Voices in My Head

The kids and I went to Costco.

It was insane, as usual. You would not believe in the economic downturn based on the rate at which people are buying mammoth size containers of hummus.

For purposes of this post, my brain speaks to me, inside my head, in italics.

Okay, in, fruit, craisins, cheese, a chicken, out. We can do this.

I surveyed the toddlers. Clean, wearing cute sweaters, relatively non-snotty. All three were in the cart and the littlest one was strapped down. Gee had my keys.

Gee has my keys. Mental note of possible trouble. Launch operation Costco.

As we pushed in the door, the greeter said, "wow, are they all yours."

"Yes," I smiled sweetly, "yes they are."

"And another one on the way."

"Yep." I kept rolling. No stopping for chit chat.

We bee-lined for the fruit. "Gee, don't drop momma's car keys. Cue you have to sit on your bottom. Who sees the grapes?"

A man in produce directed me to the grapes. Not a Costco worker, just a random guy who assumed I must have some emergency need for grapes to drag three toddlers to Costco. "Are they all yours?"

"Uh huh, all of them."

I kept moving. Grapes, good, oranges, strawberries, check. It's a go for chicken and cheese. Bagels.

"Gee, do not drop momma's keys. Cue, sit down. Ess, don't put your fingers in your mouth, it's disgusting, this cart is dirty. Blech. Dirty."

I need bagels. I have bagels. Damn, Cue wants to hold the bagels.

We motored for the chicken. Cue tried diligently to poke a hole in the bagel bag with his finger.

Cue is going to poke a hole in the bagel bag. Chicken, and we're out of here. Proceed to check-out. Ahhhhh. Snack granny with cheese. Detour! Detour!

"CHEESE! CHEESE! EESE!! MOMMA!! CHEEESSEEEE!!!"

Damn.

The toddlers' need for cheese was apocalyptic. They would not survive for five more minutes without cheese on an eye-removing pointy stick.

Okay, okay. Cheese.

I pulled up next to Snack Granny Cheese and she doled out her cheese stuck onto little custom made toddler eye-removers before I could get the hand sanitizer out of my pocket.

"Wait. Wait. Don't touch the cheese with your Costco flu fingers. Wait."

Blech, too late. They've already gooed their cheese and now they are fingering it and eating it. Gag.

"You're supposed to eat it off the stick. Like civilized human beings. Stop behaving like toddlers."

Never mind, go just go.

"MMMMMYYYYY CHEEEEEEESSSSEEE!"

Everyone in Costco is now aware that Gee has dropped his cheese.

"It's okay. It's alright."

Shit. Where are my keys?

"Gee, where are my keys?"

"MMMMYYYY CHEEEEEESSSSEEEE!"

Cue has poked a hole in the bagel bag with his slimy Costco flu cheese and spit covered fingers and he is mining index fingers full of bagel crumbs to smear around his cheese drool mouth. Beautiful.

"Cue, I need the bagel bag. Give it to momma, please."

Total I-want-to-hold-the-bagel-bag meltdown. Beautiful. Craisins. Hand him the craisins.

Cue now held a bag of craisins that weighed more than he did.

Check-out. People are looking at me. Head for check-out.

We were in line. Our turn. Carts go left, shoppers go right. I have to leave them in the cart, there's no other way. Costco's slightly scary check-out procedure stops for no woman and her screaming 22-month-old and cheese-covered three-year-olds.

They're fine. Just pay. I'm sweaty, don't look, maybe that makes it the boxing guy's responsibility if one of them falls?

I glanced behind the checkout guy. Cue had snot ropes rivaling a Nepalese orphan with swine flu. Their cute sweaters were covered in cheese goo. People started backing away. Gee picked his nose and ate it.

"Gee," I snapped, "NO! That's really yucky."

???? Yeah, THAT'S really yucky.

He proceeded to stick my van key up his nose. I stared in horror.

At least he still has the keys. Wow, my kids are so not as cute as they were when we entered.

The check-out lady asked me if they are all mine.

That was pity in her voice.

"Nah, I borrowed a few of them because it's more fun to shop that way." Blank look.

Put your D.C. sarcasm away, it's not welcome here.

Back at the van, I went to open the rear to unload the groceries, but I couldn't find the keys. Gee stood up and started jumping in the cart basket. Cue tried to imitate in the front, still clutching a toddler-sized bag of craisins.

Maybe I should unload the kids first and avoid a trip to the ER.

My brain is wicked smart like that sometimes.

Oh and there are the keys, hanging from the mesh bottom of the cart.

A sweet older lady passed by on her way to her car. She waved and called, "my you're busy." I think I managed to grunt in return.

I lifted them all down from the cart and herded them towards the van door, barely maintaining voice control. "Ess help Cue up into the van. Chairs please, I need you in your chairs. Shit!"

Shit! The cart is rolling away with all my groceries and it's making a beeline for the cars across the parking lot. Children are loose, groceries are escaping. Gah.

"Get in the van please, get in your chairs," I yelled over my shoulder mid-sprint.

I look like an idiot sprinting across this parking lot with my enormous pregnant belly. Also, my kids, who have the brain capacity of startled quail chicks, are now motherless and loose in a busy Costco parking lot. Stellar.

Cart secured, I dragged it back to the van and wedged it into the rear bumper. My chicklets were all in the van.

Miracle. Strap them in.

I did. And then, I shut all the doors and leaned against the van for about ten minutes, reveling in the relative quiet of an insanely packed Costco parking lot. My head hurt. I wonder why?