..and then you wish the ground would open up and swallow you

My life is not all glamor and wonder.  I know.  You’re shocked. 

Friday morning I took the kids to the store to buy Halloween costumes.  Yup.  I’m that organized.  I totally blew it off until the Friday before trick-or-treating.

After standing in the costume aisle for close to 30 minutes waiting for my indecisive children to choose between Boba Fett and Spiderman, my sweet #5 scraped his shin on the shelf as he reached for a bloody pirate sword.  (What?  I wasn’t going to let him get it.  He’s only 4.  That’s a costume accessory for a much more mature child..like 8.)  He went into full meltdown and wail mode.  He’s loud, y’all…really loud…and people could hear him all over the store.  We were starting to attract stares, whispers and unfavorable attention.  I tried to scoop him up into my lap and console him, but he’s heavy and I’m very pregnant.  Ignoring my attempts to pick him up and calm him down, he resorted to the little-kid judo move called going-completely-limp.

I sighed heavily , braced my feet, hooked one arm around his chest and under his armpits and the other between his legs to hoist my limp and wailing son into the cart.  I grabbed hold of the waistband of his jeans to get a grip when my son screamed out to me (and the people who were listening from the nearby rows.)

Hey, you!  Let go of my pe.nis!!!!!!

I heard gasps (or thought I did) from my fellow shoppers. My face flamed red and I hurried the kids to the checkout with whatever costume happened to be in their hands at the moment.  I swore once again to never go shopping with all the children at once…and to teach the 4 year old anatomy.  Because I know where his junk is, and it’s nowhere near his waistband.