Mindless Mom

The kids and I walked up to the public library after dinner last night.  Sadly, my son’s three Transfomer books were due back.  That’s too bad…..I won’t be able to read them over and over and over and over and over again until next week when they make their way back on to the bookshelf, where my son can spot them with his eagle eyes again. 

I was secretly hoping that another ”Optimus Prime obsessed” child & his mother would see us dropping them in the book drop and snatch them up for a three week check-out period.  If they returned them late, I’d even be willing to pay up to six months of the 5cent/day fine for them.  People are busy, these things happen.

I regret to inform you that I had no such luck.  Feel free to join us for a bedtime showdown between Optimus Supreme (not to be confused with Optimus Prime) and Megatron next Saturday night at 8:30pm.

Our walk to the library was in a word, social. 

I had the girls in the double stroller and my son was walking in front of us.  We were not even out of the driveway when my middle child decided she wanted to walk “bys hers self”.  My son calmly opted for the chair on wheels and they traded places.  So now I’m pushing my oldest with his dangling legs hanging below the stroller and my youngest leaning out the right side waving to passing cars.  Miss Independent is up front picking up the pace to resemble a light-footed jog.  I follow suit and pick up my own pace.  There are enough of us that the passing traffic probably began to question which organization was hosting a 5k race at 6:30pm.  Watch out for the orange cones! 

About 1/4 of the way into the walk we fall back to a pedestrian pace and pass a man walking his dog.  My son says “hello” and the man responds with a warm “hello”.

“I said hi and he said hi back”, my son shouts back to me over the stroller roof. 

“I know, I heard.  That was nice of you.”

I tell the leader of our group to move to the side as a couple of teenage bikers pass by us. 

“Hi!” my son yells as they whiz by us.

“Hi”, an awkard teenage boy calls back.

I could see my son’s beaming smile from behind his head.  His cheeks were puffed up like a blowfish.  He turned back to me and hollered with excitement “he said hi too!”. 

You know where this is going.  Lucky for us the weather was nice; there were a lot of people out and about. 

For the next twenty minutes of our walk my son said every version of a greeting you can imagine to each oncoming walker, biker, skater, skooter-riding kid, and at one point got so caught up he even turned to his own sister for a response. 

“Hi!”, “How are you?”, “Hello!”,  “Hey there!”, “We’re walking to the library!”, “Hey you!”, “I like your dog!”, “Can I pet your dog?”.  All the while I could tell that he was mentally tallying the responses he got.

Halfway through the greeting madness, my daughter jumped on board.  As the leader of the group, she quickly had a leg up, as the oncoming traffic passed her first.  “Hi”, she’d say followed by a goony giggle. 

My son then upped the anti by skipping the generic salutation and shooting straight with the compliments.  “Those are cool shoes.”  “I like your bike.” “Your dog is cute.”  “Your skooter goes fast.”  All the while flashing his pearly whites.

You would have thought we were walking in a mall we passed so many people.  And I have to give a shout out to the peeps of our community - because each and every single person, no matter the age, responded with a warm and friendly response to all of my children.  Fools. 

3/4 way into the trip I now have the leader of this “mess on wheels” cupping her hands to her mouth as she giggles uncontrollably at each oncoming person and my son throwing out Knock Knock jokes.  The baby of the family caught onto things about 20 feet back and is now shouting out her own “HI” to compete with the hot air flowing from her siblings.  The sheer volume of the three of these kids speaking at the same time made the elderly walkers jump and the animals twitch as they passed us.

By the time we rolled up to the library, my son was practically handing out autographed photos of himself followed by a mimed hand telephone to his ear while mouthing the words “Call me”.  I had turned into the pimp mobile within a block’s time. 

Ok, so he wasn’t handing out photos, but the last guy we passed may have gotten wind of my daughter’s need to use the potty and the color of our living room couch. 

