Good Morning Walmart

I had to go to Walmart this morning. I had to go early because I wanted to get my Martha Stewart supplies to craft myself another glorious Mother's Day. Read my post below for more on that.

We arrived around 8am. I hadn't brushed my teeth or Reilly's hair, but we were there early and I planned on whizzing through the store like a bee in a flower bed and being back at the ranch before 10am. That was the plan. And ya know what they say about plans... the best laid plans of mice and housewives often go straight to hell.

I started off by going over to the t-shirt section. I needed to get some plain old white t-shirts. As I am looking at the shirts, the bathing suits which were sinisterly displayed right behind me, caught my eye. I really need a new suit since we have a beach date planned with some bikini clad skinny moms on Wednesday. I look like a milk cow next to them, but at least if I had a new suit I could pretend like I fit in.

I was magnetically pulled over to the bathing suits with my daughter following behind me. She was pushing a hand basket across the wood flooring, scraping and scratching it with each step she took.

"Reilly, please pick up the basket."

"No." She no longer even pretends to obey me.

I was looking through bathing suits in sizes that a few years ago I didn't even know existed. It was so depressing. I wasn't in the mood to play around with my toddler and her shopping basket. I leaned down to pick up the basket. In an attempt to get away from my reach, she rammed my calf with it.

"Ouch!!" I cried out in genuine pain.

"What's wrong, Mama?" Her favorite question.

"You hit me with that basket. Now give me that." I said and took the basket away.

"What's wrong, Mama?" She asked again. This question is only fun if asked a minimum of ten times preferably in a 30 second time span.

"I just told you what was wrong, Reilly. Please, let me look at these bathing suits in quiet."

"What's wrong, Mama?"

"Please, Reilly."

"What's wrong, Mama?" She continued on for about two minutes like this. At about the one minute mark I quit playing.

Finally I found a couple of suits to try on and marched us all over to the fitting room. As I was starting to undress, Reilly switched gears.

"Whatchya doing?" she asked.

"Trying on bathing suits." I informed her little inquisitive mind.

"Trying on bathing suits?" She was requesting confirmation. Maybe I hadn't been as clear as I thought.

"Uh huh."

"Whatchya doing, Mama?" This is her second favorite repetitive grilling. This one also continues and is more fun when asked a minimum of 10 times in a 30 second time span.

"I just told you." I wasn't going to fall into her toddler lair.

"Trying on bathing suits?" I didn't respond. I just fell silent and continued disrobing. "Whatchya doing? Whatchya doing, Mama?" She continued, undaunted by my silence until she looked and saw Roman holding my bra up to his mouth.

"Roman! Don't do that rrrrrriiiiight nooooow!!!!! That's disgusting!!!" She ripped it out of his grasp so quickly that she didn't even have a good grip on it herself. It tumbled onto the ground and slid across the freshly waxed, shiny tile floor of the changing room and landed, I assume, somewhere near the feet of the attendant who so kindly giggled and then handed it over the door to me.

With a new bathing suit in the basket that Reilly was now carrying despite the fact that it was almost half her height, we headed over to the craft aisle. I needed felt for the inside of the never-to-be-made cigar box purses. As I am looking around, Roman begins fussing. I tried to sooth him by rocking the stroller a bit, but no dice. I figured he was ready for a little morning nap so I flipped the back to the stroller to get him in a lying down position. Unfortunately, the lever slid too quickly and fell backwards with a loud thunk and a shrieking cry.

All the other women in the craft department looked at me like I was Mommy Dearest or something. I don't know what all those women were doing in the craft section at that hour in the morning anyway. I don't know where their kids were. But they were there, six of them, all shooting eye daggers in my direction. One even gasped and then said to him, "Oh, my poor baby!" Who's baby? Who the hell are you, Miss Nosy Busy Body.

I picked up crying baby boy with the bonked head and that's when the smell hit me. And every other nose in the joint. He had a buttload of stink bomb poop in his diaper.

