Blueberry Pickers Beware!

On the summer run, I found myself in the McDonald's Drive Thru once again. Running and no time for lunch. My destination was to go pick blueberries, and the "I'm starving...so starving,  ...Dying!" quickly detoured us, yet again.

My youngest blew bubbles in his chocolate milk, covered his shirt and seat, instead of eating on the car ride.

So when we reached to blueberry fields...guess who was told to hang on to the burger?

"Do you want this, now? Are you going to eat your cheese burger? Here Bud...C'mon!"

We all know, as a mother those words must be spoke three dozen times, as we're left holding what they just might want later...and naturally, only desire at those very moments after we finally chuck it out of sight, or our continuous little bite here and there, has added up to it's entirety.

He wasn't going to eat the damn thing, yet I continue on... half-eaten cheeseburger in one hand, dropping blueberries into a trick-or-treat pail with the other. Just another day as mom.

"Here...eat your cheeseburger!" I'd pick a few more, then find myself repeating it once again.  

My one handed effort, combined with the help of, "Is this one good? ...this one, Mom, this one?" kept us plugging along...

"Mine is bigger... I got more in my bucket!"
"DOOOON'T! You're going to spill mine!" 
"Mooooom!"

My kids became louder and louder, and I kept walking deeper into the patch and further from the other pickers, each time they fought.

"I was at this bush first!"

I was nearly ready to smear my kids with the cheeseburger I was carrying along, fill their pockets with berries, and tell them to go find a bear to play with.
One was hot, and one was bored. The littlest had to pee...anywhere and everywhere he could squeeze out a drip...three times. Then, started my oldest boy, "I gotta pee too!"

Surely, they were told to go before we left...but, didn't!

45 minutes...was it impossible for a child to hold it for only 45 minutes?
Well, It was if they had a large McDonald's drink, also stole their sister's drink, and half of yours...

Whatever...I kept walking, and pretending I hadn't given my boys permission to pee all over the blueberry farm, as long as they just let me pick.

I circled back around a loaded blueberry bush to pick form it's other side, lifted my head to do a typical "kid check"and stared, just stared!

No?!?  gasp...

There she was... my daughter now in full squat...

"Ashlyn!"
Knowing she was going to cover her whole left leg, back of her shorts, and fill her shoes like other attempts, I ran to her...

"You can't pee here, everyone can see you," I whispered.

"I'm not peeing, Mama!" She grinned and proudly glanced over at me, welcoming the first several inches of her "I can't hold it anymore!"

"It's poop, mama!"

"Dear God... Hurry up," I begged her.

There she was piling it up like a Great Dane, giggling and grunting! And no wonder she couldn't hold it, it was big enough to put pressure on the brain, and surely the combination of eating excessive free berries and McDonald's grease, was not helping her control.

I tried to motion her over, at least behind the protection of a small bush.

"I'm not finished," she cried, as I was frantically glancing over my shoulder like I was in the middle of a drug hand off, or cheating on another timed math test.

I was getting away...my advise was she'd better bury that sucker like a cat, and DO NOT call me "Mom" if others are near!

"Mom, there's some hanging!!  ...MOM! I need to wipe!"

Panic! We needed a beach towel-sized maple leaf for this job. The blueberry bush leaves could not possibly wipe a grasshopper's ass with out puncturing a finger through, so there was no way it was going to help with this matter. It was rows and rows of freshly brush-hogged land, as stubbly as rhubarb stalks, surrounding us.

Oh Lord, only me... I had a hamburger bun, now tucked in my bra and tank top, and the Bonus card attached to my keys, at that was all... My kids weren't wearing any socks, and I had not even a gum wrapper.

"I don't have anything...you'll just have to pull your pants up! Oh God, some one's coming!"
Realistically, not wiping couldn't be any worse than her self-wipe attempts, anyhow...maybe better, as at least her fingers were guaranteed to stay clean this time.