As my son propped open the door to the library and I attempted to maneuver the stroller inside, I reminded them all of the library’s Quiet Rule.  We got through the double door entrance and passed a woman standing at the drinking fountain.  In pure unison all three of my kids shouted “HI!”. 

Looking back……using the outdoor book drop may have been a wiser decision on my part.  Hell, what did I expect?  They had been on a roll.

I diagnosed my son as “psycho” by 10am this morning.  He woke up with a mission to annoy the living crap out of anyone standing within 6″ of him.  Lucky me, I was summoned to his bed in the middle of the night, so I woke up with the Chucky doll next to me. 

The day started with him crying to eat breakfast on the floor in the living room.  Then he pushed his baby sister out of the recliner so he could “have a better view” of the dinosaurs on Sesame Street.  Later he shoved, by “shoved” I mean flattened, his other sister for walking into the path of “where the Transformers were going to battle the Army men”.  He was mouthing off to me after I told him to chill out.  He was whining to my hubby about being able to help him in the yard later in the day.  And this was all within the first 25 minutes of being awake.

So what better to do with a kid armed with an attitude????…………Why, take the entire family to the zoo of course!  (Insert sadistic chuckle by my close family and friends.) 

After painstaking measures to get everyone dressed, pack a lunch, and change diapers for the 4th time that day we set off in the van for our luxury ride to the Zoo.  In hindsight, I’d like to hand myself a vodka flask at this point…..maybe dealing with Psycho Boy would have been more bearable or better yet, maybe I would have been a lightweight from drinking so early in the morning and could have claimed that I was “too tipsy” to go to the zoo after all. 

I digress.

So the actual car ride to the zoo was abnormally painless.  Everyone was in their own little world.  At one point they were each humming their own song that almost could have passed for a vocal round of some sort.  I believe the baby’s song had a lot to do with me, as the repeat lyrics seemed to consist of “mooom, moommy, mmmmmmm”.  Regardless, it was nice background music to child #2’s “Wheels on the Bus”.  If you didn’t know, they go “round and round………round and round”. 

We arrive at the zoo and it’s packed.  Oh yeah, it’s a holiday weekend and the forecast is sunny and 67 degrees.  Gee, why would anyone want to go to the zoo on a day like today?  We had to park what seemed like five miles back and I’m glad we picked today to discover that our van’s back hatch didn’t open up so our wagon and/or double stroller did not make it’s way into our vehicle.  That would indicate that we had to carry and/or lug each of the three children through parked and moving cars and passed a number of large landscaping rocks all the while yelling “No, you can NOT climb on that rock.  It is the Zoo’s rock and you will not be allowed to stay at the Zoo if you climb on it.  We will have to go home.”  The Zoo’s rock?  Where do I get this shit from?  I like to think they absorbed these words of wisdom like a sponge.  Funny enough, I think I have pictures of all three kids posing on the forbidden rocks.  Just another day in the life of a mom working her way closer to that ’Mother of the Year’ trophy. 

As we cross the threshold of the Zoo entrance, my son immediately starts throwing a hissy fit about getting to the “Snake Slide” as fast as humanly possible.  The Snake Slide may end up being the death of me before our zoo membership expires.  Some genius thought it would be a good idea to build a three story slide that resembles a snake in a treehouse in the middle of the Australian Outback exhibit.  How’s a lame warthog going to compete with that?  Gee son, would you like to rocket down a sweet-ass Snake Slide or look at Willy the Warthog over here rolling in the mud?  Come on, work with me you eco-freaks!!!!  Emphasis on the animals, por favor!  Equally annoying is that a child has to be 36″ tall to go into this helltrap.  Until this summer, only one out of three of my children made the cut.  This summer two made the cut.  Two down, one to go.  I figure by Summer of 2010 I’ll be able to sit on a bench while I watch all of my children go down the Snake Slide for six hours straight. 

Back to crazy boy at the entrance gates- the kid literally would not shut the hell up.  “Snake Slide”, “Snake Slide”………that is all I heard from the minute my hand was stamped. 

