That Time Hayes Pooped at the Grocery Store

It’s been one of those weeks. And it’s Wednesday.

I have found that “those” weeks are placed directly after the really awesome weeks, as not to inflate my sense of mom-awesomeness. Momsomeness? Mawesomeness? Mmk. Last week was Clark’s first full week back to school (for practice and inservice) and the Lord taunted me with a smooth and breezy week to break me in to this new life. Monday, I got the babes decked out in their Steer red, white, and blue for Booster Bash at the football field (only to realize the event lasted a full 8 minutes); I toted them to the grocery store Tuesday and got $180 worth of groceries without any tears; entertained in the stands Thursday night at the football scrimmage; and then got all children to bed by 8 (first time in the history of EVER) Friday night while Clark was off scouting; I swept the floor almost every day, dished out less than three spankings throughout the week, and cooked dinner 5 friggin’ nights.

So what I’m saying is I should have seen it coming. Pride cometh before the fall.

My first mistake was cheating on Hayes’ diet restrictions and eating 2 … okay 3 chocolate chip cookies. And three scoops of the dough. Then, I tried to drink a cup of decaf coffee and TURNS OUT decaf coffee is not so decaf. Google it. This led to a rough few days which led to a rough few nights which led to a grumpy mother which led to “Y’all watch a movie on the iPad while mommy lays on the bed” which led to time outs and bad choices and stomping feet and “Well hell, I can’t parent right now. Can I quit?”

Then we ran out of food.

My plan to go to the grocery store alone on Monday night failed when Hayes screamed till 11:30 so Tuesday morning with the brood it was. I foolishly texted my friend who offered to keep one of them, “They usually do okay as long as I crack open some muffins.”

Pride goeth before the fall.

I wrap Hayes on me, load Hattie in the front of the cart and Charlee in the back. We are on Aisle 5 with approximately a third of the cart full when I get a whiff of stank. Hayes always picks the most opportune moments to poop his pants so why not now? As I shuffle us all towards the bathroom, I’m mentally digging through my diaper bag trying to determine if I even have wet wipes and a diaper. Because I’m so on top of things, I do. But because I’m NEVER on top of things, and knowing that this was certainly a blowout (as that is the only type of dirty diaper that exists in Hayesville), I definitely do not have a change of clothes for him.

** sidenote — Flashback to two weeks ago when I did the walk of shame out of a restaurant bathroom with a naked Hayes while eating lunch with a sweet couple we’d just met that took us out after church. Did I learn my lesson? No. I am a gamblin’ man and a loser. **

I unload the cart of children, grab the diaper bag and usher them into the bathroom to survey the damage. For Hayes, not too bad. It got on his pajamas (because why should babies wear real clothes in public) a little bit but I wipe it off with a wet wipe. Totally fine. I bathe him in wet wipes and saddle him back into the Sleepy Wrap but the screams don’t stop as expected. I mean, he’s at a full-fledged 10.

As I’m attempting to shove a paci into the mouth of a feral kitten, I see Hattie’s shorts on the floor of the bathroom and hear Charlee sweetly coercing her in the stall, “You can go tee-tee in the big potty! Here. Take off your diaper.” SAY WHAAAAT? “NO MA’AM! You can NOT! DO NOT REMOVE THE DIAPER!! DIAPER DOES NOT COME OFF!” (Baby still screaming. Elderly women walking in and leaving again.) “Put your shorts back on right now.” (Hattie crying, Hayes crying, Charlee looking at me like I’ve lost my dang mind. It’s fine. I have.)

I’m furiously beebopping the baby back and forth when I think, “His bottom was really red I think. He probably had that poop in his diaper for a while. Do I have any diaper cream?” Of course not. He’s never had a rash before. Why would I have diaper cream? I unload him back out of the wrap and undress him again to find a bright red bottom. I dig through the diaper bag in desperation and find nipple cream… it’s probably the same thing, right? Without googling “Can I put nipple cream on my baby’s diaper rash” I lather that bad boy on and stick him back in as Hattie continues to attempt to put her shorts on upside-down. Unsuccessfully. While sitting on the floor of the Wal Mart bathroom. What. Ever.

Internally I debate, do I just leave the basket of groceries and get in the car and leave? A day of hunger won’t kill them. Will we survive this trip?

We get her shorts situated, I bounce Hayes back and forth for another couple of minutes and he finally calms down to a 2. Then we make our way towards the door. I half expect there to be a crowd gathered outside of the bathroom exit trying to figure out what all the commotion is but only a couple of people are staring. I try to smile a “I’ve totally got this under control” smile as I wipe away the sweat dripping down my temples.