Surely, what I was left with was not as easily covered up as dropping food along a buffet line, with one of those little kick-scoots under the table... What exactly, was the "my kid just shit in public" proper edict anyhow? Was I supposed to flick it in the weeds with an opened toe flip flop on, or decoy it with the cheeseburger so many had already stared at, along with it's causing of ants to climb up my chest. Certainly, once I placed it on the pile of shit my two year-old was going to ask for it back.

I was sweating bullets! Is a mother obligated to bury it with grasses or build a Boy Scout tepee over it with sticks? I suppose it could be kind of like putting up a wet floor sign...Panic! Would I be liable for replacing some one's shoes, or for a slip and fall?

This wasn't the bank lobby, it was nature! Let's pretend it was a dog (which is not easily done when a child is so proud and has eaten corn, however)

My kids circled it, "The bugs are eating it, Mom!"

"Let's hope they're really hungry and eat fast..."
It was time to sneak to the other side of the field, and leave. It would be punishing enough to deal with this kid's underpants when we got home, I didn't need to see what else was yet to come...
Eat fast bugs, eat fast!
 

What Mama can accomplish with a pair of nylons!



The best 37 cents mother could spend!


Trying to prepare three small kids for the day and reach the doors of church before 9am with a bit of composure, is not something a mother would describe as easily done...it is nearly the challenge of fitting into pre-baby jeans, while wet and occupying one hand with the eating of an Oreo.
 
We were rushing all week long, leaving behind bowls of half-eaten soggy cereal for the flies, trails of scattered dirty p.j.'s for soaking them up after they were spilt, and the bathroom faucet still trickling a steady stream, more often than not!

Vacation Bible School, day four! Order and routine was a scarce part of our summer mornings and we tend to rely more on the, finish in the car and just put a hat on methods.

After days in the 90's, the terrible humidity caused my children to have melt downs faster than the ice cream cone left in the cup holder of my car door, and I was approaching new levels of exhaustion and misery!

If sleep was possible in this heat...the grinding of box fans, three extra little bodies kicking and sprawled in every direction of my bed, and the 'einer dog licking the sweat and salt from my skin, was making it even more impossible!

Yet, somehow by the grace of God, we were making it to V.B.S. each day and leaving three hours later, without the steeple smoldering.

My kids had went to bed late and woke up early all week. It was 89 degrees out, the busiest shopping day of the week, and was now lunch time...so, why not take three kids into Walmart!? Well, it was nearly the same lack of intelligence as rolling a child's ice cream cone in sprinkles and allowing him to eat it in the car seat.

But, I had to go... The dog was eating my kid's bread crust and vegetables because we were out of dog food. Our faucet water was smelling like the lingering of a high protein diet, and was staining the spots in bathroom sink that weren't covered by globs of kid's toothpaste, because the water softener filters needed to be changed. And I had two weddings to attend and no super-duper slimmer type of underwear for binding together the ten pounds I needed to drop for fitting into my dress.

I needed a pair that would ratchet a muffin top tighter than denture adhesive, and squish my stomach flatter than a cake baked in my house after the kids had stomped around the kitchen and hung from the oven door, repeatedly catapulted shut again.

No, no comfort was not an option here, I needed results... like three months of going to the gym results, or maybe a miracle!

I was occupied in an intense search for the perfect control top and tummy tucking, miraculous piece of spandex known to woman...and my children were destroying and playing in three aisles of women's garments! Hide 'n seek with a thong as the blindfold, giant panties pulled over their bodies like an art smock, and a game of rolling the gumball machine containers holding nylon knee-highs into the cup of an enormous bra.  Creative!

"Oh Mama! Look at my boobies!" as my kids held up bras, wore them like skull caps, and pranced around the store like spring lambs.

Cute at first, but as everyone stared, and they became as loud as the school cafeteria, I shouted, "Stop it! Knock it off!"

I would chase after them, then return to reading various underwear tags. I held up and tugged on garments, seeing if they were really capable of handling all they promised on the labels, but the kids made my search for finding a proper 5lb. sack to house 15lbs of extra fat, impossible.

