If You’re a Mom, You’ve Been There

And if you’re not a mom, you’ve been a witness to that crying, screaming temper tantrum.

Emmy has thrown more temper tantrums in the grocery store than I can count. I’m often tempted to take her out and just leave, but I am usually there because we desperately need food in the house and it is my allotted time for shopping since Lily is in school. Leaving is not an option.

Today, Emmy somehow spotted a make-up kit, geared for children, in the sale aisle. She decided she had to have it. I said no. On your mark, get set…TANTRUM!

She walked next to me, screaming and crying while I tried to distract her. Hey, at least she was moving and not lying on the floor.

“Do you want to pick out some cereal for Daddy?” NO!!

“Here are some Goldfish. What kind do you want?” NO!!

Crabby old people scowled at her. Nice grandmas smiled. One woman patted me on the shoulder and said, “I’ve been there. You’ll make it, mom.”

The kind lady working in the deli asked me if Emmy could have c-a-n-d-y, and I gratefully said yes. Emmy was finally distracted.

In the produce section, she happily sat in the cart and twisted twist-ties around the produce bags.

As I rounded the corner to grab a box of the pizza dough mix I almost forgot, I saw a dad looking at his smart phone. (email? grocery list?) The toddler in his cart grabbed at the floor display next to the cart, and in just an instant, two jars of pickles careened to the floor.

And as Emmy remembered the forbidden makeup bag and started to whine again, I sighed with relief that at least I didn’t have a “picklepuss” (as the embarrassed dad jokingly started calling his toddler) in my cart.

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Is there such a thing as a peaceful shower?

This morning, we walked Lily to school, came home, and I settled Emmy on my bed with a stack of picture books so that I could take a shower.

I stepped in, and as the warm water washed over me, the muscles in my back relaxed and I heaved a sigh of relief. After rushing around this morning — throwing a load of laundry in the washer, making the girls breakfast, dressing the girls, throwing the laundry in the drier, packing Lily’s lunch and rushing her off to school — I needed a few minutes to myself.

I needed to shave under my arms, as I have my annual mammogram this afternoon. I thought I might as well shave my legs as well. Just as I had finished shaving under my right arm, I thought I heard screaming over the noise of the shower spray. What could be going on?

I turned off the shower, the bar of soap still in my hand. “Emmy, are you all right?” I called.

“I’M FIRSTY!!” Emmy shouted. {Insert fake crying here.}

“I’m almost done!” I replied, and turned the shower back on, quickly washed my face and my hair.

By the time I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my dripping body, and headed out of the bathroom to see what Emmy was up to, she had dragged a chair over to the refrigerator and opened the door. I got out the gallon of milk, and poured her a glass.

Thank goodness for jeans-wearing weather!