I'd like to think that I am not a neurotic mother, but perhaps I am. For my weekly grocery shopping experience, I chose Nathan as my date this afternoon. He woke up from his Sunday snooze (after reminding us in a very NON-five-and-a-half-year-old voice how he didn't NEED a nap because he was five and a half now [as of Saturday]--he was overly whiny and fatigued from who knows what) and his mood had improved immensely. Being parents of a NOW 5 1/2 year old, we are bathed in the realization that said child has a littttttle bit snippier of a mouth, reminds us quite often indeed that said child is now 5 1/2, and naps are SOOOOO for two year olds (probably a direct projection on said 5 1/2 year old's younger sibling...yep...he's 2). I happened to REALLY enjoy my nap today. I think I'm still playing catch up from Monday night's concert. Back to the store.
We meandered through the HEB quite happily despite the fact that it was crazy crowded. We wound our way up and down the aisles like ribbon candy. I forgot marshmallows. They were only two aisles behind us. A flash of an idea plopped right into my brain. I could be like the NYC mom who left her child at the store to adventurously find his way home--it was a responsibility thing; she took many precautions, and it was a pretty interesting scenario to read about. EXCEPT, I wasn't going to leave Nathan. I was going to give him an ounce of responsibility, maybe a half an ounce. Nathan could get the marshmallows! I was proud of myself for broadening my neurotic horizons. I gave him clear, neurotically precise instructions:
Go to aisle 5. Do you see the triangles above each aisle with the numbers? Do you see the 5?
I forgot marshmallows. If you're OK with going by yourself, I need you to go get them for me.
Five and a half year olds DO these kinds of things. Apparently. With the snippier mouth, I was reminded.
(I was halfway hoping that he'd remark about how many people were around, and maybe I could just go with him. Maybe Friday when he was just five.)
"I need a bag of little marshmallows," I told him. (I don't like off brand marshmallows, so I specified:) Jet-puffed. They'll say "jet-puffed" on the front. How do you spell jet? Remember, mom, that starts with a J. Am I hallucinating, or am I REMINDED of things way too often?
I told him that I would stay on aisle 7 until he got back. That would come back to bite me.
Oh, the sparkle in his eye, the spring in his step...he was adorable. He was forging into battle at HEB in search of the missing marshmallows. I wanted to remind him that 5 1/2 year olds walk in stores, but he wasn't really runningand but it dawned on me where he might be picking up all this reminding stuff.
I stayed on aisle 7. I waited. I needed coconut milk, but somebody was buggy hogging the exact space that I needed to get to. Didn't they know that I had a child who was more than an arm-stretch away...in this store...alone...looking for marshmallows? I bailed on the coconut milk. They OBVIOUSLY wanted something in the Asian food section MUCH more than I needed coconut milk. Then, I swear--I kid you not--that I heard a voice similar to that of a 5 1/2 year old shout, "Mommy!" That was it. Panic. My kid's picture was going to end up on Nancy Grace, and I'm going to be headlined as a psycho-mom who sent her child helplessly out into the aisles of HEB looking for marshmallows. One's mind can race with flashes of horrific scenarios. I teetered with whether or not that was Nathan's voice. I would definitely know if it WAS his voice, but it could very well have been another kid. AND, I was supposed to stay on aisle 7. That was from my own instructions. What felt like 10 or 15 minutes was probably only ten or 15 seconds. But I worried. I mentally calculated how long it would take the average 5 1/2 year old to scamper to aisle 5, study the selection of marshmallows, find the desired Jet-puffed (with a J), and scamper back to aisle 7. I knew he surely would be moving faster than the customers who STILL blocked my coconut milk. I waited a bit more. I chided myself: I should have never let him out of my sight, he's only 5 1/2, all of this worry over marshmallows?
That was it. I broke protocol. From what I knew of the marshmallows' location on aisle 5, he'd return down the original path. I made a run for it. Reminiscing and chuckling now, I can hear "Chariots of Fire" as the made-for-blogging soundtrack for my story. My buggy path was clear. Thank goodness. Aisle 6 contained no 5 1/2 year olds. That ruled out about 5 percent of the possibilities of why this was taking so long. I continued voraciously back to aisle 5. Maybe my mommy karma, or [hopefully not] the speed and assertiveness of my buggy-navigating made Nathan's eyes instantly meet with mine. In the instant that I knew he was there, I skimmed the fellow customers to make sure none of them had been an obstacle in the marshmallow mission. I tried to remain calm. He was fine. He obviously wasn't the child who had hollered, "Mommy." He did look a little distraught. My nerves and adrenaline were plummeting back to Earth. I wanted to look calm and collected, so I just asked him if he was fixing to come back to aisle 7. He said it was taking a little longer because of two things. [No kidding! It was like hours ago that I sent him on this expedition!] There weren't any small marshmallows, only the large ones. AND he thought jet was spelled J-A-T. Dern vowel sounds. Such an innocent little excuse. No harm done. I told him that I thought the large ones would be fine for what we were going to make.
We turned to press on with our shopping. I laughed out loud when the aisle 7 Asian food section was completely empty. I think Nathan was proud of his accomplishment. I was basking in the fact that he had been driven by the responsibility, and had remained calm and steadfast in his search for the marshmallows. Nathan ended the whole fiasco with, "Mommy, next time I will remember to ask you if big marshmallows would be OK, too." I guess that might be a good thing.
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