The cart would slam over my heels and then race away with my purse in it. And when they ran off shouting and holding a hammock-sized bra like a banner in a parade, and nearly clotheslined an elderly woman, I had finally had enough.

That was it... I reached to my daughter and ripped the nylon knee-high puppet from her performing hand...I lassoed my obnoxious toddler by the belt loop and knotted him securely into the top basket of the cart. There he was, tethered by the pair of nylons and attempting to wiggle over the back. I had him strapped down tighter than stacked lumber on a flatbed, and as long as his pants were staying on, I could actually accomplish some shopping!   

He dangled over the seat back, bungee jumped off the side in humor, but could not escape the cart and remained in my sight, just as planned!

My daughter entertained herself with a pair of water softener binoculars for the next many aisles and my oldest was working extra hard earning a pack of gum...
I had won...

Mama- 1!  Walmart- 0!

Next, I had various other stops to make today. The common stops, like the Post Office and feeding the kids something more to ruin the back of my car, all the way to meeting the rare requests of my sister...depositing her check at the bank, and checking in on her birthing hog- yes, a pig! 

I don't know exactly what I was checking for... but, yes there was a pig...a very large, spotted one, and 13 babies... checked!

How a mother's duties know no limits!

I said a little prayer for mama pig, as she had 13 kids to look after, and I could not handle three...

Now, I just had to get three pig shit-covered kids from frolicking in the yard, back into the car without a chicken or a dog also joining, and get to the bank before closing...

Bribe! Beg! Threaten! It wasn't that difficult!

That is until you go to slam the car door shut, after loading the last child, and "bongggg!" it bounces right back open.

Immediately I think a shoe, seat belt, toy...no screams, wasn't a hand...something was in the door, again!

Nope! 

The lock was tripped and the latch will not open it, and of coarse it was the only door of the car that also had the child lock set on it! 

Her house was locked, but in my encounters of "pig checking" I notice a steak knife laying on her lawn...apparently used for cutting the bale twine, and was kept there regularly and purposely...indeed, no more questions!

I attempt to pry at the latch, but the knife is not working.

I continue to search the remnants of my sister's lawn, and think that if there was the perfect place to be in such need of various supplies...anything could definitely be found here. The less than average house keeping, combined with being the residence of both working parents, and four adventurous children, topped this lawn as the McGuyver hot spot.

I located a spoon, not far from a cereal bowl, a broken ice scraper, and a cap-less washable marker...all were too wide!

Continuing down the hillside, whipping a purple sneaker to the other side of the deck, as I remembered seeing its mate over in that general area earlier, I found...Ah... a coat hanger (naturally, with a shirt still on it and faded on one side) and I was just about to attempt to bend it into a screw driver position, when I noticed-- "Oh Shit!" Seven minutes to get to the North Java Bank... 

Suddenly, I had a solution...

The second nylon knee-high!!!!  Brilliant!

I dug through six Walmart bags of school supplies and found the little plastic container, then tied the last knee-high around the door handle, and tossed the opposite end to my oldest child...

"Here... hold on tight and don't let that sucker go!!!" I raced to the bank, taking the left turns gingerly and making up the speed through all the right turns to give my child's arm a rest. We made it just in time! My kids added three more wrappers and sucker sticks to my car floor, and the man at the tire shop down the road shared in a good laugh, when I begged for "a little door help" before I continued on...to dinner, soccer, and to rescue baby birds!   

     

Amen to the makers of the durable and multi-purpose nylons...better than any shopping cart belts, rope, or door locks, even made with control top panels to shed pounds gained from finishing all your kids' plates...but most importantly, the causes for many giggles from children, and that may continue to cure anything!

-even a bad chaotic day  

Paper or Plastic is not a greeting!

So here's my daily chew...and naturally it would include taking three small children to the grocery store-- dragging one by the ear, dangling another by the untied shoelace, and the third, well that's why God made her a girl, to give me a perfectly braided handle! 