But before I could even focus on the obnoxious slide chant in my ear, we had to wait in line to pay $10 for a double stroller that every kid refused to ride in by the end of the trip.  I wanted to shoot myself.  $10 for a stroller - when sitting in my garage FOR FREE was a double stroller, a single stroller, an umbrella stroller, a wagon, and a bike with a child seat.  Oh, the agony! 

We get the high ballin’ stroller and strap in the two girls.  “Snake Slide.  Snake Slide.  We have to go to the Snake Slide”.  There was a brief moment where I contemplated going the opposite direction of the Australian Outback exhibit……..but something told me after taking in this kid’s morning breath, that I was better off just knocking out the damn Snake Slide and moving on to the gorillas. 

On the way to the Australian Outback you pass the elephants, hippos, warthogs, and kangaroos.  The walk included “oohs and aaahs” from the girls strapped in the stroller and “Snake Slide” shrieks from my son.  Who brought this kid? 

So we managed to trek up to the friggin Snake Slide.  Hubby takes the two old-timers up the rickety stairs to the main event.   I shadow the baby as she discovers the repulsive petting zoo and kangaroo hopping pads used to show kids how far various animals can jump.  By the time we jump as far as a baby kangaroo would jump, the others have returned from the main event.  One’s crying and one’s whining to go back.  Good times. 

You know those families you see out in public with too many obnoxious kids that appear to be related?  You know the ones you see that trigger you to mentally challenge them to stop pro-creating!  Well that was us at various times through the zoo.  Lucky for me, my kids not only resemble each other but they’re nearly identical.  But let me assure you that after this trip, my friends, there are no plans for #4.

The rest of the zoo trip involved crazy child refusing to hold my hand, running ahead as far as he dared, and looking back only when I would pull out the “yell like a crazy woman” card.  By the time we got to the polar bears I thought about how nice he would look playing ball up on the rock with them.  I’m only kidding for you losers that would think I would actually throw my kid over the fence.  The fence was too high anyway. 

From the bears, we walked over to the seals.  The seals are usually a big hit because you can usually pay to feed them fish.  What’s that you say?  Oh, today is the first day in the history of our zoo visits that the damn fish cart isn’t out?!?!?  No $1 fish for sale!  Try explaining that to a boy who woke up on the wrong side of the bed and has decided this might be an opportune time to hit up the Snake Slide again…………….go on, I’ll listen and take notes.

It’s after the absent fish cart that we decide it’s probably time to bless everyone trying to observe the surrounding eight animal exhibits with our departure.  With the older two kids half-strapped in the stroller and the baby literally riding on the mesh portion of the top of the stroller with her gut hanging out (all screaming and crying of course), I can only imagine how fellow parents tried to explain this scene to their porcelain doll children.  Something tells me “they probably just need a nap” were their last choice in words.

It’s when recapping this day that I find myself so glad I finally broke down and purchased a zoo membership a few weeks ago.  I had figured it would take us two visits to make it worth the $$$$$.  So, counting today, we’ve been once.  Our membership expires May 2009.  

So I’m out $40, what’s the big deal?  Oh wait, I forgot to add the $10 double stroller.  So I’m out $50, what’s the big deal?  That would buy me like 3 gallons of gas……….

At least the pictures I took made it look like we had a good time.   We can use those as we reminisce in ten years about the last time we all went to the zoo together.  I’ll tell the kids that the Snake Slide was replaced with a llama the week after we were there….and it just didn’t seem worth it to go back after that. 

So this morning on my drive into work I was caught behind a car that had one of those diamond-shaped “Baby on Board” signs suctioned to the inside of their back window. All together now………awwwwwwww.

