Sunday, January 30, 2011

Awkward Mom vs the 5 alarm melt-down

And we know you want to hear all about it, but that is not what we are going to do. Not yet. Once we make sure Awesome Toddler's parents still like us, you might hear about it, in all the gory details. Right now, we are gonna tell you what happened when we got home and all about the magic that Awkward Mom managed to pull off. Super Toddler may have just screamed himself out of all energy and collapsed, but we'll give Awkward Mom her moment, for the moment.

So, Super Toddler loses it. I mean, full-out-full-body-why-don't-we-have-an-exorcist-on-speed-dial loses it. At Awesome Toddler's house, whom we love. And more importantly, whose parents we love. So, I can justify this one any number of ways. He didn't nap. It is late. He is 2 years old. Whatever. Nothing can ease the embarrassment of having your child collapse on the floor in a fit that would win him an Oscar, if the movie is about out of control toddlers run wild. And all you can do is try to remember all those parenting books you read (or in my case, that parenting book I read); willing your tired and frazzled brain to remember how much to push, how much to give, and if bribery is ever OK.

We walk in the door at home, he is still screaming. Awkward Dad wanders away, something about feeding the baby. The angelic baby who has not made a peep since we left Awesome Toddler's house. Thanks. So, I am left staring at the howling mess, who has flung himself on the floor in a puddle of mismatched clothes and tears. (Did I mention we barely got his coat on, totally missed the gloves and hat, and he is still wearing a dress-up dress and crown-like headband?) I take one look at this mess, contemplate giving him cookies, think about what that would look in an hour, recalculate, take a deep breath, and ...

Once upon a time there was...


a princess...

Slight pause between screams.

And that princess lived in a beautiful castle at the edge of a deep, dark forest.

Half-hearted sobbing.

I wonder what is in that forest, thought the princess. Whatever could be in the forest?


(Tiny, tiny voice; whisper quiet, half-choked with held-in sobs.) Fireflies.

Fireflies, eh? Well, yes, I think there are quite a few fireflies in the deep dark forest. And, what else, I wonder?

Ghosties. (Eyes are drying; round as saucers, but drying.)

Ghosties, that is right. And every night the ghosts would dance in the trees of the deep dark forest. The forest all lit up by the lights of a million fireflies.

They dance on top of the trees.

They do? Well, that's right. Ghosts can float, so they dance right up there on top of the trees, light as feathers.

The princess sees them. (I actually have his coat off.)

She does! She goes walking in the deep, dark forest one night and she sees the ghost dance in full swing. It is amazing. All those fireflies lighting up the sky and the ghosts dancing on the treetops, not even bending the branches because, you know, they have no feet.

No feet, that's right. (I am not even gonna attempt to take off the princess dress-up dress.)

So, a ghost floats over to the princess and says, hey, princess, you wanna dance? And she says...

Yes, I want to dance. (I put him on his bed.)

And they do, all night. He pulls her up there on top of the treetops to dance all night.

The witch. (He lies down and closes his eyes for a moment, but they fly open again.)
Oh, that wicked witch. She shows up just in time to ruin the party. And what does she do?
She poofs. (He smiles and closes his eyes.)

That's right, she poofs a spell that makes all the ghosts stop flying. And they fall right back down to earth.

Poor ghosties. Then what? (He is rapt as he can be, half-asleep.)

Well, the princess tells them that they can dance on the ground, it is no problem. So, they keep dancing the night away in the deep dark forest.

And the witch?

Well, that mean old witch is never heard from again.

Good. (Eyes still closed, his breathing starts to become regular. And finally, so does mine.)

I creep towards the door.


Yes, sweetie.

You forgot the ending part.

I return, lean over, and kiss my little sleeping beauty. (No longer the beast, thank goodness!)

They all lived happily ever after. The End.

But he is already snoring.

Funny how your worst night can be your best in some ways, eh? Not too bad there, Awkward Mom. Now go make sure Awesome Parents don't hate you!

