My two year-old's face was covered in jelly donut, and he had a grin glowing of sprinkles; no doubt we were again buying groceries, and I had bribed him to take a seat.
I am dying to know, who the genius was in the bakery, obviously not a mother...throwing toddler bait all over a donut with a surprise frick'n jelly center. Fabulous! Mini m'ms and sprinkles weren't enough disaster...and generally were used to decoy away from making mother and toddler look of a jelly massacre. Instead, I had a child gnawing like a dog with fleas, to scrape each and every of the last m'ms and all 3lbs of frosting off. And when he hit jelly would spit red globs, and wipe his finger on the first thing in his reach, like it a booger.
Yes, it was quite yummy...for the sake of the last remaining clean spots on my shirt, I caught on to this game, and began sticking out my tongue and slurped it off his finger each time.
Then, the cutest old lady approached the cart, where my little jelly hyena was happily scrubbing his donut around the shopping cart top and placing the unwanted pieces in my open wallet.
The common greeting, "Which aisle did you find this little doll?"
Surprised by the thickness of her glasses, and how she possibly couldn't have seen the earlier show...there wasn't an aisle unturned, nor one I hadn't found him destroying, before I dangled a donut in his path.
Now, biting at my raspberry nails nervously, each time her frail little body got closer in his kick zone, and not to mention within jelly booger range. But, Bostyn was as calm as the rest of the store, now that there was jelly sticking him to a permanent seat in the cart.
She said her name was Gracie, "She was not a stranger, she was a Great-Grandma," and she continued calling him Dawson for the next 8 aisles we paired through the store. He wanted one of the strawberries from her cart, and naturally, she carried them all the way over to the bathroom and washed them off, so she could share.
I told her, "Not to worry about it...he generally ate the sand covering and stems in all!" Apparently, she hadn't she seen the bacteria with its own zip code and pet-sized amoebas crawling on that donut, or watched him lick the jelly off the seat buckle. The boy had an immune system and careless nature of any third child to a home.
She pretended there was a bug on one of the berries, and sang some ridiculous song of a ladybug, and the child sat there in such disbelief his eyebrows were arched over his ears.
She told him, "We have to wash the grasshopper whiskers off before we eat!" (exactly...and here I thought it was the foreign picker's piss and pesticides...who knew the worst contaminates and most lethal poisons on our foods were the whiskers of a grasshopper...only Grace!)
He offered a bite of his fistful, let her try on his sunglasses, and it seemed, he had made a real friend here, and so had I... She was the Grace of God! I had my first loaf of bread to ever survive a shopping trip and I hadn't had to entertain a toddler with visiting the lobster tank eleven times, after each aisle.
This little old gal was plenty of entertainment for one curious boy. She clapped at all of his tricks, and he stared fascinated with the quiver of her bottom lip each time she shared the same exact story. I could tell her great-grandchildren were probably getting close to the its time to take the keys away talk, but Bostyn loved her crazy and belly laughed the wackier she got. She liked him on all fours, pretending to be, "What a cute little cow, you are," which quickly turned to raged snorting, "Me bull-cow!" and I had ended after he headbutted the cart against her old leg.
She attempted wiping the jelly off him, but was using a ratted tissue from inside her sleeve, and it left him looking as if he'd been tared and feathered. He was spitting pieces of tissue at her, but she just laughed...
She then says, "You're so cute, I'll take you home with me..." My eyes bugged, like could it be true! "Now, now Grace, let's not be threatening Mama with a good time, here..." I could have slammed that child over into her cart's seat so fast, tissue pieces would be trailing, her eggs dripping, and the glasses knocked off her head, so she'd never seen which way I went...
Obviously it was not an option, they were as well fit as, well, sticky and a tissue. And she was most likely going home to brush her cat, water rhubarb plants, and place every item she bought today in it's own, dated from the 80's, Tupperware container...
Although, I wish I would have suggested, "If you have liability insurance, your will in order, and you prefer your eggs scrabbled, here you go Gracie! His address and number are written in his coat, hopefully, you don't beat me home, or at least hang in there long enough for me to get my frozen stuff put away! You're in good hands...although only two, he had experience in calling 9-1-1, three times already."
He was cute, but he was venomous! And unless she had served in Vietnam, raised 9 boys of her own, or maybe traveled on a broom, her nor her cat would survive his terror!
"Bye Dawson! Be a good boy!" She laughed, and waved. Her hands were just like I remembered my Great-Grannie's...ice cold, tough as leather, but with the prints wore off and tips as smooth as butter. Bostyn slammed her a high-5 good-bye, nearly rocking her to her grave, and with enough force, I was at peace with my decision...she just wasn't a possible sitter. She belonged at quilt meetings and hanging out at the Quest lab waiting for blood work...she just wouldn't survive flying rocks and Nerf gun wars, or a rodeo ride on play dates with my two year-old.
He was a little heart broken, until spotting the basket of suckers at the end of the checkout...and ran the store again, like the raged beast he was earlier!
Once again, the check-out line was moving as slow as 5:00 traffic...just why it is not a requirement to have two functioning hands to be grocery store cashier is beyond me...
He was streaming a balloon around at a full sprint, and yes, with a sucker in his mouth, and I was trying to keep my eyes on him, while unloading our cart full. He was still yelling "Hey Gace-E?"
He climbs on the end bench, runs in the women's bathroom, and don't I still dare to ask for a rain check and drag out this lengthy check-out, even more... Not sure to leave my purse and cart, and go to the bathroom and see what grasshopper whiskers he was touching in there, or just keep a stare that he didn't leave... yep, never mind he'll come shimmying out to the end of the check out with his underpants to his knees, pants to his ankles, and another sucker in his mouth, this one I'm sure, covered in much more than grasshopper whiskers, by now. Everyone snickers, some point and laugh out loud!
He simply explains, "Can't reach, Mama!" and I say, "Where the hell are ya now, Grace?"
So, if anyone knows "Gracie" ...approximately 85-90 years of age, in an embroidered grey shirt, which she's probably home dabbing the jelly stains with hydrogen peroxide, while her rhubarb soaks... Her son's name was Richard in one story, and Robert in another similar story. Maybe twins? Maybe senile?
Her upper teeth, I know are false-- as her taking them out trick was the main attraction and the definite bond-building moment for Bostyn! And by the wearing of her left shoe and the gate in her step, she has a rather large corn on her left big toe. Anybody fitting the description-- meet you at tops, same time next week?
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