As we both rounded a bend off of the highway ramp I couldn’t help but notice that the overprotective mother who has extreme concern for the welfare of her infant strapped into the car seat, as noted by the “Baby on Board” sign that has carefully been placed directly above his or her carseat, threw a cigarette butt out of her window. The following thoughts raced through my head:

1. You littering SOB.

2. You’ve got to be kidding me that you are displaying signs promoting safety and caution around your vehicle for the sake of your child, yet you’ve trapped them inside a 4′ x 4′ junk box w/ a smoke chimney emptying it’s content into your vehicle. By “smoke chimney” I mean you, crazy lady.

3. UNBELIEVABLE!

4. I’m glad the cigarette is still lit on the cement. Maybe the toddler walking across the street with his father can step on the lit butt and burn himself. Then again, maybe she’ll glance down, whip open her car door and take another drag before tossing it in a different direction. No sense wasting it when you can inhale more black soot into your lungs. I wonder if she’s the chick who’s 2-yr-old was videotaped smoking pot?

5. She needs to change her sign to “Stupid On Board”.

And to think all of this in my head…………and it’s Friday, not Monday.

So bedtime in my house is like a three ring circus.  It starts out well enough, everyone lines up to walk up the stairs together in their pajamas with their cups of water in hand.  Cute little “night nights” are exchanged.  Then once we cross the bedroom threshold and the reality of going to bed has set in, all hell breaks loose.  My eldest fakes an injury, my middle child suddenly “members” something she left downstairs and makes a mad dash to go back for it, and the youngest carefully observes her siblings behavior and quickly decides she’s not going down without a fight.   Her version of a fight usually involves huge puppy dog eyes that slowly, timed with perfection, increasingly fill with water until they overflow onto her pink cheeks and nose, followed up quickly with a blood curdling scream.  My favorite time is when the scream empties itself right inside my left eardrum.  It’s then that I usually begin the chant “I love my kids.  I love my kids.  I love my kids.”  Too bad that my ears are still ringing from the deaf-roaring sound so much that I can’t even hear my own pep talk. 

God forbid that the same persuasion technique be used on all three kids.  No, my children want to make sure I’m well-rounded enough to end up on Oprah later in life to discuss my authored book entitled “Teetering on the Edge of Prozac - Getting Three Kids Under Five to Bed before Midnight without Corporal Punishment”.  

The eldest requires 6 books to be read front to back.  Do not even think about skipping a word because it’s going to trigger a “re-start”.  The bus driver will be back at the front of the book telling you not to let the pigeon drive.  And after the six published books, he appreciates a made-up story that somewhere involves a “boy named Cade”, preferably science-fiction in nature.  Good thing I’m an expert in comedy and lectures (also referred to as moral-based three minute animal stories).  No need to worry though, I’ve created a world where robots really do have feelings and Transformers love their sisters.  Oh yeah, and Freddy the Frog is a huge hit when he smashes the flies with his tongue.  Those Mad Libs from my junior high days have really paid off.  Misplaced nouns, adjectives, and adverbs make for great storytelling.    

The middle child is a girl after my own heart.  She can be appeased with food and drinks.  And I don’t mean cocktail drinks.  Dangle a ripe strawberry or fill up her water glass………and you’re golden.   The “I love you mommy” flows out like a song.   Of course the terms of endearment are quickly followed by orders for breakfast the next morning and a list of all the things we can do during the upcoming weekend.  “Sure honey, I’ll make you cupcakes and pizza for breakfast after we go to the zoo before I go to work…….go to bed already.”

The baby of the bunch has sleep going to bed down pat.  She looks as if she’s praying to the gods for us to just stop talking and to get out of her face so she can go to bed.  I’m sure she’s cursing me in babytalk when I shut her bedroom door because she shares a room with her big sister who is still in there singing “I love pizza.  Zooo…..Zoooo…..amimals at the zoo.  We goin to do sumpin at the zoo………….cupcakes……………I love my mommy and muffins”.  I find irony in the fact that the kid who pierced my eardrum with her cry now has ringing ears of her own. 