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Awkward Mom vs the Cold (battle 57)

So, the Awkward Family is battling The Cold. What is it with them and this villain? I am dubbing The Cold their main nemesis; they fight him often enough. Well, due to injuries suffered in the latest brawl, Awkward Mom has lost her voice; resulting in this guest post by Super Toddler...

Super Toddler here. So, Mom has lost her voice. Not sure why that affects her ability to write her blog, but adults are weird. We have all been battling The Cold for about a week now. I, of course, am winning the battle, while my family members are being picked off 1 by 1.

Super Baby's nose has been running since last Thursday, and since he hates it when anyone touches his face, he resembles Niagara Falls. He is super gross, that is what he is. Super Baby had a birthday while we were battling The Cold. Man, you should have seen him eating his cake. It had extra frosting when he was done with it, I will tell you that much...what? Too much? Sorry.

Mom has lost her voice, which is rather hilarious (don't tell). At my playdate yesterday she was trying to tell me and my super pal, Awesome Toddler, not to bang stuff or touch stuff or do anything fun, but it came out all croaky-like. So, Awesome Toddler and I just pretended we couldn't hear her; it was so funny. We were all like "what? what did you say? I can't hear you! Did you tell me to eat this M&M off the floor? OK I can do that." HAHA, it was great.

Dad is the worst of all. You would think The Cold was the Bubonic Plague the way he is carrying on. He takes to his bed and moans at Mom to bring him tissues and drinks, which she does. Then she all but throws them at him while trying to yell something about pain tolerance and childbirth. But of course, she has no voice, so she is angry whispering at him and he pretends not to hear her. I am telling you, adults are weird.

So, we are losing a few battles here, but we always beat The Cold in the end. He is pretty powerful, but like most super-strength villains, not too smart. He'll over-play his hand in the end and Mom will bring out the big guns (ie that crazy green medicine that makes Awkward Dad laugh a lot, then sleep for 12 hours). We just gotta pull together as a family and kick The Cold in the butt. Fear not, readers, we will totally win the war. Super Toddler out.

Super Toddler politely requests that you not tell his Mom that he said butt in his guest post. Thanks!

PS...Super Villain Cake was the easiest villain we ever faced.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Super Toddler Bedtime Story #3

This one was way too good not to share.

Once upon a time there was a ball. All the princesses were at the ball. The fairy godmother came and poofed a golden magical cracker.

A what?

A golden magical cracker.

What's that?

It's a golden magical cracker.


She poofed the golden magical cracker and Spiderman flies in the window and takes the cracker. He makes the cracker into webs. He sits in the webs. Then the Fairy Godmother poofs a hot dog. Spiderman steals it and webs the hot dog.

He what?

Webs the hot dog.

What does that even mean?

Then, the Fairy Godmother poofs a hot dog bun and Spiderman takes it and...

Let me guess, he "webs" it?

No, silly mommy. He eats it. The End.

By the way, Awkward Dad nearly fell out of his chair when Spiderman appeared in a Super Toddler-lead story and was on the edge of his seat for the whole thing.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Awkward Mom vs Dinner

I believe we have discussed Awkward Mom's complete and total lack of kitchen prowess. We have? Oh, good; then you will greatly enjoy this tale....

Dinner time has been lax here in the Awkward House for awhile. No one is pointing fingers, but it could be Awkward Dad's schedule or maybe Super Baby's nocturnal teething patterns. Perhaps it is Super Toddler's deep-seated fear of being away from his royal minions for longer than 10 minutes. There is a slight chance that it could be because Netflix has all three seasons of Arrested Development and is insisting that I watch all of them, right now. But, no one is pointing blame fingers, right? Right? Anyway, the end result of all this non-blame is that I have decided we need a normal dinner tonight, at a normal dinner time, with normal dinner-type food, so we can pretend to be normal for about an hour.

