August 4, 2011

Supermarket Beep.


Last night after picking the boys up from 'school', I decided to stop at the supermarket to grab—what else—more pizza dough. Li'l G was in (insert sarcasm) a spectacular mood and HAD to sit in the front seat of the cart. This is usually fine since the car seat carrier for Baby Trump fits in the back of the cart. Well, that wasn't the case, this particular store had smaller carts. So I begged and pleaded with G$ to "help a sister out" and just sit in the back like he sometimes will. No. Way. José.

So, I thought I had finagled some solution where I clipped the baby's carrier to the back of the cart. I was spotting the carrier (cheerleader style) while pushing the cart the whole way through the parking lot on our way to the store... when the carrier began to tip. Luckily, I caught it—but I clearly looked frazzled.

A woman approached me and asked if I needed any help. I quickly responded, "No, I'll figure it out, [Li'l G's] just being a brat."

The woman stopped me, "No he's not. He's being little—that's how little people act. Now are you sure you don't need some help?"

Lazers, actual lazers, shot out of my eyes and burned a massive hole in her chest. Okay, that didn't happen. But I decided I hated her (same). And I brushed her off again, but more snotty this time.

But the more I think about it, the more I agree with that woman. And the more embarrassed I am with my response. Li'l G is 2 years old and he was tired to boot. I am the (sometimes) rational adult and I need to be the one to compromise, figure out a hairy situation and set the example of acting polite to strangers.

If I saw her again, I'd thank her for the lesson. When I start to lose my patience with the little muffins, I'm going to take a deep breath and ask for help—whether it's from another person or God (for even more patience and grace).

Consider this my apology to that woman.

Andrea xx

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