| ||That's kind of my motto when it comes to living life. Basically these days it's not so much a motto, it's just fact. |
This morning I want to give a huge shout out to all you moms who have five kids with no one quite old enough yet to be "helper." Not that little ones can't help. Oh no, we all know they do and can, in their own little ways.
But I'm talking about grocery shopping on a rainy day.
Stop. Yes, I typed rain. That right there gives us a big reason to just freeze and no complaints. One woman wrote me last month and said, "Maybe your baby will arrive with the rain. . . " That was the coolest thing to read. It sounded good, it sounded right. Life coming! Rain coming!
Haven did come with the rain. We've had rain off and on since she came. I woke this morning to the sound of heavy rain on my roof and it was -- romantic? Yeah, it was romantic. It was romantic until I rolled to the right and felt that sore tenderness in my back and stomach that is still there from having a baby not quite two weeks ago.
Grocery shopping with four young ones and a new born on a rainy morning, that's where I was though. Everyone was like, "My lady, you have your hands full!" To which Bub kept repeating, "We've got three more not here." Then the reply back was, "What did he say?" 'cause he's a bit hard to understand because like most men, he mumbles under his breath sometimes. We women tend to err on the too articulate.
I'm not embarrassed that three aren't there. . . I just change the subject because I don't have time to get into it with folks. I kinda don't like it when people say, "Oh, like Kate Plus Eight!"
Are they kidding?
I want to punch back, "No, NOT at all."
But this morning was all about drama and in the whirl-wind of it all it does feel like a realty show, and I only had five children with me! After two hours we had made it through the grocery store. Might have been quicker if I'd remembered the long grocery list I'd made at 8am this morning, but no, in remembering the new baby, I forgot the list.
I didn't have a child with me today that could push a grocery cart and see over the top.
You mom of five little ones, you nod your head, you know. So you've occupied every inch of your one cart with children and infant seat already. The food must all cram in the cracks between kids. One child rides on the side of the cart, though the cart sign says not to. This makes the cart pull only to the left.
You leave the store with a cramped right arm and bulging muscles. Who needs weight training? The mom life has it built in. By the time you arrive at the check out counter your cart alone weighs over 200 pounds and you've been pushing it for over an hour.
I get to the check out counter and there they all are. The women. All the women on the covers of magazines RIGHT THERE to make sexy faces back at me . . . I kind of half way find myself standing in line with my lips in a pout 'cause none of them are smiling at me. And I glance over at my little girls who are staring at Katy Perry who has bubble gum pink hair on the front cover of such and such a magazine.
I take in all the faces of make-up and photoshop, just like my girls are. I don't mean to really, not deliberately, but I'm too tired at that point not to.
Brighton takes in the pink hair and declares, "Mommy, there's that lady again with pink hair! It's just so pretty!" Her face lights up. She has no idea it's for breast cancer awareness month. Try to explain that to a four year old.
Today I replied, "Hon, what do you think? Think Mommy would look good with pink hair too?"
She looks back at me, as do the rest of the people in our check out line - as if to check out my skin tone and see if pink would be a good hair color for me. Really? Has it come to that?
Bub, who is standing next to me, mumbles, "I 'member when you had purple hair, 'member that?"
My non-helpers, but really great little helpers begin to unload the grocery cart. In so doing, the infant car seat re-appears and the woman in front of me gasps and half-way shouts, "And you have a baby in there too?!!"
No, I just carry around empty infant car seats for the sake of filling up the cart. Bub mumbles, "There's-three-not-here," once again under his breath.
"What's that Honey?" the lady asks looking at Bub.
Lake has opened up a bread bag and is eating bread. This happened all in the seconds I looked at Perry's pink hair and observed the make-up and photoshop and wondered what it would feel like to have a make-over done. And if it would even help. Then I think about investing in photoshop. Then remember I don't have time for a make-over or photoshop.
I tell the bag man, "Think we're going to need a second cart." We fill a second cart and he asks if I need help out. Absolutely I do, with my big boys in school. We exit the store to continued down pour. He suggests I pull the car up to the curb. I want him to suggest how he supposes I will retrieve the car safely - running out to it with five small children, 'cause I'm not about to leave any of them with him.
The children and I get to the car soaked. I look back at my grocery cart and my "assistant." Nice and dry, he appears amused. Bub is smiling because he wanted to run in the rain all morning instead of shop.
I pull around to the curb, turn off car, and I jump back out of the car to help the man load my groceries into the back of the car. I am getting drenched, he is still standing under the over-hang. I open the back of the car and it's already loaded with wagon, stroller, life jackets, footballs, shoes. . . you get the idea. No room for groceries.
The man yells, "Why not the front seat?"
I yell, "It's already taken."
He yells, "On the floor of the front?"
I yell, "Yes, that's taken too."
He shrugs. I roll eyes, where he can't see. My clothing is stuck to me wet so now I'm glad I am wearing jeans, not skirt. I'm also glad I am wearing black. And no make-up. Only some pink hair would have been nice, might have made me feel more feminine at that moment.
I retrieve my cart and dismiss the man and I just unload all the groceries on top of the stroller and wagon. I hand bags through to Bub who puts them in the back seat. Small children are happy in the car because they are climbing back and forth between seats because I've not had a chance to seat belt them down.
The radio is blaring, "City On Our Knees" by Toby Mac because Lake has managed to somehow turn on the radio. I'm not sure about the city, but I'm ready to get on my knees for sure. I finish loading the groceries, pull over into a parking spot, the one closest to me which says, "For Expectant Mothers Only" and climb through the car buckling all the children down. Some are screaming in protest because getting locked in a car seat is not their idea of. . . freedom.
It was one of those times I force-ably zip my lips and say nothing to no one, hoping that somehow the children will think that means I am not at all frustrated or beat. I'm sure they've figured out otherwise.
I stare ahead, I glance in the re-view mirror. I recognize the woman walking behind our car. She knows my car. She knows I'm no longer "expectant." Yeah, well. What in my life can really be explained anyway?
I fight weather my drive home and pass out granola bars with one hand. I eat four, because after all, when did I have time for breakfast?
Yes, here's a shout out. A shout out to mothers of five everywhere.
No. . . no, here's a shout out to ALL moms everywhere.
You rock. With no make-up, and no photoshop.
| ||Posted 10/7/2011 3:37 PM - 3589 Views|