That Mom

I was that Mom last week. You know who I mean: the one who brings her children into a store and then fails to keep them silent and orderly. The mom who looks obviously frazzled facing down a 2 year old while trying to quite the infant. The one who regularly bribes said toddler with refined sugar and popcorn as she pleads with her to get back into the cart. I evened used the "angry while in public mom voice." (For those of you who have perfect children and therefore have never used this technique it's where you manage to speak through clenched teeth at just above a whisper as you tell your child just how much trouble they're about to be in. I distinctly remember being on the reciving end of this kind of "talk" as a child, probably in the same sitution I use it in these days.)

That was me. I freely admit it. And to the locals here: I'm sorry. I really am.

To the women in the ladies section at Target: I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have let my daughter out of the cart but I really didn't think she'd take off at top speed for the opposite side of the deptartment. I also didn't think she'd hide in the clothing racks and then pop out as you passed giving you a heart attack. (Please send medical bills to: Frazzled mom, aisle 4, Target.)

To those who had to witness the cranky toddler being forced back into the cart: I'm sorry. I was trying to keep her from taking more things off the shelves than I could resonably put back as she continued to move at top speed. I should have known as soon as her bottom touched the seat she would start her "I'm not getting my way" wail. But it still came as a shock to me - and to your ears, too, I'm sure.

To those who listened to the baby crying: Again, sorry. By the time we got to the store it was nap time. It's always nap time when you're 8 months old. My daughter is espically picky: she likes to sleep in her crib. And she cannot sleep in Target, so she cries. I'll work my my pacifier technique for the next trip, I promise.

To the other Mom's who want to offer unsolicited advice: Don't. I do not want to hear that your son will sit in the cart from parking lot to store and back again. I do not want to hear that your daughter will walk primly beside you while you browse the clearence rack endlessly. My daughter can do that too. When she wants to... Which it turns out was not today.

Topic for discussion: Poo

You know how I know I'm a mom? No, it's not the obvious: the abundance of people under 3 ft tall following me around all the time. Oh no. It's that poo is a genuine concern of mine. As in it makes apperances at the dinner table as a topic of conversation. Seriously. Who has and has not gone recently, how much, consistancy, smell and likelyhood that foods on the table will encourage or discourage another diaper deposit are all frequent subjects.

I wish this wasn't the case. Really I do. But somehow part of being a parent is being deeply, irrevicoably, interested in poo.

Other things I care about and really wish I didn't:

~Belly button gunk
~Picking mysterious subtances out of hair (not always the kid's hair, either)
~Prying half eaten stuff from a mouth, then examining it to figure out what it once was
~Throw up
~The crud found under toenails

We'll be singing and singing and singing...

Abby loves to sing and some days (thought not all) she even likes it when I sing (which is proof that she must be tone deaf!). We have a song boook in the house and she has learned that if she points at a song and looks pitiful/cute enough I can be coaxed to sing. From that she's figured out that all it takes to have a mini mama concert is to point out new songs before I finish the old one. I've sung for 45 minutes straight before, which must have been torture for Josh who was sitting next to me and is by no means tone deaf (he had wisely kept his singing abilibites to himself and is not bothered by Abby).

All this leads up to today when on a drive Abby wants to sing the wheels on the bus - not an unusual request, really. However, today she instructs me there are only 3 wheels on the bus and my song needs to reflect this. Funny how adding one small syllabul to a song can confuse you! The other perennial favorite is "she'll be coming 'round the mountian" a song Abby likes because I let her pick which animals go into the song. This is usually easy - unless she says polar bear in which case I'm hopeless as that's a syllabul and a half to much for my meger skills. Today was no different, and she pulled out all the stops on this song, we sang that she'd be ridding: horses (that was me), trucks, motorcycles, trees, pickles!, and my favorite: a pickle carseat. That's right, rather than "she'll be riding six white horses when she comes" it was "she'll be riding in pickle carseat when she comes" - tounge twister no matter what! When I gentely tell her maybe my skills aren't up to her pickle challenge she says to me: "yes you can! You can do it, Mommy!" Who can turn down such cheering? So I muddled through it laughing most the way - which could only make the song sound better.

Oh and did I mention the greatest irony of all? Abby loves the word 'pickle' but actually hates the food. Naturally.