The (!@#$%) Grocery Store

I decided to make this an interactive blog post, so you're welcome to add your own expletive depending on your level of hatred for the grocery store.  On a scale of 1 to we-are-growing-all-of-our-own-food-so-we-never-have-to-shop-again, I'm ready to start planting!

Before I get to our trip today, I need to take you back to the weekend.  My darling husband bought me an awesome juicer.  To "motivate" his purchase, I told him about all the cool baby stuff I could do with it (homemade fruit snacks...hello!)  and the totally-worth-it juice diet I want to start (at a future date, of course).  Honestly, I was more excited about seeing the juice you could get out of lettuce...seriously? He bought said juicer and it arrived yesterday in all of it's juicy glory.  (Note of warning: Amazon Prime is spawn of the devil.  Get a huge juicer on your doorstep in 2 days...yes, please!  If anyone has heard of an AP rehab program please let me know.)

Jump to present day.  Em and I have been going stir crazy and we were ready to bust out of the house today. Our plan was to go have lunch with Bradley, then head to the Fancy, Hippy-Dippy-Doo Grocery Store.  We don't shop there all the time, but there are a few things we like to get there and today seemed the perfect day to go.  Plus, Dr. Oz and mom blogs galore (legit sources, right?)highly recommend buying organic, so why not spend twice as much on things for my daughter to throw at me during dinner?

The first mistake I made was calling my mother.  We typically talk every day and just check-in.  We're chatting and she says she's meeting her sisters for lunch and then babysitting my nephews so my sister-in-law can go to the grocery store.  I tell her we're going grocery shopping too, but I can't imagine having to shop with 2 littles like Aryn would have to.  I then proceed to brag about how WELL-BEHAVED my (almost) toddler is in the grocery store. 

Before we left for the Fancy Store, I was texting my other sister-in-law about my new juicer.  She tells me I HAVE to get my juicing produce from Aldi.  So, we add Aldi to our list of places to go.  Turns out, she was right, which she usually is.  Plus, she's BOSSy.

5 bags of "juicy" produce - $40 at Aldi

We have a great lunch with Bradley and everything at Aldi goes great.  We move on to the Fancy Store.  My best guess is that about 4 feet into the store my daughter lost her mind.  She was OVER being in the buggy!  We make it through produce and meat and then we get to the baby aisle.  She helps me pick out some pouches (because this mama gave up on making baby food after about a month of her not eating it). Because I will not open the pouch and let her eat it, she screams at the top of her lungs for the next 8 aisles, so I carry her (I know. I'm weak) the rest of the trip.

 

By the grace of God, we make it to checkout.  This is where, believe it or not, things get really hairy.  I am promptly shamed by the bag fellow because I didn't bring my own bags.  We may shop at the Hippy-Dippy-Doo store from time to time, but our level of Hippy-Dippy-Doo-ness is not to the point of bringing our own paper packaging to the grocery store. The poor old lady checking me out sees my screaming child and, graciously, comes over to help me put groceries on the conveyor thing. She even tells me how beautiful she is, bless her heart. 

At this point, a very old couple has gotten behind us in line.  They are making sweet faces at Em and cooing at her, like old folks do. Right on cue, my wallet falls and out spills anywhere from $10-$15 one dollar bills. Now, I know that these bills are leftover hands from a family game night of Left, Right, Center.  The elderly couple behind me, the judging bag boy and the checkout lady, however, do not know this.  By their looks, I know they assume I do my day work as a stay-at-home mother and moonlight as an exotic dancer. Bless. I bend over, child in arms, to pick up my dollar bills.  The (now known as sweet) bag boy asks if I need help out, which I readily accept.  He packs my car.  We leave.

3 bags from "Fancy" - about $3,000

Mom Brain

A few days ago I ran out of the lotion I keep on the bathroom counter.  I grabbed a new bottle off of the shelf to be prepared for the next day.  The next day arrived, I showered and applied lotion, all the while thinking to myself, "Wow, this stuff takes forever to rub in." I repeated the process for the next several days until one morning when I discovered that my new lotion was, in fact, body wash.

I call this "mom brain."  However, I think mine has been slowly slipping for a while and motherhood just gave it that extra nudge it needed to slip into oblivion. (Previously referred to as; college brain, love-sick brain, teacher brain, pregnancy brain)

This mom brain phenomenon is not news to me.  I knew it was coming.  I had been told it was coming. I felt safe from it's grasp until the day Bradley brought me my car keys that he'd found in the refrigerator.

I love being a mother.  I love my daughter more than I could ever explain to you with words.  But WHY does this child want my brain? And when does she plan on returning it?  I can tell you every detail of her birth story, every mark on her body, recall every doctor visit and tell you when she crawled, laughed and peed on her daddy for the first time. For the life of me, however, I cannot tell you the last time I went to the bathroom by myself, where my wallet is right now or what I ate for breakfast yesterday.

I can tell you the song that every toy plays, where the sippy cup is currently located and the "healthy" color and consistency of a toddler's poop.  But if you want to know what's happening in the world, what day it is, or the popular new song on the radio, you'll have to visit another blog.

When my brain functioned normally, I could do math, enjoy science, and concentrate while reading.  I was even allowed to teach young children how to do those things.  Today, math consists of calculating how much sleep I will get if I go to bed RIGHT NOW.  Science is texting my science-y husband to ask what blah blah phosphate-oxide-odium is because I saw on a mom blog that it's bad and, OMG, we have to inspect EVERY food label in the house now.  Reading is of books made from cardboard because my kid eats everything she touches.

The mom brain struggle is real. So is the love I have for this brain-stealing little girl, and I will let her steal my brain every day as long as she keeps calling me 'mama.'

Welcome

Welcome to my blog, or as I fondly call it, my "Emma-is-sleeping-and-I-don't-want-to-clean" project.  I have never fancied myself a writer.  I used to love writing. I was that kid - the one who got absolutely lost in the words of my stories. Then I was that girl who craved writing assignments for the simple fact that outlines gave my OCD all kinds of warm and fuzzies.  I was the student who needed to express myself on paper, because I wasn't comfortable doing it out loud.

When I began my teaching career, "Writer's Workshop" was the best part of my day. I wanted to infect my students with the same writing bug that I'd caught so many years before.  There aren't many things more exciting than hearing a 5-year-old read their latest masterpiece.  There was a place for poetry, prose, researching for nonfiction writing, and for fashioning a story modeled after the style of your favorite author.  For a short while it worked beautifully.

The pendulum of public education swung (as it usually does) and writing for the love of writing was put on the backburner, and eventually removed from the stove completely. {Disclaimer: I am a strong advocate for public education.  I survived and flourished through public education.  This is not a post to bash teachers, administrators, or any of the like.} Writing became something that even kindergartners loathed, and they're 5 --- they love everything! 

I recently discovered that at least one school in a local district has no built-in writing time in the daily schedule for K-5 students.  Children are invited to stay after school for a Writing Club, if their parents have the means to arrange for pick-up.  Sad times.

So...in an effort to "maintain a vigorous writerly life," (see my inspiration here) I have decided to start this blog. My hope is that you'll choose to read it and, if nothing else, I'll help you enjoy a laugh that day.  Honestly though, this is mostly a space for me to return to that little girl who loved nothing more than a pack of fresh pencils and a new journal...even if it's just for nap time.

"Be courageous and try to write in a way that scares you a little." ~ Holley Gerth