So, here I come, ditching all the unwanted crap in the dog food aisle as usual, and attempting to push a piled-high cart, while carrying a kicking toddler like a football. I have an unbalanced gait of putting my child-less hip forward and dragging my shopping cart damaged heel behind, as I finally land at the checkout. Sigh! And I must say, here should have the benches, a foot soak... or possibly wine sampling? Something soothing and replenishing after such exertion...or at least a "Congratulations, you made it this far benchmark!" to keep a mother moving forward!

Chocolate!

Yes, that will do!

Amazing at the age of two, how a child has already conquered the game of "If I open all this crap mommy has to buy it!" and we allow them to continue defeating us until they're 18 or whatever age they reach when they're too embarrassed to shop along with us anymore.

But not today, this mommy was already paying for an empty Cheetos bag, three bakery bags holding only the shredded waxie, and 2lbs. of lunch meat with only one slice still remaining!

Instead, I rip the pack of opened M'n M's from my child's hands, and not only do I deny him of having them, but I eat them myself as my kids watch hinged at the watering mouth... 

Why? ...because I am the mother, and could not possibly face the next battle of chasing kids through the hectic parking lot, dodging potholes while hauling the tipsy cart behind like dragging a dead horse-- then on all fours trying to rescue a soccer ball or watermelon or whatever it may be today under my car, without first fueling of chocolate! That's why! And the kid was already screaming at the top of his lungs before I stole them away, so what the hell?  Really...

I already called for a mop boy twice, spent 25 minutes in a cereal aisle debate, and waved and spoke to the fresh lobster tank with each turning of an aisle, so if anything was going to restore my sanity it would surely need the assistance of some chocolate or turpentine strength booze!

Now finally, there's a few inches of empty belt available for me to begin putting my groceries on, and a light is shining at the end of this tunnel...No. really there's a light shining...flicking on and off exactly! Flashing checkout "6" needs assistance!

Every damn time, I pick the line with dilemma ahead!

Price check, I need coin, bad credit card...you name it!

Complete torture!

Was there anything worse than listening to my kids play with squeaking dog toys in the aisle behind, scream and whine for every item in the checkout, and watching a woman who's name tag read "Four years of quality service" continue her fifth year in a clueless state!? 

Meanwhile I'm losing my mind, patience, occasionally sight of my toddler destructing the aisles, and most definitely my large toe nail after that last blast of the cart over my flip flop.

However, yes I am that person...the one who can stare down a four year-old, brace up the nearly collapsing candy rack that the little baboon is hanging off, and yet one-handed continue placing my things in forward belt motion...SORTED!  

Not alphabetically, but sorted...like cold and frozen together, all the crap that will leak all over separated, and the shit I don't want my kids asking me where it went to when we get home, that's at the beginning, hidden under a cereal box for a reason! And if I can adamantly continue that process while a child thrusts the yellow "closed" checkout chain around me like a bull whip, and my littlest drops his pants at the register and threatens to shoot, than you would think the cashier could simply scan items in that order, instead of shredding through my groceries like a cat digging in a liter box. 

My eyes are black from no sleep, my face red from yelling, "Get over here!" and my shins and heels purple as kids ram the cart once again. I'm yet to go green-- but yes, I am also that person who throws a stack of reusable shopping bags at the beginning of my order. No, I am not a true tree hugger, but rather that I already have a giant wad of plastic bags rolled together larger than the base for a snowman. And just when that sucker breaks free from the disarray in the cabinet under my sink, it's going to be more dangerous than a Colorado avalanche!

So, instead I've started a collection of reusable ones, which restricts my vehicle to a seven passenger, instead of an eight, as I seem to purchase and acquire several more each trip I forget them out in my car.

Being it is summer, and the front of my order has all the cold items, I naturally put the insulated bag with the zipping top, on top of my stack of bags to use first...right?   Wrong! 

