I need therapy for my retail therapy

Grocery shopping has become a weekly chore. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. I used to love to grocery shop. Aisles and aisles of food. Recipes swirling through my head. Coupons neatly cut and sorted. Dewy fruits and vegetables enticing me in the produce section. Juicy thick steaks calling my name. Chocolate. Loaves of fresh baked bread screaming for butter which I would gladly add to my cart. Oh, and the cleaning supplies aisle. That was my favorite. I am a god awful housekeeper, but I have every single cleaning solution ever invented. In fact, I have three boxes of Swiffer pads and yet my floors haven't been mopped in well over a month. I used to spend a half hour dwelling amongst the cleaners each time I went to the store.

Not anymore, though. Now, I hate the grocery store. It is all about zipping in and out of lanes as quickly as my little feet can carry my big load. It is finding a place to nurse the baby and sitting next to a retired Drill sergeant none too keen on the advantages of breastfeeding. It's finding that happy medium between keeping the toddler happy with fruity snacks and lollipops and having her so sugared up she leaps out of the cart and rampages through the store shrieking, "Captain Crunch. Captain Crunch. Where are you, my Captain Crunch?" It's all about multi-tasking and I suck at multi-tasking. When I multi-task the dogs get oil changes, the minivan gets a flu shot, and the I drop the kids off at the groomers.

Hence, grocery shopping as become a weekend chore to be done with my husband. He can be a great help. When he is in the mood. Today he rocked. We picked up a few things here and there, all the while he entertained the toddler and cooed at the baby. We were in and out and ready to go home in a little over a half an hour.

Before our long car ride home, I wanted Reilly Kate to go potty. She was potty trained. But when the baby was born, she backslid severely. We are now back to the training. So off we go, Reilly Kate, Mama, and baby brother. We get in and I get Reilly on the toilet. As we are awaiting the poo poo she assures me is on its way out, she is rambling about the benefits of going poo poo on the potty. "I go to school. I get M&Ms. I get MONIES!!! Gimme monies, please. Monies, Mama...." On and on she rambles; when she'll stop, nobody knows.

As she announced the arrival of her poop, she began gesticulating excitedly and out of her hand flew a Lego piece that she had been holding onto all day. Wouldn't you know, that damn thing flew all the way over the wall and into the stall next to us. This is my luck. This is how things go for me.

Immediately, Reilly Kate begins asking about her toy's whereabouts. "What happened to my toy? Where is it?" I told her it was in the stall next to us and then she demanded, "Get it. Get it, please, Mama."

What exactly is the protocol on something like that? I mean, do you knock on the dividing wall and say, "Excuse me. Could you had me that toy that landed on the dirty floor behind the toilet you are sitting on? My two year old is in desperate need of it." Do you wait until the person is finished with the stall and then hop in and retrieve the toy? Or do you simply leave the toy there? This isn't the kind of thing that is addressed in Miss Manners column, although I think that things of this nature should be. It would make life a lot less stressful for the likes of me.

Since Reilly was getting really worked up about her toy, I decided to knock softly and ask politely about the toy. But the woman in the stall next to us was obviously doing some serious business in there and wasn't interested in through-the-wall conversation. I knocked, but heard nothing in return. I decided the best thing was to wait.

Reilly, however, didn't agree with my decision. After I got her off the toilet, she bent over and proceeded to duck under the stall to retrieve her toy herself. I had to drag her back and try to explain to her that we needed to wait. Two year olds just don't think privacy is of any importance when in the bathroom.

Then as we are exiting our stall, a woman who was waiting to use the toilet, steps forward and Reilly Kate storms up to her and in a very accusatory tone of voice asks, "Where is my toy? Where is it? Where is my toy, lady?" The woman, fortunately, thinks Reilly is a doll and doesn't take offense. Really, who can resist a curly haired, red head with pink bows and a flowered dress accusing you of stealing a treasured blue Lego?

I tried to explain to Reilly that this was the wrong lady, that the toy was still in the stall, and that we had to wait. She wasn't having any of it. "Get my toy, please." The woman laughed and went into our stall, closing the door.

"No, no. The toy is in here, Reilly." And I pointed. Then, as I tried to get Reilly to come wash her hands, she began knocking on the door. "Where's my toy? Where's my toy?" Knock, knock, knock. And with that, out of her other hand flew the teddy bear she had also been dragging around all day. The bear did a nose dive right into the sink, bounced and landed in the trash bin.

Now, I am digging in piles of damp, used paper towels, searching for her bear to the whine of Reilly Kate chanting, "Where's my bear? Where's my toy? Get it. Where's my bear? Mama gets it. Where's my toy? Lady has my toy." Over and over and over.

Then the door opened and out came a little old Japanese lady. Reilly went running up to her and again demanded, "Where's my toy?" The lady looked at her, smiled and patted her on the head, saying, "How are you? I am fine." Reilly repeated her question, "Where's my toy?" To which the little old Japanese lady repeated hers, "How are you? I am fine." She apparently spoke no English.

As these two were engaged in what one would think to be riveting dialogue, I went crawling into the stall to retrieve the toy. After giving the Lego a good lick and a promise washing, I grabbed Reilly with one hand and the stroller with the other and out of the bathroom we went. Of course, Reilly was now saying, "I got my toy. Mama got my toy for me. I got toy." And the little old Japanese lady was right behind us saying, "How are you? I am fine."

Ya know the best part of that trip the bathroom? The baby didn't cry once. Reilly went poo poo and the baby didn't cry. Success.

The shopping trip, however, wasn't such a success. I forgot to get carpet cleaner. Actually, I didn't even walk down the cleaning supplies aisle. To hell with it. I probably wouldn't have cleaned my carpet anyway.