Lights off and all the doors are shut…..one, two, three, breathe………  But not too deeply, because big sis is already calling for a refill on that water and boy wonder thinks he “may need an grape allergy pill because my eye really hurts and I’m tired of rubbing it” and screetch baby is crying for everyone to shut the hell up.

Oh look at the time……8:52pm…….there’s still lots of time before that book title doesn’t apply.

I’m officially a soccer mom.   My son has entered the world of organized (or not-so-organized) athletics.  For forty-five minutes a week for the next six weeks he gets to slap on some shin guards and run free.  Better translated, he gets to plant himself on a 30yd makeshift grass soccer field w/ miniature goals and run in a pack with other kids as they all chase after the one kid actually kicking the ball.   My personal favorite is when the kid with the ball breaks from the pack and none of the followers notice.  Oddly, the herd appears unphased when “GOAL” is shouted from across the field.   And yes, in case you’re wondering, my kid is usually in the herd.  But due to his inherited athletic abilities, he did score a goal this week!  And in true soccer mom fashion, once the goal crossed the line I was instantly transformed into a crazed fan, waving my arms in the air and screaming cheers of approval.  I’m pretty sure he’s destined to be the next Pele’ if my cheering has anything to do with it!  Don’t underestimate the power of encouragement…….hell, the kid wipes his own ass….don’t think that skill wasn’t acquired without lots and lots of cheering. 

So organized athletics comes with its fair share of entertainment on the field but the sidelines seem to provide just as much entertainment.  “Day One” let me in on the following family scenarios:

Full-Go Family    

This would be the family that is absolutely OBSESSED with winning no matter what.  Drills = Boredom.  They need goals scored and names attached.  These are the parents that walk around asking “Isn’t this a soccer game.  Why are they doing drills?  Did the game start?”  They need assists counted and penalty kicks clearly marked.  These are the families that walk away from the game and begin listing the 7,345,550 things their kid can do “better” next time without taking a breath.   Meanwhile their five-year-old is stopping to pick up the dandelions fifteen feet downwind of the “pep talk”.  Disconnect anyone?

Social Family

This family doesn’t really care what event they are at, as long as they were the first to sign their kid up.  Actually they probably coordinated the sign-up sheets and assigned teams.  They bring lawn chairs, snacks, goodies, checkbooks to update, cell phones that they repeatedly answer, blankets and pillows - in the event that any siblings want to sprawl out and watch the portable television they brought.  They obnoxiously smile at EVERYONE who walks by in hopes of gaining popularity.  They point out their kid without being asked to.  “Billy’s the one in the blue shirt with the glasses.”  (Note to self:  No playdates with Billy)  These people set up camp on the sideline to resemble their living room and mingle with a mission.   These are the people that know just about everyone in the tri-county area.  If you’re not on the list, you’re bound to be stalked.

Glamour Family

This is the family that has gone out and purchased brand new top-of-the-line clothing attire and equipment.  Their kids are donning coordinating Nike shoes and shinguards, Adidas t-shirts that contain the same accent color as their shorts, and a newly unboxed, wrong-sized soccer ball.  Somewhere in the middle of this showy garbage is a five-year-old who’s never even seen a soccer ball, much less has any desire to play.  But damn does he look good running with the herd.  And he puts Billy’s blue shirt to shame, which secretly makes me smile. 

Semi-Normal Family

I like to throw my family in this group.  By no means are we normal.  But our five-year-old enjoys running around, likes being with other kids, and has seen a soccer ball in his lifetime.  We cheer for him when he’s good.  We cheer for his teammates when they score.  At the end of the game we tell him “good job” and move on to dinner at Burger King.  (Some of us have to eat!)  We are cordial to neighboring parents but don’t feel the need to schedule playdates or record stats.  We go because it’s fun, gets us outside, and who knows……..a future Pele’ may be in the works. 