Apparently intimidated by the zipper, she whips that sucker aside like throwing a dog a frisbee, and starts swiping in an uncontrollably turret-like matter. There was no stopping her. Once she got going it was as dangerous as sticking my hands in the lawn mower blade, and where ever the barcode was found, was how it landed in the bag. Shampoo and produce, rolls and cantaloupe...

Now the only bag left was my freezer bag, perfectly wasted on this sunny 83 degree heat, for three remaining items. What better way was there to steam every Golden Gram into one glued glob, than zipping cereal into a foil lined bag with a hot rotisserie chicken? And more appropriately my ice cream was on top of several boxed items, where it was sure to catch every ray of sunshine as I went to the bank, post office, through Mc' D's, and several other stops before it would find my freezer.

Although the qualifications to become a store clerk are not highly complex, may I suggest-- if the person did not play with blocks as a child or can not complete at least two levels of Tetris, have them run a mop...not bag the groceries!!   

I'm amazed that after four years of poorly packing bags, no one has returned to smack that woman upside the head with their smashed loaf of bread or box of shattered light bulbs.   

If my bread and rolls have survived and sustained my children for 23 aisles of lunging in and out of  the cart, pepperoni stick sward fighting, and barrel rolling my watermelon-- I have really accomplished something for the day and I'll be damned if I will let it fall victim to red-shirted, paper or plastic incompetence on the home stretch!

So tell me...how a bag of three stacked one-dozen cartons of eggs, all on one side, and a loaf of bread crammed down along the other side is going to carry-- without my bread looking like I've swatted flies with it all day, after my kids left the door open, again. 

And certainly, a five pound family pack of bloody ground hamburger, on only a flimsy disc and loosely fitting wrap, should (indeed) be stood up on end and placed on top of a roll of toilet paper...then, throw a two liter of pop on top so it's weight is sure to squeeze every last drop out the bottom! What that doesn't accomplish, the 43lbs on the upside of the little pink flip flops stomping at rejection to a gumball, ought to cover.  

After six years of marriage, my husband knew exactly which week he'd better pull it together, avoid certain questioning and keep his mouth shut, just by taking a simple glance in the bathroom garbage. Now, throwing a bloody burger covered roll of toilet paper in there was going to cause my husband to count on his fingers in confusion, study a calendar, and make the work of training a new puppy all over again.

Thank you for shopping Tops... you've thrown off mine and my husband's most effective line of communication with some leaking hamburger, turned my rolls into croutons, my bread into the shape of a slipper, and encouraged me to wear steel toed boots and hockey pads while shopping with my children. Yes, a one armed man could operate a wheelbarrow full of rocks better than my kids can a shopping cart, and apparently because a squirrel can pack nuts into its cheeks it qualifies to bag groceries as well, no training necessary! 

Get out of my Kitchen!

Anyone who's tried to accomplish something in the kitchen, with small children, knows- you'll soon be pulling a soaked shirt out of your belly button divot, after a child sitting on the counter surprisingly nails you with a squeeze of the spray wand.  Use that soaked shirt to clean up various other spills and sticky messes caused by that same, or an additional toddler also sitting on the counter, before leaving it atop a laundry heap. Then, answer the phone, let in the barking dog, and take a it-was-too-late anyhow child to the bathroom, before finally passing the bathroom mirror and realizing you've been in only your left cup-soaked bra for... what time is it anyway!

After attempting a mere macaroni salad preparation, I had a sink of dishes like I'd catered a 250 guest wedding, with the disaster of three blind monkeys as my assistants. Well close, two had perfect vision, only one fell victim to the vinegar in the eyes...

Six different large spoons for stirring and nearly a whole roll of paper towels to dab and scoop away unwanted ingredients, either happily added, even when I said, "NO No, No" or accidentally dropped from little over-touching hands.

Like every other time; the floor soaked, the counter tops covered in dirty feet prints, and numerous tiny hands throw various things, including several pumps of the hand soap, into my every stir!

"Can I help?" were the words that made me wake in sweats and sit up in my bed at night! Faster than I could say, "Oh, not this time..." They were scurrying up the Lazy Susan ladder, like mice up barn rafters, and the sound of a chair shrieking across the tile floor gave me goosebumps, and made the kitchen walls close in when it was sat directly under my nose.

