wine? what? huh?

So today involved the second worst shopping trip of my life, the first being a trip to the Stuff-Marts two weeks ago that I have not yet recovered from.

I really hate the Stuff-Marts. Really-really, y'all.

I took the team to the fabric store today. Sweets was in the wrap, Miss O was pushing the cart, Wee Man was squeezed into the tiny person seat in the cart, and HB was walking. And by WALKING, naturally I mean running amok, crawling under tables of sale fabric, and hiding in the little cubes under the bolts of fabric. It was awesome.

And then he started screaming.

About what? you ask.

Well, really, I think he was just mad about being at the fabric store, and was howling in protest. He may have thrown a word or two in there for punctuation's sake, but really it was just a great. big. screamfest.

At one point, he did find some words, and screamed I AM WALKING OUT OF HERE. To illustrate how serious he was, he put his hands on his hips and marched toward the back of the store, poor directionally challenged child that he is.

Miss O was quick to jump to his aid, and told him the door was behind him. Because he receives direction well from his sister, he did a quick about-face and marched toward the actual exit.

I marched behind him, all stealthy and stuff, snatched his smug ass up, and buckled him into a cart.

The click of the buckle unleashed the beast.

I thought he had been screaming before, but oh, no, sister. Turns out he had actually been using his indoor voice, and was now using the full-on TWO YEAR OLD FROM HADES voice. There's a marked difference.

So much of a difference, that there were three employees cutting fabric for me in order to get us out of the store. One of the ladies asked me if I'd like a bottle of wine with my purchase.

Is it complimentary wine day today? I asked.

Only for people who need it, she answered.

I smiled.

No thanks, I'm more of a bourbon girl myself, I said. And we keep an enormous bottle of Maker's Mark on the shelf for just such an occasion.

The employees cracked up. Well, not the manager, so much, but she strikes me as being kind of a tough room.

It is truly lovely to be in the company of people who remember what it was like to have to run an errand with many small children, who haven't forgotten that small children hate fabric stores, and who can joke about it kindly without making the mama of the small children feel like a schmuck.

So thanks, fabric store ladies, for keeping it real, and being kind. This mama appreciates it.

But as for you, lady with the three well-dressed children who also happened to have their hair combed, who was walking into the fabric store as we were leaving? I hope your trip to the fabric store did not disintegrate as quickly as mine. But even so? The nasty-ass look that you gave my tired and hungry and also bored children as you walked by? WAS TOTALLY UNNECESSARY.

I have real children. Usually? They're real good children. But they have their moments just like anybody else. They scream and cry and stomp their feet and throw fits. And while I tell them that's not the right thing to do, it's okay. It's okay because they haven't figured out how to handle everything that life, their mama, or their siblings throw at them.

Until they get it all figured out? I'll have mine on the rocks, with coke.