Friday, December 03, 2010

When Parenting Works

Awkward but Teachable Moments:

All said within earshot of victim.

1. Man with prosthetic leg in Target: "Look Mommy! That man has a robot leg!"

2. Obese man in Safeway: "Hahaha! Mommy that man has a FAT tummy!"

3. Very pregnant lady at the park: "Mommy, that lady has a baby in her tummy. And it's a SUPER BIG ONE!"

Each one of these totally embarrassing situations was followed by the lecture of: "Carson, we don't say those things out loud in front of the person. If you need to let me know, wait until we get home. We don't to hurt those people's feelings."

Let's hit rewind and jump back to Daylight Savings. A concept that is divine to teenagers who gain an extra hour of curfew for the Homecoming Dance.

BUT pure torture for parents of children under the age of five. Who is the world thinks that a 15 month old toddler understands he "gets" to sleep in the next day?

My children didn't get the extra hour of sleep memo. They were up bright eyed and bushy tailed at 5:40 am on Sunday morning. Surprise. Surprise.

I couldn't possibly imagine an extra hour stuck in the house on a cold rainy day (oh by the way, I'm not a creative parent who has brilliant ideas with play-doh, glitter glue, and cardboard boxes) so I Googled Winco.

Oh yes, Winco. The world of child leashes, butt cleavage, and an overabundance of Hispanic foods.

Glorious Winco is open, wait for it, 24 HOURS!

Yup. I printed up my grocery list, categorized by section, then alphabetized, and we loaded up.

I debated. Fit in with the early morning, 7 am, crowds and wear my jammies, or crank it up a notch and go with slippers and jeans.

But I digress. Shopping at Winco at 7 am is AMAZING! No crowds, no lines, no merging into aisles.

Carson talked me into a random bag of sesame breadsticks. $1.50? Whatever, he was being exceptionally good so I threw them in the cart.

And then it happened.

Classic Winco.

There was a tap on my shoulder. A voice that was mostly feminine. A faint swelling of breasts around the belly button area. A plaid flannel shirt. And a full mustache.

He/she launched into an elaborate description of how the $1.50 breadsticks I just mindlessly tossed into my cart make the most SUPREME Bacon Wrapped Treats.


Carson, Keaton, and I were entranced by the gravelly and extensive, step-by-step instructions of how to transform a simple breadstick into a Martha Stewart specialty by wrapping it in bacon.

All the while, I'm thinking OMG is this a man or a woman. By the end of the long tutorial, I was 99% SHE was not a HE.

I scraped Carson's jaw off the crusty concrete floor, pretended to add a package of bacon, and hightailed it for the freezer section.

Bless my son's heart, he didn't say a word. But honestly I was so focused during the whole conversation at keeping my eyes above the hairy lip area that I nearly forgot about the boys.

Later that night, finishing up dinner, Carson says, "Mommy that lady looked funny today"

Play it cool Mommy, "Oh really honey? Why do you say that?"

C: Mommy, she looked like a man.

M: A man? How come?

C: Mommy, she had a mustache like Poppa"

M: Carson, I am SO proud of you for not saying anything about it today at the grocery store!!"

C: Well Mommy, we should only talk about that kind of thing at home. We wouldn't want her to feel bad."

HOLY CRAP!!! Our parenting is actually working!!

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