You know how every once in awhile you're walking through the grocery store and you see one of 'those' mothers?
You know the ones.
She's got at least one toddler hanging on her pant leg, possibly with another, older or younger child, most likely crying. Her attire is nothing short of a homeless person/crack addict. Her hair is best described as 'there & everywhere, with a slight sheen'.
I mean, I am NOT judging! I can't count how many times that it's been my dear, sweet husband that has not-so-gently asked how many days it's been since my body has been graced with soapy water and a loofah sponge. I mean if the love of my life, my rock, he who promised to love me better or worse, The Man casually mentions that it's possible the fumes radiating from my body are similar, if not exactly, to that of a 13 year old boy's jock strap that's been buried in his gym locker for 82 days......well then. I definitely am NOT judging.
What I'm trying to say is that you've seen that wonderful mother at the grocery store, right? The one with that slight crazed look? With one eye that has a constant switch? You've seen her, yes, you've seen her.
I'm ashamed to admit that pre-kid, I looked at those mothers with pity and fear. Fear for myself, I mean. Hell, even POST-kid, I looked at those mother's with that look. I know. I know. I can't even stand typing that. I feel like I'm betraying my people. My Mama People. But it's true. I would always secretly wonder what finally made her break, ya know? I mean, every mother that goes to the grocery store with even one kid, DESERVES to look like a hot mess on laundry day. She deserves the light socket psycho bun and the walking dead gaunt.
But the crazed look?
The eye twitch?
Do kids really do that????
I mean, our little angel(s) couldn't really make THAT happen to us mothers............
Here I am, Two.point.GoingOnTwenty-twoYearOldDramaOfABeverlyHillsHousewife years of being a mother, and while I'll definitely admit (and might even take pride) in my overall 'stellar' beauty queen/crackhead appearance and my occasional locker room stench, but I've always thought I kept a pretty sane head. Oh, I have moments alright. There are definitely moments. But I have truly never felt like I wanted to stick green golf tees in my ear drums, run around in nothing but a neon purple tutu, and loudly declare that I'm Shrek's next Bride of FrankenHell or anything.
Until last week.
When my little, innocent, curly haired Mini-Me learned the question..................Why?
-Dillyn, put your shoes on!
-Dillyn, eat your beans.
-Dillyn, you ask a lot of questions.
>>>Why, Mommy? Why?
YES! WHY?! WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY?!?!?!?!
And I can handle those teeny 'Why's'. But it's my personal favorite conversation that has been on effing repeat, four times a day, for the last 5 or more days (I've lost count at this point, because I've been too busy looking for golf tees) that really has taken me to the next level:
----Driving down the road, most likely to my 2nd home aka the grocery store----
D: OH MOMMY!!! LOOK!!! A school bus!!!!
Me: Yes, that is a school bus.
D: I wanna ride in a school bus!!! RIGHT.NOWWWW!!!!
Me: Well, you can't ride on one right now, but maybe some day.
Me: Because you aren't old enough to go to school.
Me: Because you need to grow up big and tall before you ride the school bus.
Me (my eye is getting this funny feeling): I don't know Dillyn.
D (pauses for 2 seconds): Can I ride on a school bus and pick pumpkins?
Me: No you can't pick pumpkins right now.
Me: Because pumpkins aren't ready yet.
Me: Because they grow in the fall. And its spring time. We have to wait.
Me: Because they aren't ready yet.
Me: Because they need to grow longer.
Me (the funny eye feeling is now a constant blink, my eye won't stop blinking, it makes it hard to drive): Because pumpkins grow in October, and October is a month in the fall. Right now we're in April, and April is a month in the spring. We have to go all the way through spring, then summer, and then fall is here. We can't pick pumpkins until it's October, the fall, and Halloween. When you dress up for Trick or Treat. So we have to wait. And unicorns are real. And pretty. And i want to ride a flying unicorn into the sunset. To a deserted island. Where I never have to see a school bus or a pumpkin for the rest of my life.
D: Why, Mommy?
D: Why can't I ride on a school bus?
At this point, the blinking has turned into the twitching.
I have also thought seriously hard about repeatedly ramming my head into the steering wheel more than once but know that the store is within minutes, and I will hopefully be saved by distracting her with something else. Anything else. Please God don't let there be a school bus in the parking lot. Or a freaking pumpkin anywhere. ANYWHERE.
We have arrived.
My eye is twitching more. If that's even possible.
I check the rear view.
Somehow my once cute little hair bun is beginning to look like an eagle's nest that was half set on fire, and then slicked with grease.
I don't even know how these things happen. All I did was drive to the store. I did NOT leave the house like this.
Oh my God. What did we come to the store for?
Me (thinking out loud): I can't remember what we came to the store for.
I am now that mother.
I have finally gotten my age-old question of how those mothers get that way.
It's by a little three letter word.
PS: Do you know if the grocery store sells golf tees and tulle?