The WalMart Incident and Trusting Your Parenting Instincts

*settle in; this is kinda long

This occurred in December of 2005, but it is still fresh in my mind. It taught me to not engage total strangers who think they are allowed to spew opinions about my life (that’s what FAMILY is for, anyway, right?!). It also taught me to not leave the house with a bunch of kids unless I am mentally prepared to deal with My Public.

So I take my 3 kids (ages 10 months, 3 years and 5 years) plus Joel’s girl friend Alex to WalMart. I was at the back of the store perusing, and Michael was sitting on the floor in the middle of the aisle. Then someone pushing a shopping cart tried to get through and all hell broke loose. I now know I would MUCH rather look like Pushover Mom and ask the innocent shopper to go around the next aisle than have what happened happen.

INSTEAD, I tried to be the Mom Who Looks Good in Public and first asked Michael to move. Okay, any non-quirky (that’s my new word for what Michael is: quirky) kid would’ve said, “Yes, ma’am” and moved. But he wouldn’t move. Not out of defiance, but because he kind of shuts down. It’s hard to explain. Social stuff isn’t his thing.

So I gently moved him out of the way. And he LOST HIS MIND.

He went into his Fugue State with screaming and crying. I decided to beat it out of there. But not before I bought my stuff. Did I mention it was after Christmas and I had some AMAZING deals in my cart?

So I’m heading for the front of the store with Michael behind me still screaming. If I speak to him, he screams louder. So I did the logical thing and IGNORED him. Thankfully, he followed me instead of running off like some kids do.

Once in line, I hear a snotty woman one line over say, “Maybe she can’t HEAR him.” Instead of ignoring her like I should have, I chose to entertain her and the rest of the store. I said to Snotty, “I can hear him. What do you want me to do, Miss Child Psychologist?”

She goes, “TALK to him or something, at least.”

I go, “Okay, watch this … Hey, Michael, are you okay? What can I do for you, Baby?”

He screams louder.

I say to Snotty, “GREAT idea. Got any more?”

She turns to her friend to make more snotty comments. I reach out and touch her arm to get her to turn around and finish this. She shouts for Security, who comes running over. Since I didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve in jail, I backed off.

I unloaded my all-important craptastic deals onto the conveyer belt, Michael STILL screaming and crying. Snotty was STILL talking smack the next aisle over. I’m betting she has exactly ZERO kids of her own.

So I make it out of the store and to the van. It is then that I am visited by the Three People of New Year’s Eve (like the 3 Ghosts of Christmas, get it?).

As I’m struggling to get Michael into his carseat, my brother-in-law Ray comes up to the van just to say hi. I wish to GOD he had been in WalMart when I needed him because he’s a tall, strong guy and would’ve scared the pants off Snotty.

Next (do I have a sign on my van that says Open For Visitors????) comes the woman who offers Michael M&Ms as he’s screaming. I told her, “Go ahead and try to REWARD his bad behavior, but he’s not going to want them … he’s in an alternate universe right now.”

And did the M&Ms work? Let’s see. His MOTHER said they would not work. His MOTHER who is with him 24/7 and knows him better than anyone in the world. WHAT DO YOU THINK? (Sorry to yell at you, Reader.)

Michael is STILL struggling with me about the carseat issue, still screaming.

The final Person of New Year’s Eve is an ACTUAL child psychologist (fast forward to 2021, when I am updating this post, and Michael, who is 18 now—I kid (!) you not—wants to be a psychologist). 

She goes, 

“I saw what happened in there. You did everything right. Ignoring versus beating him is a much better alternative. That woman in there was just mean. You’re a good mom. Keep it up.”

And the sun's rays shone up my minivan, and then angels sang happy songs over the validation of me trusting my instincts as a mother and trying to do the best I could by my kids while also obtaining some good deals.

Isn’t it strange who God sends you when you are at your lowest point? Just a few simple encouraging words, and I suddenly had the strength to buckle that carseat and be on my way.

Here is my awesome, well-adjusted family today, July 2022

Happy Birthday to Aron/Woodworking Projects

Today my super-sweet and hot husband turns 42. So I’m doing a tribute to his woodworking skills. Of course, if you see a piece you like, he can make it for you. The TV stand, for instance, would retail for about $500. It even has adjustable shelves and slam-proof doors. Callie told him, “Oooh. This furniture here is beautiful.”


No, I’m serious. You should see how much love and time and energy and perfection he puts in to each piece. I wish to God I had that kind of dedication to something. As you can tell from my recent typos (which my parents and cousin Zee tell me about) in this blog, I’m kind of in a hurry to pop out my opinions and move on to the next 463 things on my list.

Here’s a shelf he whipped out so I could put things by the door so I wouldn’t forget them (like the kids ... haha):


This isn’t actually woodworking but shows how cool he is; on two levels he put double banisters so shortie kids can use a handrail going up and down stairs.


