There's Gotta be an Easier Way to get Food in our House -- Part II
(After being interrupted by naps that ended prematurely, I was unable to finish the last entry. Then there was our 10th anniversary celebration, the 4th of July, and finally a trip to the ER for Mike who is suffering from a scratched cornea, the work of his delightfully curious, but dangerously long nailed son. I am now, I believe, ready to finish this story).
By the time we arrived at the commissary, it was 11 o'clock and raining. Reilly Kate had to go potty and Roman needed a diaper change. I pulled out the car potty and noticed that we only had a few bags for it left. Instead of wasting them, I figured I'd just quickly change Roman, throw them all in the stroller, and hustle it on into the shopping center's bathroom. And that's what I did.
Reilly Kate's new fascination is storm clouds. I'm sure it is the work of that diabolical Dora and her possessed talking monkey Boots. So while I'm weaving us in and out of traffic, jay walking in the rain with a stroller, running with my rather large breasts slapping up against my chin, I'm hearing, "Are these storm clouds? Yeah, these are storm clouds. Them's spitting on me." Lather, rinse, repeat.
Of course, the shopping center's bathroom is closed for cleaning (why would I expect anything else?) so I had to run into the BX (Base Exchange) and use that bathroom. I had a very good reason I did not want to go into this particular store, but it was much closer than the commissary and you never know how much time a two year old bladder is going to give you. The problem is the placing of the book section. It is right when you walk in and stretches the length of the store all the way to the back near the bathrooms.
"Books! Mama! Books!! I want a Dora book! I need a honu book! Mama! Mama!"
And thus is was until after we had used the potty and I allowed her to select for purchase one, single book. After much deliberation she chose Beauty & the Beast. To pay for said book, we stood in a line that stretched so far back I wondered if they were giving away push up bras to fat housewives. The majority of time we spent in line was right next to the candy. Why, oh why, do they do this to us mothers? God have mercy on their capitalistic souls.
"Mama, I'm hungry. I need a lollipop. My tummy hurts. I need some food. I need some emineminems (M&Ms for those of you who don't know). My tummy hurts."
With the promise of lunch, we left the BX to find the food court. It was now 11:40. Yep. I had just blown forty minutes on one trip to the bathroom and a Beauty and the Beast book. Lunchtime was now upon us and I had to wrangle the masses for some Popeyes' chicken strips and a spot to feed my children in the cramped, hot and humid food court.
We had just sat down when Roman started to do his tired and cranky, hungry and hot whimper. So while Reilly Kate ate, I nursed Roman (have I ever told you how much those military servicemen just love to see a woman breastfeeding her child while they eat? Oh, the looks I got filled me with such fiery fuel it's what kept me running at peak efficiency for the rest of the day) and reviewed my shopping list. With all these diversions and time wasters, I wanted to make my trip to the actual commissary as efficient as possible, afterall.
By the time we entered the commissary, the time was 12:25pm. The rain had ceased and the sun was typically hot and bright. Roman was asleep in the stroller and Reilly was reading her new book. Despite the setbacks, I was in good spirits when I walked through the double doors of that grocery store. I grabbed a cart (I was going to have to push the stroller and pull the cart through the store since Roman was sleeping in the stroller) and thus began our the actual shopping part of our shopping trip.
During the course of our afternoon in the commissary, we made three trips to the potty (only two were successful), one nursing session, and stops at every single food sampling counter in the store. When I finally paid the cashier, I asked her what time it was: 2:45pm. The day was almost spent and I had accomplished nothing but grocery shopping. I guessed there would be no trip to the pool that day.
I was bemoaning this fact to a teenage couldn't-care-less bagger as we made our way out to the van. She was smiling politely but I could tell her mind was adrift on such weighty topics as Britney's upcoming nuptials and Vin Diesel's true ethnicity. It was only when we turned the corner to start down the aisle in which I parked the van, that I saw it. My van with the lights on and the hatch up.
"Oh my god! Oh my god!" was all I could manage.
My outburst focused the attention of my bagger who seemed almost delighted with the situation. I am sure the tragedy of a fat housewife and her miscreant offspring breaks up an otherwise humdrum existence.
"That's yours?" she almost giggled. "I saw that when I started this morning? You've been here the whole time? I saw it when I went in to work this morning and it was still like that when I went to lunch. It's been like that all day. How long you been here today?"