 Strung Out Soccer Family Mom

This captures the family that typically is represented by one parent (primarily the mother) that can’t help but announce this is the 17th soccer game she’s been to in the last three days.  She leaves her mini-van running the entire forty-five minute session.  Four of her seven kids are on the sidelines whining for dinner.  One is straddling the field and the sidelines because he really has no desire to play soccer - which is obviously not an option for any member of this family.   The other two are taking turns running from the mini-van to the field while screaming “MOM!  Jack just kicked me.  Dad’s on the phone and wants to know what we’re having for dinner”.   This mom likes to look around at surrounding sideline parents with shrugged shoulders and rolled eyeballs as if she has no idea where these children came from.  Either that or she completely ignores all of her children and latches on to the closest adult in an attempt to hold adult conversation - something that she doesn’t participate in throughout the other 167 hours of the week.

There you have it - a well-rounded playing field, er…I mean sideline. 

Let the games begin. 

And no, it’s not a perm.  I have naturally curly hair.

If you want to create an awkward observation as a parent, just throw a five-year-old boy in the bathtub after his sister has been in there and watch as “Dinosaurs meet Barbie and Friends” plays out.  As much as I really enjoy the current obsessive dinosaur phase we’re in where everyone’s head is bitten by a Tyrannasaurus Rex, something about T-Rex ripping the face off of Malibu Barbie just compels me to have to say something as a parent.  I get it, he’s a boy, dinosaurs rule, dinosaurs have sharp teeth, dinosaurs “really like to eat people”…………just leave f’n Skipper and her too big plastic boobies alone.  Better yet, “hand me the dolls.  Here’s a washcloth, T-Rex needs his tail scrubbed.”

So for the first five minutes of a ten minute bath, poor Skipper and Strawberry Shortcake’s sidekick, Apple Dumpling had to swim as fast as they could around the the bathtub in an attempt to outrun the T-Rex only to find that in the end their heads would be bitten off and limbs detached (literally by my son) as the T-Rex had lunch.  

The second five minutes of the ten minute bath involved my crappy attempt at popping Skipper’s legs back on and giving a light-hearted explanation as to why T-Rex doesn’t have to destroy everything in its path even though he’s a “horrible, meat-eating dinosaur with sharp teeth and really big claws that could tear your skin off - i’m really serious mom”, as described by my son.  

I’d like to think my explanation had a profound impact on the kid, but I’m not sure T-Rex taking a bite out of my ass as we walked out of the bathroom together would indicate that lesson learned.  

A pink post-it note will be hung at half-mast today in honor of the missing woobie.  We have received confirmation that Cat Woman did in fact kidnap the woobie.  Additional charges of feline interaction with the woobie have resulted in plans for a future trip to the fire pit for the tathered and beaten-down smock.  We had a good run old pal.  I’m sorry that others were too shallow to see the good in you that I did. 

And for you Cat Woman……straight to the slammer…. with your smirky sidekick, Shoe Bandit. 

Let me start with - I can’t make this shit up.

Today I walked in on my 3yr-old daughter having a conversation with/to my 1 1/2 yr-old daughter.  My youngest doesn’t talk yet and basically just smiles when being spoken to. 

“Oooops, I just tooted.”

Smile

“Oooops, I just tooted again.”

Smile

“Tooted is when sumpin comes out of you’s butt.”

Smile

“Did you hears me?  Sumpin comin’ out of you’s butt.”

Smile, with a slight nose twitch

“You smell sumpin?  I smell sumpin.”

Smile slowly fading to a grimace

“Oops I tooted again.”

Grimace turns to high pitch crying

“Mom, I think she smells sumpin.”

Notify the pageant circuit.  I think we got ourselves a future beauty contestant here. 

