This time: baby-wearing and grocery-taking

25 08 2008

Not to harp on this boring grocery store topic too much, but I was at the same grocery store again today (I couldn’t get all the stuff we need for two weeks’ worth of cooking/eating in one trip if my life depended on it) (what’s that, you say? Set more realistic goals, like trying to shop for just one week, instead? That would be easier, wouldn’t it?) (Easy is boring, I say). Since I’d just been there a few days before, I didn’t need a whole lot, and none of what I needed was overly large or heavy, so I went for wearing Ollie in the front carrier and put Ethan in the cart. (There would be no taking of my baby this time, not with him literally tied to my body.)

Everything went fine.

Seriously. There were a few moments of awkwardness– like when I had to try to bend down to retrieve my bottle of water that Ethan had thrown clear down to the other end of the aisle for no reason at all– not to mention a moment of frustration completely unrelated to the baby-wearing-while-grocery-getting sitch, when Ethan decided it’d be loads of fun to punch his baby brother in the face. Although now that I think about it, this was TOTALLY related to baby-wearing-while-grocery-getting: picture me, Ollie strapped to my front, facing away from me and toward his brother, who sat in the seat part of the cart, facing Oliver and myself. Their faces were a mere 8 inches, sometimes less, apart, while I strolled along tossing items in the cart. I don’t know, maybe he was sick of Oliver’s little head invading his personal bubble? Whatever the reason (AS IF THERE COULD EVER BE A REASON TO PUNCH A BABY IN THE FACE), he did not like the closeness of the heads and socked him good, somewhere in the facial region (I can’t be sure where, exactly, since Ollie was facing away from me, and there was no blood or bruising).

So anyway, it went well. When I got to the checkout line, a nice bagger boy offered to get some of the groceries out of the cart and onto the belt for me. But that’s where the smooth sailing ended. Because as soon as the cashier and another of the baggers got a look at Ollie and his irresistible meaty thighs, they fell in love with him. As she scanned items, the cashier would try to hand them to him. Want a bag of carrots, baby? No? How about this box of oatmeal? Luckily, Oliver made no move to take any of these items and she was forced to send them on their way to the bags. I was annoyed that she would do this, but he wasn’t taking the items from her, and she didn’t try to force him to take the jar of spaghetti sauce, or the set of steak knives I’d just picked up, so I didn’t say anything.

But then, as she scanned my bag of grapes, she reached into it and removed one of the grapes from the vine and offered it to Oliver. FIRST, hello? Choking hazard? He’s 8 months! Grapes are little! Also, 2 teeth! Second, hands off my grapes, biotch! What IS IT with the employees of this store? They take, take, take like the own THE ENTIRE WORLD, all the food and all the babies in it included!

She held it out to Oliver and he just stared at it. (Good boy.) If he’d taken it, I would have snatched it away and asked her to please refrain from taking MY grapes and trying to feed MY children. Then I would have kicked her, in the shin. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. The reason I kept my mouth shut while she offered him grapes was because almost every single person employed at this store is foreign, and after 4 minutes of interaction with her I could tell I’d have a hard time getting her to understand what I was saying. A kick to the shins is the same in all languages though, I believe.

Anyway. ENOUGH of the grocery store from hell. I need to find a new place to shop, yes? Well, I may be doing just that, and very soon, if we’re lucky. We looked at the house I mentioned a few posts ago this past weekend, and oh my laws, I’m in LOVE. It could have been the bright! cheery! colors! on the walls. (Military housing = dirty “white” walls in every room, always, from house to house, state to state; and if you know a little about me, you know I grew up in military housing, too- I didn’t just marry into it.) It could have been the safe neighborhood. It was probably the kitchen and its newly remodeled cabinets, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances. Yeah, I’m fairly certain it was that. It’s small, though. About the same size as where we live right now. But it’s amazing what a difference a change in the way a home and its rooms are laid out can make.

So yeah, both of us liked it and are turning in our application to them ASAP and keeping fingers crossed and wishing on stars and such, as well as wracking my brain (or am I racking my brain?) to figure out what I can possibly bribe the owners with to get them to let us live there. All I know about them is that they, too, are military, and their dog, who passed away a short time ago? Her name? WAS TOTALLY CALEY. I think that right there is going to be my in. How’s that for a sign that you should give me your house?


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3 responses

25 08 2008
Ethan's Oma

Your mom sure knew what she was doing 28 years ago when she picked out that awesome name for you !!! I loved the house too (the pics, anyway) and I LOVED the deck !!!! If I come to visit in the summer, I will sleep out there !

26 08 2008
Stephanie of Stopbouncing

For a while, I was very on-the-fence about wanting a boy or a girl.
We’ve pretty much settled on hoping for a boy (when the time comes) though, the thought of toddler punching a baby…

I feel awful about snickering, but you wrote it in such a fashion as to make baby-punching funny.

Sorry if this came out the wrong way…

26 08 2008
jenefur

You crack me up… that would have struck me as weird too… why would she start giving the baby stuff?

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