To illustrate what I do NOT want, I will briefly tell you what dinner was like all last week. All last week, we had no idea when Awkward Dad was going to be home. Except the 2 nights he was on call. Then he just didn't come home at all. (Call night we usually eat chicken nuggets and grapes, watch Pingu, and complain about Awkward Dad not being home. It is covered completely here:

The non-call nights last week, dinner occurred at the following times: twice at 8:30pm, once at 4pm, once at 9:15pm, and once we forgot it altogether. These dinners consisted of hummus and broken up taco shells, scrambled eggs for everyone but Awkward Dad who said the smell was making him so "light-headed" that he just had to order Chinese, mac-and-cheese and a spinach salad (really ought to say spinach full stop, as there was nothing else in the spinach but spinach), turkey sandwiches with ketchup (all Super Toddler, that one), and the aforementioned non-dinner.

No repeat of that this week, no, no. Well, don't wanna get ahead of myself. At least no repeat tonight. Tonight, we have great hopes for Awkward Dad to be home at or around 6, so no more European dining hours around here! I have made a menu and actually defrosted my chicken. I will be making pan-seared chicken breasts in a cream sauce, with roasted asparagus and a chocolate cake (store bought, but you won't tell, right?). We actually have wine. We actually have candles and a tablecloth with minimal stains. All the dishes in the Awkward House are clean. The chips on every plate we own is something I am choosing to ignore. I even have back-up chicken nuggets and grapes. I am totally ready for this dinner. Totally ready.

So, around 5pm, with both boys still napping (no judging!), it begins. I easily prep the asparagus. I pop this in the oven and stare at the chicken. Chicken sorta scares me. However, my first chicken breast is floured, egged (do NOT tell Awkward Dad!), and placed in the hot pan in record time. Where it cooks. And cooks. And cooks. With pretty much no change in color. Hmmm...something is amiss. I quickly figure out that my chicken is too thick for this form of cooking. I remove my too-fat chicken breast and assess the situation. Remembering some long last food memory I am sure was gleaned from the Food Network, I decide to flatten my chicken. I give up on the half-cooked one, place it on a cookie sheet, and put it in the oven with the asparagus, and then I turn my attention to the 3 remaining chicken breasts.

Lacking a meat mallet, I decide to place the chicken in a Ziploc bag and beat it with a hammer I wrap in a dish towel. This is what I am doing when the hall smoke detector goes off. Startled, I release the hammer on my backwards swing. It sheds its dishtowel in a happy flight of freedom before it lands solidly on the kitchen hood, dislodging the light bulb there, which, in turn, explodes and rains glass down on the empty but smoking pan beneath it. I can't decide what to do first, so I just stand there for awhile. Then, I manage to turn off the burner on my way to get a chair. I pull the chair under the smoke detector and press the hush button. I check on the Super Boys, who are still asleep, and I return to the kitchen.

The glass clean-up takes the same amount of time that it takes for the hall smoke alarm to go off again. I locate the culprit in the burning asparagus, which I throw out of the oven on my way back to get a chair. As I am climbing the chair, the bedroom smoke detector goes off, as does the phone. My attempt to hop the chair over to the bedroom detector with me on it results in what you would expect, and as I lie there, I let the incessant beeping of the bedroom smoke detector wash over me while I question the decisions that have led to this point. After my moment of reflection, I get up, get my chair up, and hush the smoke detector. A quick check on the boys confirms that they are still asleep and I head back to the kitchen.

I wrap my hammer and resume beating my chicken breasts. I find a non-glass-shard-covered pan to sear the chicken in; this goes remarkably well and the hall smoke detector only goes off twice. I am making my sauce when the phone rings again. I am thwarted in my attempt to answer it by the simultaneous beeping of the hall, bedroom, and nursery smoke detectors and the billowing of black smoke pouring out of the oven. Seems I forgot about my fat chicken breast. I race around beating the smoke alarms with the end of a broom, while my delicate cream sauce boils over. The Super Boys are still asleep, by the way. I now have smoke-alarms-do-not-wake-them-what-will-we-do-in-a-fire to add to my middle of the night worry list.