The same Miss Nosy Busy Body peeks over and says, "No wonder he was crying. I'd cry too if I had to sit in that."

Huh.

Then my daughter chimed in with her little rap that while painfully cute in the privacy of our own home is just plain painful in the craft section of Walmart at 8:30 in the morning with Miss Nosy Busy Body looking on.

"Who got the poops? Say it! Roman got the poops. Roman got the poops. Roman got the poops."

"How cute," drips Nosy Bee. "Even your daughter is telling you to change his diaper."

I managed to squeak out a weak smile while positioning Roman so as to not leak the slimy, mustard yellow baby poop on my shirt. I looked over at Reilly and she was now bouncing with her rhyme.

"Who's got the poops? Say it!" then she pointed to Nosy Bee who responded with,

"Roman's got the poops."

"Roman's got the poops. Roman's got the poops." The two, my traitor daughter and the childless Nosy Busy Body, rapped a poop duet to stinky, screaming, bonked head, dirty diaper boy with the unusually populated craft section looking on.

I clutched Reilly's hand mid rap and marched us all to the bathroom.

After I had Roman all cleaned up, I decided that it might be a good idea for Reilly Kate and I to use the toilet as well. I put her on first amidst cries of "No! Don't have to. I can't do that right now!" and "I can't want to use the potty!! I can't go pee pee! I can't!"

There she sat as time ticked on and my bladder got fuller and fuller. It is horrible to have to stand there waiting for your toddler to go while listening to other people going and toilets flushing and water running. I swear one day I will wet my pants in that situation.

About five minutes into Reilly's toilet protest, a woman came in who had, from the sounds and smell of it, a bad case of diarrhea. The poor woman must have been really suffering. Public bathrooms echo horribly as it is, but this particular bathroom, located near the layaway counter in the dead middle of the store, has almost no privacy. You can hear all that goes on inside from the outside.

Diarrhea woman let out volley number one followed by a courtesy flush. The second volley hit the toilet as the smell of volley number one hit the air. And then it hit Reilly.

"Mama! Someone is pooping in here!!!" her voice smacked the walls and reverberated throughout the bathroom, echoing loud enough that the workers at the lay away counter heard it all, I'm sure.

"Yes, Roman did poop in here." I was hoping to redirect her attentions.

"No! Not Roman. Some lady. She's in here. She's pooping. It's stinking. Some lady got stinky poops."

I heard someone in the bathroom laugh. I was crimson with embarrassment, my own and Diarrhea woman's.

"Roman did have stinky poops." I'm not sure why I think I can pull this off. Even if I succeeded in redirecting her attention, she speaks so clearly that no one would ever misunderstand her.

"Not Ro-MAN! No! Some lady. Right there!" she pointed at the stall wall. "Some lady right there has stinky poops. I can hear 'em." She loudly sniffed the air. "I can smell 'em!! Them's stinky!!"

There was more laughing from the bathroom.

I whispered in her ear in as harsh a tone a whisper will allow, "Stop that. That isn't nice. Just stop talking about it. Please."

She whispered back, as loudly as a whisper will allow, "No. Those are stinky poops. I can smell 'em. It's stinky in here." Then back to her normal thunderous volume, "Spray, Mama. Spray in here!" She pointed to some air freshener that was sitting on the toilet paper dispenser. Unfortunately, it was empty.

There was nothing I could do at this point. I quickly got her off the toilet and we left the bathroom with her talking about the stinky poops the whole time. I, by the way, still had a full bladder having not yet used the toilet myself.

As we exit, there were some workers sitting on a bench next to the bathroom door laughing their heads off. Reilly looked at them and pointed from where we just came.

"It's stinky in there. Some lady's got some stinky poops in there. Them's stinky!"

I pulled her arm and dragged her off as she was saying, "Spray's empty. Mama's gonna buy some spray for that lady's stinky poops. In there!!"

