talking to them. Sounds great, right? Well, it was actually the beginning of the end.
I am a sucker for that stuff, so I decided to make a pit stop in the toiletry section to buy stuff for their mission trip. While I was looking for folic acid, Myra decided that she wanted to stand up. Being the unreasonable bitch that I am, I told her that we don't stand up in shopping carts. Being the hard headed toddler that she is, she told me, in no uncertain terms, that we actually do stand up in carts. I tried the reasonable parent bullshit of counting to 3 and telling her that her choices were to sit down or go in the front of the cart. Of course, she still refused, so into the front of the cart she went.
Holy hell. If you happened to be within a 5 mile radius of Kroger this afternoon, I am sure that you heard her screaming. It wasn't just a little fit. It was animalistic howling that echoed off of the high ceilings of the store.
The best part of this fit is that a woman in the egg section looked at her with a sympathetic stare and said, "aww, poor thing." Yes, she really did. Are you freakin' kidding me? Poor thing? I wanted to punch her in the face (the thought of sitting in a silent jail cell for the night was actually pretty damn tempting at the time), but I refrained because she looked to be about 8 months pregnant. Plus, her kids were running wild, so I couldn't expect her to understand.
Happier times at Kroger last winter.
By this time, Moosey had calmed down, so I offered her another chance in the back of the cart. To her credit, she didn't try to stand up again. The end. Isn't that a happy ending? Oh, wait, I forgot, the worst is yet to come.
Because we needed cheese, I made the fatal mistake of turning my head for 5 seconds to grab it from the shelf. When I turned back to the cart, Myra was staring at me, holding an empty carton of eggs.
And, no, Kroger didn't accidentally stock an empty container. The missing eggs were laying all around Myra's legs in the cart. Sigh.
Calmly (because she didn't do it on purpose), I picked up the eggs and put them back into the container. Luckily for me, Myra decided to help by picking up one of the 4 broken ones. She then proceeded to touch her face with the raw egg on her hand. And guess who couldn't wipe her hands? Oh yeah, that would be me because I used the last of my sanitizing wipes wiping goat drool off of her hands at the zoo on Friday. Oh well. At least they were organic.
On to the checkout line we went, where the checkout lady clearly thought I was nuts when I told her to bag the eggs separately because several were broken. She just looked at me, and then said, very slowly, because that is how you speak to people who give you a request like that, "umm...do you want new eggs?"
Me: "no, thank you."
Checkout lady: "so, to be clear, you want the eggs that are broken?"
Me: "yes, that is fine. It is only 4 eggs."
Checkout lady: "So, you chose a carton with 4 broken eggs? Did you want broken eggs?"
Me: "no, but I don't have time to go back there. I need to get home." Before I rip out my f'in hair.
Checkout lady: "okay, just checking, psycho." She didn't really say psycho, but I know she thought it.
As we walked outside, I breathed in the fresh air with a sigh of relief. That is, until Myra decided to try and fling herself out of my arms to walk. I managed to hold on to her, and the two bags, and put her down by the car, where she proceeded to throw herself on the ground.
I calmly picked her up and tried to put her in her car seat. Yes, I tried. Unsuccessfully. She was screaming, arching her back, kicking her legs, and stiffening her body. I literally could not get her in the car. She managed to kick off her car seat cover, spill her milk all over the car floor, and rip my Croakies off of my sunglasses, but I could not get her stubborn little butt in the car. I tried everything: nice Mom, mean mom, sad mom, crazy mom, but nothing worked. Finally, about 5 minutes later, I managed to hold her down and get the buckles around her.
I wish that there was a happy ending to this story, but there is not. I still have a hard-headed toddler and we still have to eat, which means that this story, or something similar, will happen again. Probably tomorrow. Honestly, the only ending that I really see happening is that I start getting loaded before going to the store. Day drinking is a slippery slope, I know, but I see no other way.
Let me know if you have any other suggestions for coping with toddlers in stores. Please.