I fail to rescue the oven chicken breast, so into the garbage it goes. I declare my sauce good enough and pour it over my rapidly cooling chicken. While I am setting the table and lighting candles (mostly to hide the burny smell that is everywhere), the cats decide to rescue the garbage chicken breast on my behalf. They take it on a parade through the house, ending up in the middle of my bed, where they proceed to shred, devour, and vomit it up. I give up on the candles and race through the house with some air freshener.

Awkward Dad calls to ask the following: Why do you sound out of breath? Why haven't you been answering the phone? And can we push dinner back 2 hours so I can finish seeing this patient? I burst into tears, which finally wakes the Super Boys.

Oh now, don't feel too bad for Awkward Mom, dear readers. She did have a full bottle of wine and a whole chocolate cake to console her. And I mean it, she had a full bottle of wine and a whole chocolate cake. The Super Boys had chicken nuggets and grapes, and Awkward Dad had Chicken Milanese in a reduction sauce and Cajun-style asparagus. There is always next week, right?

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Super Toddler Bedtime Story #2

Super Toddler takes on a classic. And makes it completely his own.

Once upon a time, there was a princess. And a bed. A lot of beds. The evil witch put a pea in the bed. And the princess was scary.


Scary. Like eek!

Scared. She was scared.

Scary, yes. So, the Fairy Godmother poofed the pea into a bed. And the ogres ate it.

The ogres ate the bed or the pea?

The pea bed.

Oh, OK.

The End.

Classic Super Toddler.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Awkward Mom vs Last Night

In an unprecedented feat, Awkward Mom has both boys in bed (baths, teeth brushed, wearing pjs-like clothing) at a semi-decent hour. What on earth could go wrong? I know that you know, but let's let her tell it anyway, shall we?

9:03pm - I celebrate the miracle of sleeping children by meeting up with Netflix for our regular Awkward-Dad-is-on-overnight-call date.

9:10pm - Having been lulled to sleep by the dulcet tones of Harvey Keitel and exploding mailboxes (bonus points to anyone who knows what I am watching), I rouse enough to turn off the TV and meander to the bedroom. Fall into the bed, fully clothed, with my glasses on.

10:30pm - The complete lack of noise from the nursery wakes me up. (It may also have something to do with my glasses cutting into the bridge of my nose.) I wander in there to find Super Toddler backwards on the bed and the blanket covering Elmo and a stuffed shark. I tuck him in with them and turn my attention to Super Baby, who is sound asleep on top of 3 bears and Cookie Monster, with his face mashed into the bars of the crib. I gently push him over and extract the stuffed lovies with painfully slow maneuvers. It is like playing a rather squishy version of Operation in the dark. I succeed though, and reward myself by changing into pajamas and going back to sleep in the middle of the bed with all the pillows. I suppose there are some good things about Awkward Dad's call schedule.

10:36pm - I wake up from a rather lovely dream about Mark Wahlberg to hear a piercing scream via the monitor. This is a there-is-an-intruder-in-here scream, so I leap out of bed and grab the first weapon-like object I can find. Thus armed with a cat toy feather-on-a-stick, I race into the nursery. Super Toddler is sound asleep, again backwards and blanket-less. Super Baby is sitting up in the bed, screaming and banging poor Cookie Monster against the bars of the crib like some lifer at Alcatraz. I coo at him but all he does is hurl Cookie Monster at my head. So, I lean in and pick him up. I walk around with him for awhile, which reduces the screaming and starts the random laughing and grabs at my hair.

10:39pm - Super Baby and I make a bottle and say hello to Netflix. Super Baby halfheartedly eats said bottle, chews on the remote, and waves at Harvey Keitel. I, balancing the bottle with my chin, fade in and out of consciousness.

