Mind Your Own Damn Business (But Really, Thank You)

This summer has been pretty tiresome: having to entertain a seven-year-old and keep a 22-month-old occupied from early morning until 9 or 10 p.m. I struggle to find activities to keep my oldest's mind from being consumed by an iPad and I strive to find new experiences for my youngest that won't eventually require a trip to the ER (as he's into and onto EVERYTHING these days.)

Most days, one of our activities is simply going to the grocery store. It's not fun, but it takes up time, gets us out of the house and besides, I'm constantly forgetting things, so daily trips are almost a necessity. It's definitely a chore, though, because it requires me to sometimes force my reluctant, almost-two-year-old into his rear-facing carseat while he screams and cries for me to hold him. Then, after we survive a sometimes unpleasant drive to the store, it's another chore just to get out of the car. Inside, the nagging begins. My oldest whines for me to buy her this or that while my youngest begs me for snacks or to get out of the shopping cart. A trip to the store, or any trip where I have to think, is a true exercise in mental acuity: can I focus enough to get what I need done while my children are with me?

Yesterday was no different and the Texas heat certainly upped the ante.

I had a few bags with me - including last night's juicy rotisserie chicken that smelled quite good. Luckily, my daughter's old enough to get into the car by herself, but the rest of the exercise of getting back into the car is constant circus act. I, on the fly, have to come up with a strategy on how to turn the air conditioning on, get the groceries in the car, return the cart to the cart corral and get my son into his carseat.

As tried to quickly walk that tightrope before my son did something dangerous, I was too late. He stood up in the front part of the cart while I quickly, yet carefully, arranged the groceries into the car. This was all while I was looking away from him, mind you.

When I realized what he was doing, I grabbed him, moved the cart away just enough to open his door (and hoped it wouldn't crash into someone's car) and shoved him into his seat. My chicken dropped in the parking lot, juices went everywhere and I wondered if I had just lost my dinner - this is all after I saved my daredevil of a son from what could have been a nasty accident.

And as the 97 degree sun is beating down on me and frying my skin, I'm yelling at him the whole time. Admittedly, it was an embarrassing act on my part. I probably looked like the SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) who just didn't have her shit together.

Just then, a tall, put-together man, whom I assumed came out one of those ginormous, expensive pickup trucks, was walking into the store and clearly observed my mommy meltdown.

He never stopped, but said loudly while passing by, how my kids will leave the house one day and that I'll miss it. "Mine's 23," he said as he walked away. It was a stern warning, if you will.

Ok, my first thought was "eff you and mind you're own damn business." He didn't know how tired I was or how I had just saved my son from, what could have been, a bad accident. And, after all, my chicken dropped on the ground.

But, he was right.

My kids are getting older all the time. I do actually think of how one day, my house will be quiet of screaming, crying and laughing, young friends and sleepovers. It will be empty of their innocence. And even before that, these violent, scary times we live in don't guarantee us a tomorrow, so it's even more imperative to be kind to our kiddos even when they test our limits and cause us mental chaos.

Thanks for the reminder, dude. I think I needed it.