I didn't turn around, but I heard howling laughter behind me. I just hoped that Diarrhea woman didn't work in Lay Away.

When we had almost completed our shopping trip, I told Reilly Kate that we could go through the toy department. Reilly is very serious about toy shopping. She went up to each toy that interested her and discussed it's merits.

"This one's blue." "It's got dinosaurs on it." "The dog is pretty."

Then she saw it. An African American baby doll with little pig tails and a purple back pack. I immediately told her to put it back. We have about 25 dolls at home and she plays with just one. I was not about to buy and bring home another orphaned baby doll. No way.

We were just about to get knee deep into toy negociations when I spotted Disney dress up dresses for $20. My girlfriends have repeatedly told me to get Reilly Kate some dress up, pretend clothes and accessories. "She'll play by herself for hours," they tell me. "They may be expensive, but worth every penny," they reassure me.

I gravitated toward the Cinderella blue one with thoughts of a mini break this afternoon. My vision is filled with Reilly in her room, dancing with an imaginary prince at a make believe ball while I miraculously craft the Mother's Day gifts together making the 4pm postal deadline.

With a far off, dream like look in my eyes, I ran my hand over the Snow White red and blue signature garment. I only had one free hand, as I held a now clean diapered but still fussy Roman. I balanced the Sleeping Beauty pink lacey sparkle gown on a pinky and the Cinderella shiny, pale blue one on my forefinger. I turned toward Reilly and with a voice filled with hope and anticipation, I asked,

"Which princess gown would you like? Cinderella or --" I didn't get the chance to finish.

"No. I can't want that. I want my baby." She cuddled the little baby doll with the purple backpack while glaring an evil glare at my hopeful handful of play garments.

I was losing my afternoon dream. My chest started to tighten and my eyes filled with tears. "No. No. No. You want one of these. You want one. You like being the princess. These are princess dresses. Here. We'll try one on you." I quickly undid the velcro fasteners with trembling fingers and brimming eyes.

"I can't want that. No! No! Aaaaahhhhh aaaaahhhhh...." She took off running at a break neck speed, racing against me through the toy aisles, dodging the books and stuffies strewn about.

I shifted Roman under my arm like a football, and chased after her with cheap taffeta and fake sequins flying along beside me.

"You love Cinderella!" I called out to her. "Just try it on!!"

"My baby!!! My baby!! I want my baby" she answered, clinging desperately to the African American pigtailed doll as she sprinted through the video department.

I caught up with her over by electronics, right in front of the big screen TV's. I held her tight between my knees since I had no free hands. She was fighting like a crazed pig before the slaughter. I had the Cinderella dress undone and ready to put over her bobbing head as she screeched. "Please, no!! I want my baby. No dress. No Cinderella. NO!!!!"

A man's low, baritone voice stopped me as I was about to pop the pretend gown over her head. "She don't want that."

I looked up and saw an old man standing in front of the biggest television in the store. He was leaning against a rack of movies, wearing 100 year old flip flops and a t-shirt that read, "Eddie Would Go."

"She should watch this movie." As he talked, I noticed that a couple of his front teeth were missing. It made him lisp a little. "It's like Hawaiian."

I stopped what I was doing and watched the screen. It was a movie with ships and Russell Crowe. I flipped through my memory banks and replied, "It's Master and Commander, isn't it?" which is nothing like Hawaii, I wanted to add, but didn't.

"Yeah. Just like Hawaii. She don't want that thing. You put it back. She want to watch this movie. It like Hawaii."

And that was that. Reilly released the baby doll and I in turn released Reilly from the clutches of my knees. I shoved the doll along with the dress up gowns in with the work out videos while Reilly sat in front of the huge television next to toothless, old Hawaiian dude.

"I told you. She don't want that. She like this movie." He said again before drifting off to look at digital cameras.

I lured Reilly Kate away from the movie with the promise of a lollipop and we were back home a few minutes before noon. So much for a quick, early morning Walmart trip, eh?