"You saw the hatch up and you didn't do anything? You couldn't close it?" In my shock and disbelief this was all I could muster. I feared any more than that leaving my mouth and this poor teenage bystander would be hit with a barrage of cursing the likes of which she had never heard nor from which would she fully recover.
"I... I thought that someone did that intentionally. I thought maybe they wanted..." she drifted off I assume with the realization of her stupidity.
I finished her sentence under my breath, "...they wanted to run out their battery and be stuck with $200 worth of groceries rotting in the sweltering heat whilst their hot, hungry, and shopping weary children whine and cry?"
"Uh... do you... I mean, is there anything... uhh... Can I call someone for you?" she sputtered while loading the bags into the van's open back.
I climbed into the driver's seat, inserted the ignition key and turned. For a split second it sounded like all was good and fine with the world. It almost turned over. But then the wipers started going and the radio started playing and the car wouldn't turn over. I guess I had left the wipers and radio on as well.
"Car's dead, Mama? Car's dead? Car's dead, Mama? Car's dead, Mama?" Poor little Reilly Kate had heard me muttering and was now repeating with worried look on her face much older than her years.
"Yes, baby. The car's dead. But it'll be fine. I can fix this."
I reached into my wallet to give the teenage girl a tip (here's a damn tip for ya: Next time you see a car with the hatch open, CLOSE IT!!!!) and saw my AAA card. I would just call AAA. I grabbed for my phone and started to dial when I realized after 9/11, security was so tight that there was no way I'd be able to get a tow truck on base. Scratch that.
I called Mike figuring he might be at work and his work is just a quick jaunt from where I was. He could driven over to us and jumped me (the van that is, get your mind out of the gutter) before the groceries all went to pot. Instead, I got his voicemail. Figuring he was in a meeting, I was starting to panic. I dialed his cell phone, just in case. He answered. He had gotten out of work early and was a couple blocks from home. Home which is over a half hour away from where I was now. And as if that weren't enough, he said that I didn't even have any jumper cables in the van. He'd taken them out.
With a deep, cleansing breath, I said, "Just get here when you can. I am going to take the kids and sit under a tree and I'll see you when you get here."
After hanging up, I peered around looking for a shade tree. Just as I was sbout to start over toward the grass, two young college aged boys (men?) came out of the store and yelled, "Do you need help?"
Now, before I say anything more, let me reiterate the fact that I am a feminist. I don't make any apologies for it. I do, with all my heart and soul, believe that men and women are equals. Women can and do take care of themselves. We always have. I know I can. But there are times when a man comes along to lend a hand that makes you really feel like a damsel in distress being saved by a prince.
This was one of those times.
I almost melted when I realized that these two men/boys were going to save my almost beyond repair day. Within minutes they had my van out of the spot, hooked up to their car, and jumped. They had it running. The air conditioner was going and my groceries saved.
"Thank you. Thank you so much," I gushed like a silly girl with a crush. "You literally saved me. Thank you. I didn't know what I was going to do. I had all these groceries... You saved me. Thank you."
"Fank you," Reilly Kate mimicked. "Fank you so much. You saved me." Like mother, like daughter. She even did the sigh and smile hair flip that I had perfected in college. It's so unflattering when your children mirror you.
I handed the guys all the money that was left in my wallet, seven bucks, and said, "Go buy yourselves some beers. I'd buy you each a beer, but" I motioned toward the children "I'm kinda busy right now."
They thanked me and went off into the sunset. My heroes. My princes. I was flying high. It felt good to be saved. Something about it literally made me feel young and cute again.
It wasn't until I got home that I realized I had baby spit up in my hair, milk leaking stains on my boobs, and ketchup on my shorts. I must have been quite the sight for those young pups. I bet I scared the hell out of them. They're probably right now recounting the experience.
"Dude, that fat old chick was totally making eyes at you."
"No way. She was so into you. She gave you the money. Man, she looked like my mom."
All said and done, the groceries were safe despite the long trip home, fighting rush hour traffic the whole way.
But I insist there must be an easier way of getting food in the house.
By the time we arrived at the commissary, it was 11 o'clock and raining. Reilly Kate had to go potty and Roman needed a diaper change. I pulled out the car potty and noticed that we only had a few bags for it left. Instead of wasting them, I figured I'd just quickly change Roman, throw them all in the stroller, and hustle it on into the shopping center's bathroom. And that's what I did.