And here’s one of his two speaker stands, which are a bitch to dust:


Here's the cool table he made for me:


And a neat-o set of end tables, one of which is below for your viewing pleasure


And, of course, the deck, which he designed and built himself (with some help from friends, brothers and dads). Oops, never mind on the photo of that one. Don’t need more stalkers coming around.

He also cooks, cleans, dances, fixes plumbing and electrical stuff and works on my car. And never forgets a holiday or special occasion. And lets the kids put mud footprints on the ceiling.


And NO, you can’t have him or even rent him. HANDS OFF. (This little rant doesn’t apply to his cousins who read the blog cuz that would be just gross.)

Converter Box

I told you about the ordeal of BUYING the converter box, but not how I feel about the addition to my home.

All I want to know is: How did the government know I needed yet another remote control? I now have a grand total of FOUR, and that’s because the $100 one is lost.

Hooking it up was no problem. I even did a happy dance because we get EXTRA channels! Kid channels, no less, like Qubo 24 hours a day! It’s like getting more free babysitting! Then you realize that if a channel doesn’t come in PERFECTLY, the whole screen freezes. Not like the old days, when if the rabbit ears weren’t positioned well you could still kind of see your program.

“Why don’t you just get cable, you cheap [fill in the blank]?!” you may ask. Well, first of all, I AM CHEAP. Have you not met me? Are ya new to this blog? (If you ARE new to this blog, I apologize for yelling at you, but you may as well get used to it.)

Plus if I had cable I wouldn’t have time to entertain YOU with this blog because I’d be watching TV about 10 hours a day … cooking shows, news shows, etc. I don’t need all that extra crap in my poor small brain! My mom tapes a very elite group of shows for me, which I can take or leave depending on how much time I have.

Which brings me to taping shows using a converter box. Yes, you read that right. I typed the word TAPING. Anyway, I can’t set up to tape anything anymore because:

1. The converter box automatically shuts off after a few hours.

2. How does my old VCR know WHICH Channel 19 to tape (there are 4, named 19-1, 19-2, etc.)? It is confused.

Y'all yell at me for being stuck in the ‘90s, but I’m telling you I like being different. Mark Twain said that whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.

Animals in Strollers and At Work

So you already know I have a “problem” (meaning I don’t really care all that much because it doesn’t hurt me none) with animals in strollers. But what about kids who are, like, TEN years old in strollers?

I don’t even want to get into the whole pacifier-at-age-four thing OR the nursing kids til they are 47 months old because I personally sucked my thumb until the double line showed up on my pregnancy test when I was 29.

I’m talking about consistently seeing older kids who can’t walk-and-rest like the rest of us. Most of the time my head is up my butt, so the reason I even NOTICE these kids is because they are usually having a full-on hissy fit of some variety. Hmmm, don’t act like a baby, kid, yet sit in a stroller til you move out of the house.

And what’s the deal with my “dependent” kids being insured on my medical policy until they are 25 years old? Does “dependent” mean they live at home or that I am footing the bill for their whole life OUTSIDE of my home (college, parties, transportation)?

First of all, no wonder insurance is so expensive if a kid is a kid for 7 years longer than it used to be. Second, why are we trying to get our child through their Master’s degree before kicking them out of the house, off the boob, and off insurance? Get a job like I had to, child! Starbuck’s offers insurance!

So we are taking care of our kids until they are a third of the way through their life, yet at the same time letting our daughters wear short-shorts with words like “princess” and “hot” on their ass. Oh, and they get cell phones, unlimited Internet access, cable TV in their bedrooms and $100 portable video game machines when they are like five years old now. Good Lord, how confusing is that?

And don’t even TALK to me about how I nurse too long or how I smother my kids by homeschooling them. We are ALL guilty in some way, no?

Dads Who Travel and Travel Widows

Aron has to leave town for a measly 3 days this week , but it still disrupts our world. My saint mother (I can hear my dad laughing right now) is going to come over Thursday so I can do a market research thing for an hour that night. She’s watching all 4 kids. She’s spending the night. WOW.

Then Friday is the Dental Appointment (I always have cavities no matter what I do, and YES I am aware that I eat too much chocolate). Aron was supposed to join me on this appointment and have his own, but TRAVEL intrudes. I have had to reschedule his appointment literally 5 times. Mom is also coming to THAT with me … the kids like to play in the waiting area so they can hear me screaming (just kidding).

Last time he traveled was a tiny trip to Chicago. Before that it was ALL SUMMER because some moron quit (again) so MY man got to leave every Sunday night at 5 p.m. and return every Saturday at 1 a.m. for about 10 weeks or so. It was like Chinese Work Torture. Just stay gone for 4 weeks and be home for 4, for God's sake.

I'm not supposed to complain. My dad says it's not like he's digging ditches. I say it's not like I'm staying sane.