Monday, November 15, 2010

And the hits just keep coming....

Have you ever had one of those moments where you are caught off guard and you have to think quickly on your feet and you hope that you make the right move because whatever choice you make is going to determine how bad the current situation is going to get? I found myself in that situation yesterday.

I was on my way into the grocery store. Bear Cub was in tow. My stomach started to feel a little queasy. My little family was recovering from a bout of what can only be compared to Montezuma's Revenge.  I was the only one left unscathed.  I paused before the front door for a quick self-analysis and determined that my body was just telling me to pick up some cookie dough.

We cruise down each aisle, taking our time. I give Maggie the chance to tell everyone hello. She is in good spirits so we are in no hurry to rush back to the petri dish we call home. She's laughing, making race car noises and flapping her chubby little arms like a chicken. We are two rows from covering every inch of the store when she looks at me with big doe eyes. Her mood changes and I start to think she's ready to be out of the cart.

She does want out of the cart. Before I know it she is standing on the seat reaching for me with pleading in her eyes. She was not crying or whimpering; she was just begging with those big blue eyes for me to save her. Then I saw it. Right there on the back of her dress and on the seat of the cart. Mustard. Only we hadn't made it to the condiment aisle yet.  My nostrils flared and my mind raced. Where's the diaper bag? In the truck? Do I try to check out? No, it's Sunday, too many people. The smell is horrific. What do I do with the cart full of food? How do I get her cleaned up? What. do . I. do?

I push the cart to a register that was just closing and tell the woman that I need to do a quick diaper change in the parking lot. She assures me I can leave the cart right in her lane and it will be there when I get back. We get to the truck and the only things in the diaper bag are a cereal bar, a swim diaper and some sunscreen. I curse myself for not being more organized. No wipes. No extra clothes. No cloths of any sort. Maggie just laid still in the cargo area of the truck, waiting for me to figure it out. I peel her dress off and use it as best as I could to clean her up. I pull the swim diaper up over her cheeks and get her strapped in the car seat.

I find my mind racing again. Do I just drive off? Do I try to find a guy collecting carts and tell him about my cart full of groceries in the last check-out lane? Do I tote Bear Cub back in there, no clothes and smelling like I pulled her from an outhouse?  Do I dare even touch the groceries after what I just had to "clean up."  Oh my lanta...the seat on the cart. What do I do about that? Ahhh. I went with my first instinct and just drove off. 

We don't live far so I had her home in no time. After a quick explanation of why I didn't have any groceries to unload, Troy tells me I should return to the store. Begrudgingly, I agree. So I scour my hands, toss the travel size Lysol wipes in my purse and hop back in the truck. (It's not a truck truck, but I feel like I should be on a ranch driving down long dirt roads, checking on cattle in this thing, so I call it a truck)

My mind is racing again. Is my cart is still there? It's only been 12 minutes. What if it's not? What if the Head Grocer is putting on his hazmat suit right now trying to decide if he should dump all the food in the dumpster or if just the seat is contaminated. I curse myself for making fun of those ladies who buy the cart seat liners for their babies.

I walk into the store and see a small team of people by the customer service desk. They are 10 feet away from my cart. MY CART! It's still there. But it's been moved... so they know. They are probably making a plan of attack. I don't care. I walk up to the cart and start pushing it along like I never left it. I aim straight for the last aisle and pull out my sanitary wipes. The damage isn't as bad as I recalled and I have it cleaned up before anyone can see.

Then I look up and realize that I am surround by a huge selection of wine and only one question comes to mind. Which one goes better with M&M's, red or white?


  1. Oh Nikki, you poor, poor thing! Lately I find myself laughing at your unfortunate experiences and I know I shouldnt, but you are so good at writing them really do need to write a book :-)

  2. thanks nics. I may need some inspiration for a book. after looking at your pics today, perhaps a nice visit to NZ would do the trick.