Reilly Kate's new fascination is storm clouds. I'm sure it is the work of that diabolical Dora and her possessed talking monkey Boots. So while I'm weaving us in and out of traffic, jay walking in the rain with a stroller, running with my rather large breasts slapping up against my chin, I'm hearing, "Are these storm clouds? Yeah, these are storm clouds. Them's spitting on me." Lather, rinse, repeat.
Of course, the shopping center's bathroom is closed for cleaning (why would I expect anything else?) so I had to run into the BX (Base Exchange) and use that bathroom. I had a very good reason I did not want to go into this particular store, but it was much closer than the commissary and you never know how much time a two year old bladder is going to give you. The problem is the placing of the book section. It is right when you walk in and stretches the length of the store all the way to the back near the bathrooms.
"Books! Mama! Books!! I want a Dora book! I need a honu book! Mama! Mama!"
And thus is was until after we had used the potty and I allowed her to select for purchase one, single book. After much deliberation she chose Beauty & the Beast. To pay for said book, we stood in a line that stretched so far back I wondered if they were giving away push up bras to fat housewives. The majority of time we spent in line was right next to the candy. Why, oh why, do they do this to us mothers? God have mercy on their capitalistic souls.
"Mama, I'm hungry. I need a lollipop. My tummy hurts. I need some food. I need some emineminems (M&Ms for those of you who don't know). My tummy hurts."
With the promise of lunch, we left the BX to find the food court. It was now 11:40. Yep. I had just blown forty minutes on one trip to the bathroom and a Beauty and the Beast book. Lunchtime was now upon us and I had to wrangle the masses for some Popeyes' chicken strips and a spot to feed my children in the cramped, hot and humid food court.
We had just sat down when Roman started to do his tired and cranky, hungry and hot whimper. So while Reilly Kate ate, I nursed Roman (have I ever told you how much those military servicemen just love to see a woman breastfeeding her child while they eat? Oh, the looks I got filled me with such fiery fuel it's what kept me running at peak efficiency for the rest of the day) and reviewed my shopping list. With all these diversions and time wasters, I wanted to make my trip to the actual commissary as efficient as possible, afterall.
By the time we entered the commissary, the time was 12:25pm. The rain had ceased and the sun was typically hot and bright. Roman was asleep in the stroller and Reilly was reading her new book. Despite the setbacks, I was in good spirits when I walked through the double doors of that grocery store. I grabbed a cart (I was going to have to push the stroller and pull the cart through the store since Roman was sleeping in the stroller) and thus began our the actual shopping part of our shopping trip.
During the course of our afternoon in the commissary, we made three trips to the potty (only two were successful), one nursing session, and stops at every single food sampling counter in the store. When I finally paid the cashier, I asked her what time it was: 2:45pm. The day was almost spent and I had accomplished nothing but grocery shopping. I guessed there would be no trip to the pool that day.
I was bemoaning this fact to a teenage couldn't-care-less bagger as we made our way out to the van. She was smiling politely but I could tell her mind was adrift on such weighty topics as Britney's upcoming nuptials and Vin Diesel's true ethnicity. It was only when we turned the corner to start down the aisle in which I parked the van, that I saw it. My van with the lights on and the hatch up.
"Oh my god! Oh my god!" was all I could manage.
My outburst focused the attention of my bagger who seemed almost delighted with the situation. I am sure the tragedy of a fat housewife and her miscreant offspring breaks up an otherwise humdrum existence.
"That's yours?" she almost giggled. "I saw that when I started this morning? You've been here the whole time? I saw it when I went in to work this morning and it was still like that when I went to lunch. It's been like that all day. How long you been here today?"
"You saw the hatch up and you didn't do anything? You couldn't close it?" In my shock and disbelief this was all I could muster. I feared any more than that leaving my mouth and this poor teenage bystander would be hit with a barrage of cursing the likes of which she had never heard nor from which would she fully recover.
"I... I thought that someone did that intentionally. I thought maybe they wanted..." she drifted off I assume with the realization of her stupidity.
I finished her sentence under my breath, "...they wanted to run out their battery and be stuck with $200 worth of groceries rotting in the sweltering heat whilst their hot, hungry, and shopping weary children whine and cry?"