12:13am - Super Baby and I sleep in the glow of Netflix. A spasm in my neck and the soft thud of the empty bottle hitting the floor wake me up. I slowly ease myself into a standing position and carry Super Baby back to his crib. I gingerly lay him down and back away like I have just defused a bomb. He immediately rolls over and crams his face into the bars, but this time I just let it be. I curl back into bed, willing Mark Wahlberg to be in my dreams and not Harvey Keitel. OK, I will take 1970s Harvey Keitel but please please no Bad Lieutenant Harvey Keitel.

12:57am - Super Toddler starts yelling from the nursery. I go in to find him sitting upright in bed, poofing with all his might. I pull him into a hug and listen to a rambling retelling of his "storm." All Super Toddler bad dreams are called storms. I guess this one involved a lot of thunder and some witches. Once told, it seems to lose its power and he falls back asleep. I tiptoe out of the room and lie awake in bed for awhile, thinking about witches.

1:36am - I roll over and realize that student loan repayment paperwork is due tomorrow; worry about this for an hour.

2:37am - Screams from the nursery wake me out of Mark Wahlberg's arms, and I go in to find Super Baby sitting upright and clutching at his mouth. Wasting no time, I rummage through the medicine cabinet for Children's Tylenol (no judging) and administer the right dose. I really really hope it is the right dose. I hold Super Baby in my arms while sitting on the bed, until he falls back asleep. I take him back to his crib.

2:56am - Wake up in bed, holding Super Baby; realize that I dreamt the part about taking him back to his crib. Try to remember something about that article about co-sleeping. Fail.

3:01am - Am having an interesting dream about swimming in a beautiful underwater grotto with Mark Wahlberg. Wake to discover that Super Baby has peed on me. Make a face. Fall back asleep.

3:28am - Finally work up the energy to get up and change Super Baby. Place him in his crib and change into some dirty scrubs of Awkward Dad's.

3:54am - I feel someone staring at me. I jolt awake to see Super Toddler standing at the side of the bed, dragging his Elmo by the leg. I don't even ask. I pull aside the covers and he pops in.

4:13am - Super Baby cries. I get up and walk into the wall next to the nursery door. After a few disorienting moments, I locate Super Baby by sonar. Guess we have a family bed now.

5:18am - Am kicked by Super Baby.

5:25am - Am kicked by Super Baby.

5:34am - Am hit in the face by Super Baby.

5:38am - Am kicked by Super Baby.

5:45am - Super Toddler kicks Super Baby, who cries and kicks me.

6:00am - Am kicked by Super Baby and evacuate the bed. After safely tucking them in, turn off the monitor and fall into the bed.

6:12am - Wake up from a nightmare about Harvey Keitel stealing the Super Boys. Turn the monitor back on.

6:18am - Lie there, staring at the ceiling.

6:20am - Give up and go into the nursery to make sure they are breathing. Watch them sleep for awhile.

6:30am - Realize that I am dozing on the nursery floor, using a dress-up dress as a pillow. Return to bed.

7:30am - An energetic Super Toddler wakes me up with kisses. I try to go back to sleep but he informs me that "the spell doesn't work that way."

7:32am - Change Super Toddler's diaper, while he sings the Wheels on the Bus. This wakes Super Baby.

7:36am - Change Super Baby's diaper. Put it on backwards.

7:40am - Do some semblance of breakfast; it may involve cookies. I'm not telling.

8:01am - Put Super Baby in his bouncer. Put Barney on the TV. Fall onto the couch and drift back to the underwater grotto.

8:20am - Baby Bop shows up at the underwater grotto and wants to know if I'm happy and if I know it. Freak out.

8:22am - Wake up for real. Calculate how long until Awkward Dad will be home. Cry a little.

8:24am - Calculate how long until they go to college. Cry some more.

8:26am - Watch Super Toddler help Super Baby clap along to the music. Stop crying and even smile a little.