I tried to divert them, even coax them away like rattling a grain scoop at farm animals, I'd lie that I wasn't really cooking anything, entertain them elsewhere, then attempt a sneak away, like I did out of their beds at night, but nothing ever, EVER, kept them out of the kitchen for long!

It started...the same way every time, "Ok! But, sit here, stay down, and you gotta listen!"

Hahahah!

Well, it also ended every time with us eating a bowl of cereal or ordering take-out, and my urge to throw a lit match in my kitchen before any possible desire to clean it!

Showing first priority to the bare-butted toddler sitting on my counter and reaching to stir boiling noodles, seemed like the proper thing to do...until it meant I neglected to aid in the hard-boiled egg peeling, or lack of peeling, for my salad! Just ask a four year-old why there are also bubbles and shells mixed in the salad, and you'll get something like this, "Well, you shoulda helped me, I'm not the cooker! Some shells wouldn't come off, so I tried to wash it!" Naturally, I couldn't convince her to lather with soap when she washed her own hands, yet she felt it necessary to scrub an egg with an amount sufficient to supply a car wash...and then quickly mix it in the mayo of my salad, hoping I wouldn't notice.

I was out of celery, and surely its absence wouldn't be missed nearly as much, with the same crunch texture found in added egg shells. And after seeing my counter top and son's fingernails, maybe a 1/2 cup of antibacterial soap was just what is needed in this recipe.

I insisted on continuing...

Additionally, sand fell out of the socks of my littlest as he climbed around the sink area, and my daughter licked everything from her dirty fingers and spit back what she hadn't liked. Eating this special blend, was going to be as "iffy" as cutting the top off my child's Go-gurt tube with the same scissors found in the shower, which my husband trimmed his pubes with.

Cooking in a kitchen barefoot and pregnant seems so joyous...until the pregnancy is over and left behind are three baboons leaping form cupboard to stove top, flinging hot pasta and heavy jars onto those unguarded feet, and something I wouldn't dare to eat becomes the end result.

Now what the hell is for dinner? The question we all ask at 2pm, 3pm, 4pm, and 5pm, yet don't get serious about until daddy asks at 6 or 7pm...
I've begged of several things already this summer vacation, mostly that each car pulling in was a nanny, even a zookeeper, camp recruiter, or Grandma...but today it was simply pleas to have barbed wire fencing (with electrical current) and a presidential guard posted at the entrance of my kitchen! Seriously, I'd pay... and just may post a job opening for keeping these little counter contaminating, over-adding spice creepers away from my magic of creating a meal with only the five most-likely ingredients still left in the fridge when you haven't shopped in weeks!

A side from the mystery items in various Tupperware containers, those don't count...shit, those don't get moved without a long-handled spoon poke or oven mitts...my bare fridge always had the same last straggling items...

French dressing, the same bottle, an opened yogurt still containing a film covered spoon, a chip dip container no one was brave enough to open, and dried out baby carrots, freed from the bag, that rolled from front to back with an occasional raisin-like grape, every time my kids slam the crisper drawer... at times it required a prayer, a Google search for a possible recipe suggestion... or a call for pizza, and a definite promise to grocery shop tomorrow.

A mother is under enough pressure to prepare a meal with fridge bottom ingredients, or pull off something edible within the 7 minutes before soccer, so why couldn't it just be common knowledge, like when an x-ray is progress, to get the hell out of the room?

This attempt to get ahead of dinner time rush has left my garbage  a bit heavier, with a 6lb inedible mac. salad, my sink looking ship-recked, yet my dishwasher still is not repaired and my dish soap bottle laying on the lawn, after being hocked for added success in the slip'n slide... and my refrigerator, now has more mud and grass printed on the shelves, than food!

Week two, summer vacation...just may start with the bang of three kids tipping over another shopping cart at the grocery store...there's just no more avoiding it!