"Uh... do you... I mean, is there anything... uhh... Can I call someone for you?" she sputtered while loading the bags into the van's open back.
I climbed into the driver's seat, inserted the ignition key and turned. For a split second it sounded like all was good and fine with the world. It almost turned over. But then the wipers started going and the radio started playing and the car wouldn't turn over. I guess I had left the wipers and radio on as well.
"Car's dead, Mama? Car's dead? Car's dead, Mama? Car's dead, Mama?" Poor little Reilly Kate had heard me muttering and was now repeating with worried look on her face much older than her years.
"Yes, baby. The car's dead. But it'll be fine. I can fix this."
I reached into my wallet to give the teenage girl a tip (here's a damn tip for ya: Next time you see a car with the hatch open, CLOSE IT!!!!) and saw my AAA card. I would just call AAA. I grabbed for my phone and started to dial when I realized after 9/11, security was so tight that there was no way I'd be able to get a tow truck on base. Scratch that.
I called Mike figuring he might be at work and his work is just a quick jaunt from where I was. He could driven over to us and jumped me (the van that is, get your mind out of the gutter) before the groceries all went to pot. Instead, I got his voicemail. Figuring he was in a meeting, I was starting to panic. I dialed his cell phone, just in case. He answered. He had gotten out of work early and was a couple blocks from home. Home which is over a half hour away from where I was now. And as if that weren't enough, he said that I didn't even have any jumper cables in the van. He'd taken them out.
With a deep, cleansing breath, I said, "Just get here when you can. I am going to take the kids and sit under a tree and I'll see you when you get here."
After hanging up, I peered around looking for a shade tree. Just as I was sbout to start over toward the grass, two young college aged boys (men?) came out of the store and yelled, "Do you need help?"
Now, before I say anything more, let me reiterate the fact that I am a feminist. I don't make any apologies for it. I do, with all my heart and soul, believe that men and women are equals. Women can and do take care of themselves. We always have. I know I can. But there are times when a man comes along to lend a hand that makes you really feel like a damsel in distress being saved by a prince.
This was one of those times.
I almost melted when I realized that these two men/boys were going to save my almost beyond repair day. Within minutes they had my van out of the spot, hooked up to their car, and jumped. They had it running. The air conditioner was going and my groceries saved.
"Thank you. Thank you so much," I gushed like a silly girl with a crush. "You literally saved me. Thank you. I didn't know what I was going to do. I had all these groceries... You saved me. Thank you."
"Fank you," Reilly Kate mimicked. "Fank you so much. You saved me." Like mother, like daughter. She even did the sigh and smile hair flip that I had perfected in college. It's so unflattering when your children mirror you.
I handed the guys all the money that was left in my wallet, seven bucks, and said, "Go buy yourselves some beers. I'd buy you each a beer, but" I motioned toward the children "I'm kinda busy right now."
They thanked me and went off into the sunset. My heroes. My princes. I was flying high. It felt good to be saved. Something about it literally made me feel young and cute again.
It wasn't until I got home that I realized I had baby spit up in my hair, milk leaking stains on my boobs, and ketchup on my shorts. I must have been quite the sight for those young pups. I bet I scared the hell out of them. They're probably right now recounting the experience.
"Dude, that fat old chick was totally making eyes at you."
"No way. She was so into you. She gave you the money. Man, she looked like my mom."
All said and done, the groceries were safe despite the long trip home, fighting rush hour traffic the whole way.
But I insist there must be an easier way of getting food in the house.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 12:14 PM
4 Comments:
"Dude, that fat old chick was totally making eyes at you."
Holy flurking schnit! I really did pee just a tiny little bit when I read this, I laughed so violently.
Darn you, funny girl. Now I gotta change my pjs.
Heather, I was going to send you a 10 year anniversary card and I totally forgot! I'm sorry!!! Well, I now know what it feels like to have your anniversary stolen by someone...yeah, an old h.s. friend of Tim's got married on Saturday... geezz!!
Yea, grocery shopping takes you forever, that sucks... geez... I know it takes me over an hour plus driving and putting stuff away so normally 2 hours and that is basically just for stuff for Tim & myself.
I landed at the right blog to end my day with. Thanks. You are hysterical. This is why my husband is in charge of grocery shopping, despite my SAHM status.
Where did you find it? Interesting read Off antidepressants and having hot flashed core image+compatable video cards Bmw 5k hilliard
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