I load the girls back into the cart and proceed to give them a pep talk (“I need both of you to listen to mommy and follow directions RIGHT NOW … “), Hayes passes out in the wrap, and we press on. They ended up doing great and we now have food and we made it home and I still like them.

What I’m saying is I’m now doing all my grocery shopping online.

These are the days, my friends. Tomorrow will be better. Because tomorrow we won’t have to go to the grocery store.

This is the Story of How I Lost My Mind

At the end of some days, I think back on the day and reflect on how it went so smoothly. And then (because I never learn), I think to myself,  “I’ve really got this whole parenting thing down.”

Then there are days like Wednesday.

God gives you days like the former, to remind you of how much you love your kids on days like the latter.

God gives you days like the latter, to keep your ego in check.

Coincidentally, Tuesday was one of those smooth sailing days. Love how Tuesdays seem to always happen before Wednesdays. Literally and figuratively speaking.

On Tuesday, Charlee took a three-hour nap AND Hattie was asleep for an hour-and-a-half of those three hours. That meant I had a whole entire hour-and-a-half TO.MY.SELF. Unheard of. Because of this three-hour nap (does anyone else keep singing three-hour nap to the tune of Gilligan’s Island?), Big Girl had a very difficult time falling asleep that night. She finally tuckered out around 11 pm. Hattie however, fell asleep around 7:30. 

Does anyone see where this is going?

So then we have … Wednesday. Hattie wakes up at 6:15. Ugh. She eventually falls back to sleep around 8. With what I am sure is to be a long while before Charlee wakes up, I decide to get dressed — as in put on makeup and a semi-cute mom-casual outfit. WHAT? I know. It is out of character. Some days you just need to feel good about yourself, right? I think God knew what the day ahead of me held, so he offered me this nibble of confidence, knowing the rest will be completely depleted in about 12 hours.

I hear Charlee’s good morning cry at approximately 8:32: “YA YA YA YA YA YA YA.”As soon as I hear her I think, “This is bad.” Not unlike her mother, she needs an ample amount of sleep to function emotionally the following day. As I make the long walk to her bedroom, I attempt to prepare myself for what is sure to be a toddlerific Wednesday.

The day begins with breakfast… as days usually do. I’m sure you know, deciding on what to eat for breakfast is torturous some mornings. And the obvious way to convey your disgust with what your mom chooses for you is to cry at a very high pitch, as to attract all the neighborhood dogs to eat the breakfast for you. How dare I give her raspberries and yogurt. The nerve.

If I were smart, I would have recognized the spiral for what it was and kept the child quarantined all day. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt, sure that once we got out the door she would be transformed by the light. So I sat her in front of the computer (Go ahead. Judge me. I would if I weren’t me.) and proceeded to play Elmo songs on YouTube while she ate her buttered pancakes (frozen and store-bought… don’t be impressed), so that I can feed Hattie and get our stuff together for a playdate.

About 12 meltdowns later (why won’t I let her wear her boots on the wrong feet?!), I am determined to get out the door before someone dies. Our 10 o’clock date was to the local church that holds a Mom ‘n Tot time on Wednesday mornings. I walk in with Charlee, fully aware that she is teetering precariously on this tightrope of sleep deprivation, knowing her tired alter-ego could rear its ugly head at any moment.

She has a couple mini-meltdowns (a boy was walking inside a train tent, which is clearly terrifying, and a little girl took the bike she wanted to ride. B*&%$), but nothing too dramatic. Then, the final straw comes in the form of a two-year-old girl who takes a hula hoop Charlee is standing by. STANDING BY. Was she playing with it? Nope. Does she know what a hula hoop is or how to use one? Not at all. Did that pink piece of plastic symbolize all that was holding her fragile world together? Apparently.

We left in a trail of tears, a baby in each arm with the eldest screaming in one ear, the youngest’s eyes wide, like, “Mom! Make her stop!”

We recover at home before nap time.

Did I say nap time? What I meant was… she doesn’t take a nap. 

C lies in her bed for an hour-and-a-half, chatting and singing … just about the only time that whole day she was pleasant. You guys. No nap. No freaking nap.

That evening, we take dinner to some of our friends. And OF COURSE she falls asleep in the car. After about 20 minutes, she wakes up. And she wakes up angry. Angry at Hattie for having to eat. Angry at her high chair for being too high. Angry at mom for not giving her TWO Gogurts.

At about 6:25, Hattie catches The Crazies from her sister and proceeds to scream, pull my hair, scratch my chest and punch me in the face for the next 3 1/2 hours. 8 gallons of gas drops later, she falls asleep. Only to wake up 22 more times before morning.

And that is the story of how I lost my mind.

Send Target. Like the whole store. Send it to me. And coffee. And a babysitter.