8:30am - Watch Super Toddler knock Super Baby upside the head. Sigh and get up for real.

Good Morning, Awkward Mom!

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Super Toddler Bedtime Story #1

Tired of Awkward Mom always having the last say, Super Toddler decides that he wants to post a little bedtime story for you all. While this is quite enterprising and we couldn't be prouder, he still can't read or write, necessitating a little assistance from Awkward Mom. But she will try to keep that to a minimum (and bolded).

Once upon a time there was a balloon.

A balloon?

Yes, shush. A balloon. And the fairy godmother poofed the balloon into a princess. And the princess floated away. To the castle. There was a ball and there were lots of fairies and princesses and they were all dancing. So the fairy godmother poofed them shoes.

How come?


How come she poofed them shoes?

Shoes! Shoes!

Ummm...ok, sorry, shoes.

They danced all night. And all day. Then there was a witch, a bad witch. And she comes with a dragon and they poofed. And the fairy godmothers poofed. And she poofed.

Lotta poofing here.

Shush! I poof her away with my wand. And the ogres.

What ogres?

The End.

What? Wait...what about the ogres?

Good night, Mommy.

Super Toddler's tales are becoming more involved and he is quite eager to share them with you. Look here for more Toddler Tales; coming soon! Until then, sweet dreams!

Monday, January 3, 2011

Awkward Mom vs. The Grocery Store - battle #2

After a solid 2 weeks (OK, more like 4 weeks) of eating fancy cheese, candy canes, and pretty much every cake in the entire Midwest, the Awkward family is in need of real food. Awkward Mom decides to fix this and heads to the grocery store. Oh, this one has it all, readers; inappropriate songs, exploding tomatoes, and a parking lot run-in with nemesis, Perfect Mom! Right now, Awkward Mom's list, children, and sanity are relatively intact, but we all know that can't last long at the grocery store...Let's watch.

We are in the car, heading toward the grocery store. Only took us 42 minutes to leave the house; not a record but I remembered both boys' gloves this time. Not mine, of course, but I'll live. Might lose a few fingers, but I should live. I pop in a homemade CD (you all know that I typed mix tape before remembering that it isn't 1996), and Super Toddler quickly rejects Let It Be for being "too slow" and Ode to Joy for being "too beautiful," whatever that means. He settles on Lydia the Tattooed Lady by the Marx Brothers and as he loudly belts out "she has eyes that men adore so, and a torso even more so," I question my parenting wisdom for about the 5th time today. Fear not, I'll do that about 47 more times before the day is done.

We are about half way to the grocery store when a debate right out of Taming of the Shrew occurs, and you all know who is gonna be the shrew here. Super Toddler peers into the sky and declares that he sees the moon. I scan the sky for any phantom moons or UFOs, just to be safe. Finding none, I patiently tell him that he is looking at the sun and please to not stare right into it. He laughs, resumes staring, and tells me that it is the moon. Angel, that is the sun. No, Mommy, that is the moon. Sun. Moon. Sun. Moon. I really should drop this, but versions of parent/teacher conferences start to dance in my head. Sweet pea, that really is the sun. Then, Super Toddler decides to bring out the big guns. Mommy, that is the magic moon. I put a spell on it. What can I do, but say oh, OK and pray he gets some understanding science teachers one day.

We arrive at the grocery store and I park by a cart corral, per usual. 15 hundred miles away from the entrance, again, per usual. From this point on, our grocery shopping looks a lot like the last battle I told you about. Here it is, if you want to relive it:

The main differences this go-round are as follows:

1. Clearly, Super Baby has grown since then, and this gigantic child no long rides in a convenient detachable car seat, enabling me to confine him and focus my oh-no-stop-that-put-that-back-don't-eat-that monologue on Super Toddler. Oh no, now there is equal opportunity grabbing and illegal snacking from the front of the cart as well as the back.

