Ain’t It Grand

I was on track to knocking out my list with my usual, surgical precision. Get in, get out is my motto when it comes to grocery shopping. All I had left to do was grab some broccoli, pay, and be on my merry way. I speed-walked to the produce aisle, gloating at my expert ability to maintain a swift stride and safe social distance as I weaved around the other shoppers. Nothing was going to stop this mom on a mission! Except. Just as those green florets were almost within my reach, a deafening shriek pierced the air and stopped me dead in my tracks. The distress call quickly morphed into steady wail. The other shoppers paused briefly, but then resumed their browsing. Really? Maybe they were ambivalent, but this was my call to action. I simply had to find the origin of these screams. Not because I was overcome with a sense of heroism. No amount of assistance or sympathy was going to help this situation. I knew as well as the other shoppers that the true victim of this scene wasn’t even the being from whom this odious noise was emanating. I just couldn’t leave the store without catching at least one gratuitous glimpse of what every shopper in there knew to be a wretched soul. Maybe that soul was being denied a treat. Maybe it was just one nap shy of being a decent human being. But there was clearly a “Terrible Two” somewhere amidst the aisles throwing an epic tantrum. And I couldn’t help myself but to catch a peek of that woeful creature.

Without thinking I spun on my heels to wind my way back through the aisles, which was no easy feat with the one-way traffic system we have to follow in stores these days. I let the screams guide me; at first it seemed they were a few aisles over, then perhaps in the next one, then farther away again as the culprit was also on the move. After a good five minutes of stealth tracking, I turned a corner and there she was: the droning devil and her poor, stressed, exhausted shell of a mother who was pleading with her spawn to PLEASE. JUST. STOP. And, it was just as I suspected. That little lass behind the horrific hollering was precisely the cherub I knew I’d find. Her tiny lips may have been spewing vileness, but those furious rosebuds were still perfectly plump. I wanted to loop my fingers in the beautiful blonde curls of her pigtails. I could almost smell the sweet baby sweat on the back of her angry little neck. I looked at her frazzled mother, the true victim of this audible assault, and tried to show her with my eyes that I was offering her a caring smile underneath my mask. And that I understood how miserable it is to shop with a toddler in tow. And that I was, whether she believed it or not, more than sympathetic. I was in fact enormously jealous. Apparently I never made it back to the produce section, because when I finally made it home, I realized the broccoli wasn’t the only thing I was missing. I was missing being called “Mommy”.

Not that I don’t remember the trauma and humiliation of being that mom behind the tantrum. I still feel the guilt and shame of turning over a half-full, unpaid-for grocery cart to the customer service desk at Target because my protesting, purple-faced 2 year old was simultaneously attempting to fling his body out of the red bucket seat and strangle himself on the vinyl restraints; I had no choice but to extract him before he hurt himself or another shopper (and, let’s be honest, before I wrung his neck). Nor will I ever forget the horror of an entire grocery display shattering to the ground in what seemed like slow motion when that same toddler, a couple of years later, took control (I use that term loosely) of the trolley and pushed it head-on into a 4 foot pyramid of “Classic” Coke bottles. I can tell you that definitely wasn’t one of my most “classic” moments. And I still recall like it was yesterday the times that:

the 2 year old wasn’t allowed to hold the newborn by himself,

the Sassy Pants wasn’t allowed to have my camera,

that potty training just plain sucks,

and all the times everything went to complete hell…

…in a toy basket.

Funny family folklore isn’t made in the easy moments. Being a parent is hard, man. You don’t forget the tantrums. Nor the sleepless nights, the early mornings, the showerless days, the constant exhaustion. Let alone the poop theme that runs throughout every moment of every day for years. But those little stinkers truly are only small for a short time, as every seasoned parent in the history of the world can (and loves to) tell every new mom and dad who doesn’t need to hear it when they’re living in bedlam. I remember how exasperating it was to hear, “You have your hands full now, but remember this time because you’ll miss it!” when trying to load 3 screaming, squirming kids into a car. And now all of the sudden I’m the Boomer who who’s totally thinking it, even if I’m not saying it out loud.

Back in the day I would notice other moms as I drove past the local school drop off. Their kids got out of the car on their own. They could walk into the school by themselves. Some of them could even zip their own coats and tie their own shoes! And, I’d look back at my helpless brood strapped in their car seats and think, “That’s actually never going to be me.” Until that day the last of my babies strolled into first grade by herself and that was me. And then those babies whipped through grade school, middle school, high school, college. Until, one day not long ago, my oldest “baby” called us after receiving his first paycheck for his new grown-up job to commiserate about adult stuff like taxes and insurance. It really did happen too fast, after all.

And now, here we are. I’m stalking toddlers in grocery stores.

Just at the time we’re supposed to be excited to have the house to ourselves, for the freedom and promise of an empty nest, for the ability to move and live as we please and not have to scramble to find a babysitter to do so, John and I find ourselves stopping to admire a new walker stumbling like a drunken sailor, giggling at a grade schooler whistling an endless story through a toothless mug to his patient dad, and sharing an amused nod at the tween walking 10 steps behind her family because omg she can’t even with these embarrassing people. I notice that belaboured young mother in the store, and I am at the same time grateful to no longer be her day in and day out, but envious of the precious snuggles she gets in that magical space between the outbursts and tears. For all the time that we spent, not so long ago, working to survive long days with little people, we now spend dreaming and scheming the best spot to land a Grandparent Pad that will entice maximum visitation from grandbabies who may or may not ever exist. Who, by the way, certainly won’t, nor should exist any time soon. But we simply can’t help ourselves. We’re kid-obsessed now that ours have flown. It’s like we woke up one day to find that we had grand-ternal clocks that started ticking before we even had a chance to stretch our wings out of our empty nest.

Our kids have a lot of living to do before they’re going to be ready to have children of their own. They need to be mentally and financially prepared to dive into the roller coaster that is parenthood. Heck, they might decide that they don’t want to have babies in the first place. That’s cool. Honestly. But a couple of our kids have expressed at least somewhat of an interest in becoming parents someday, so it is something we think about. Of course we don’t want our kids to do something irresponsible that they would regret (quick shout out to my kids: This is your mother. I’m serious. Don’t be knuckleheads). But, if and when they’re ready to enter the best, hardest time of their lives, we’ll be right there with our arms wide open and waiting for cuddles, our sense of humor ready to notice the comedy amidst the chaos the second time around, and plenty of disinfectant on hand to help with all the messes that will repeat themselves once again. Meanwhile, as my grand-ternal clock continues to tick, don’t be surprised to spot me in Aisle 3, lingering by the lentils, hoping to catch a teeny peek of some stranger’s heavenly hellion before it’s my time to be grand.