What is it about leisurely shopping in Wal-Mart that I don’t get?  I’ve had to shop the big box about 14 times in the last two weeks, a couple times for work and other times for last minute efforts to grab soy milk after rounding the turn on my way home.  Regardless of the reason for my visit,  it’s been a pain in my ass each and every time.  Today’s visit, proving to be consistent on the annoyance log, left me stumped as I observed several random people wandering the store in search of what looked like “nothing”???? No cart out in front of them, no list written on the back of a ratty envelope, nothing.  Maybe they came in to develop a nice squint in their brow from the obnoxious neon lights?  Maybe they thought it was sample day and the Oreo Cakesters would make yet another week ending appearance?  Whatever the reason for their dumbfounded zombie walk through the store, it made me wonder why in the hell I even shop with these weirdos.  I have enough of them in my family.  No need to subject myself to an extra hundred of them for the sake of a box of Cheerios or a glimpse at Hallmark’s metallic curly bow.  So I came up with the following ideas/techniques/strategies that I’m going to think about in an attempt to avoid the big W:

1.   Look into shopping at the equally annoying, yet smaller Marc’s.  This would require me to make a mental note to only shop between the hours of 7-7:20am Monday-Friday.  Otherwise, I may as well just take a cart, walk around the store and fill it with as much shit as humanly possible and then just leave the cart in the middle of the freezer section.  That’s about as far as I’ll get in a four hour timeframe any other time of the week.  For those that dare go at other times, usually they find a cart full of sixteen 99cent frozen pizzas with no owner who obviously came to that same conclusion. 

2.   Move back in with my mom and dad so they can buy all the essentials for me and my family.   I’m already 1/2 way there.  I rip off cases of pop and water as much as I can get away with.  They make a good habit out of feeding my kids 12lbs of candy - thanks….I think?  I like to pretend their my personal food bank.  Need a can of tomatoes….mom and dad.  Need a stick of butter……I’ll just run over to mom and dad’s.  Recipe calls for:  chicken, cheese, can of mushroom soup, butter, rice, and broccoli.  I have the chicken, I’m sure mom and dad have the rest…..I’ll run over and check.  So maybe this one shouldn’t be on the list of new techniques, just make sure to maintain the set up. 

3.   Start a food drive for the Cracas Family.   While mom and dad’s food bank is plentiful.  I gotta tell you, they really slack in the junk food department.  What kind of grandparents don’t stock licorice, Hawaiian Punch juice boxes, Weaver Chicken Drumsticks, and an endless supply of crap for the sake of their grandchildren?  I mean, come on!!!!  Having said that, this food drive that I speak of would be user friendly in that I would provide a very detailed list of items that are needed - Cheerios, Fruit Loops, crab legs, Kraft Mac & Cheese, Doritos, Cheetos, ham, chicken wings, Taco Bell Soft Taco Supreme minus the sour cream…you get the point.  (Ok, so maybe the list will change based on how hungry I am?)

4.  In an attempt to curb the work portion of these visits, I’m going to pretend my company does business with Claire’s, Subway, Taco Bell, Aldie’s, and Radio Shack.   These places seem the least annoying to me right now.  Please note - list subject to change.

5.  Teach my kid to ride his bike to Convenient Food Mart by himself.  He’s got a helmet and training wheels.  He’ll be fine.  A backpack can hold a lot of shit. 

6.  Go on a hunger strike.  And a paper strike (tp, kleenex, paper plates, napkins……………)

7.  Who am I kidding on #6? 

8.  Actually prepare a grocery list and make a trip to the grocery store………….with the list.  Purchase everything on the list as to remove annoying last minute trips to the big box.  This task will be completed in my dreams  - where I will also find myself sleeping on “a nice puffy white cloud” that my friend recently told me about while giving me techniques to combat insomnia.  Maybe my grocery list will be edible in my dream?

9.  Turn into one of those people that gets their groceries from dumpsters and other people’s garbage.  I’m not sure what it’s all about, but if I’m suggesting it over actually entering a Wal-Mart, what does that say?  

 10.  Continue to shop at the big W, if for no other reason that to spawn new ideas for this ridiculous blog that talks about a bunch of nothing.  I keep telling myself that’s how people describe Seinfeld…..I think I’m hitting the big time soon. 

In the meantime, “Price check aisle 12 on a 10 pack of Oreo Cakesters”.