2. It is winter and I forgot my gloves, which causes the race from the car to the store to occur uninterrupted, no matter how loudly Super Toddler complains about forgetting Princess Bear or wanting to see that cool puddle.

3. Today, I need to mail some packages. Our grocery store service counter also functions as a post office, which is incredibly convenient. Except when the line at the service counter wraps all the way to the deli. We are waiting in line, some more patiently than others. Super Baby kills time by chewing on my wallet and sending any passing grandmother into rapturous coos. Super Toddler is humming Lydia the Tattooed Lady. I am inching us closer to the front of the line and wondering if this is such a great idea. We are almost next in line when Groucho there in the basket can't contain himself anymore and busts out with "When she stands the world grows littler, when she sits, she sits on Hitler." Heads start spinning and everyone in a 10 foot radius around us take a step back. Gets the line moving though.

4. Our list is 9 times longer than usual, resulting in repeated trips out of line and back to the aisles. Again. And again. And again.

5. This time Super Toddler pinches fruit roll-ups and a can of Play-Dough out of the cart in front of us. Returning said items goes as you might expect.

6. This week, Super Toddler decides to snack on a bag of Cherry Tomatoes. He opens them while I am distracted by some bread deals. I return my attention to the cart just in time to watch in horror as he shoves a fistful of them into his mouth. Like a scene out of The Godfather, all I see is a slow-motion red bath splattering an entire display case of cakes, all our groceries, and the back of Super Baby's head. I thank God for wipes, and that I remembered them this time.

7. It is Super Baby and not Super Toddler who dumps an entire box of gum into the cart while I am perusing Angelina and Brad's secret wedding plans. And it is Juicy Fruit this week.

8. Despite actually remembering my reusable bags, I leave the store with just as many plastic ones, due to a really sweet but clearly packing challenged checker. (She actually packs one of my heavy-duty cloth bags with only 8 little yogurts and some green onions.) I try to discreetly repack stuff, but a code red pushing match between Super Toddler and Super Baby, complete with siren-like screams, breaks out. I shove my environmental concerns away and separate Super Toddler and Super Baby with a wall of cloth and plastic bags alike; this uneasy ecological truce mirroring the brother one also going on in the cart.

9. Super Toddler throws bananas, a loaf of bread, and a lime at the horse today.

I actually find my car fairly quickly, just 1 aisle over and a little to the left of where I thought it was. But all is not well in Awkwardland, dear readers. Who is parked next to my car but Perfect Mom! This time in a shiny clean Volvo with a Green Revolution bumper sticker. In my fear, I skid to a halt and accidentally ram the cart into the Awkward Mobile, decidedly not shiny clean. Perfect Mom's son is angelically climbing into his seat while she unloads her perfectly packed cloth bags into her empty and newly vacuumed (I am not kidding) trunk. I mange to get Super Baby into his seat, when I am distracted by Super Toddler's escape attempt. I haul him back into the cart, but lose the plastic bag that he was holding. This lands at Prefect Mom's feet, in all its Pringle and Fruit Snack filled glory. She glances at it in disgust and hands it to me with 2 fingers, like it is full of poison, which, let's be honest, it very well may be. I turn away in shame, just in time to see Super Baby fall out of his car seat and into the middle of the back seat. I remedy this and strap him in while Super Toddler eats a few more tomatoes and sticks his tongue out at Perfect Toddler. I throw the rest of my groceries into the car under the withering gaze of Perfect Mom, who is blocked from her driver's seat by my cart and the tomato covered and singing Super Toddler. I twist the cart out of her way and gather up Super Toddler. While I am walking him to his car seat, he looks right at her and bellows "When her muscles start relaxing, up the hill comes Andrew Jackson."

Told you. Didn't I tell you? Anyway, Awkward Mom strikes again. You better believe there was no one more relieved to get in her car and leave the grocery store than her. That is, at least until she realized that she had to unload all those groceries and put them away. But that, fair readers, is a different tale altogether...