When shopping with a 2yr old, all bets are off

The husband has a cousin who lives here in the city and is an eye doctor by profession. Due to busy schedules on both sides, we rarely see each other outside of major family holidays, but on occasion we visit him for “discounted” services.

The husband was in desperate need of new glasses. His current ones were going on 4 years old, whopper-jawed from too many wrestling matches with Tyler and had a wicked crack in the left lens near the bridge. If his glasses were a relative, they’d be the out of work, grabby uncle Moe no one wants to stand next to.

We threw caution to the wind and dared to take Tyler, seeing as this was family, even though that little common sense voice in the back of my head told me I should seriously rethink that plan. Upon our arrival we began perusing the selection, trying on different pairs and eliminating ones that made the husband look too “nerdy”.

Almost immediately I deeply regretted my decision to bring Tyler. Everything was at a 2 yr olds level; perfect for little grubby hands. I’d turned around and he would be double fisting two pair of glasses, clenching them tight, twisting them around. Crunching them between his little stubby fingers.

“Ack! Tyler, put those down!”

But as soon as I’d pry one pair from his hands, he’d yell, “How about these mommy?!” and wrench another pair from the display.

The finale was when he knocked an entire display section of glasses off the wall, hurdling about 30 pairs of glasses onto the floor right in front of the sales person.

My face turned 3 shades of crimson red. I was mortified.

I quickly placed myself between Tyler and the temptation and began scooping up glasses, apologizing with every pair. The sales person, in all honestly, could have been a tad bit more forgiving, her icy stares and curt “it’s ok” communicated that it was anything but “OK”. Obviously she did not have kids of her own.

After the clean up, I herded Tyler over into a corner with a few waiting chair and some out of date magazines. I resolved that we would both sit right here and wait for the husband’s cousin to avoid any further complications or embarrassing situations. I plopped him down in the corner chair and growled out “Sit!” through my clenched teeth. While I forced a smile and glanced around the store to see how much of a scene we’d caused.

Too much.

The husband moseyed over and took a seat to the left of Tyler, while I sat on his right; deploying a technique we had long since mastered. When waiting with a toddler, never leave an open avenue; surround him, block off all means of escape and remove any opportunity to cause trouble.

Maybe we should add “avoid eyeglass stores” to that mastery list...

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She's got legs

More things I love.

These Christian Louboutin heels. They are fabulous. These are the kind of shoes that I day dream about.

In my day dream, I'm a svelt 20 something with impeccable taste and style. No longer the little girl who plays dress up in her mommy's clothes and heels. I am a fashion icon.

I spend my days shopping and my nights dressed to kill out to see and be seen. There is no work in my day dreams, and money is just a credit card swip away.

I'd wear my dream heels with this dress, minus the tights. Because in my dreams I could totally pull this off.

I imagine myself all dressed up for a great party, with the perfect purse and killer accessories. I pull up to my destination. I swing my great legs out, unfold myself from the car, take one fierce step away from the car, snag my toe on a rock and face plant into a puddle in the parking lot.

This is my subconscious trying to tell me to wake the hell up and come back to reality. Supermodel I am not. Rightfully so, but doesn't mean I wouldn't try to wear these shoes.

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Monkey see, Monkey do

I'm gonna have to start watching what I say and do. Tyler is much more impressionable than I ever imagined.

On Sunday morning, I was lucky enough to con the husband into watching Tyler while I went to the grocery store. Usually I drag the husband in tow, to avoid the otherwise inevitable complaining about what I buy.

Why did you buy this kind of bread....I don't like diet pop....You bought the wrong kind of granola bars....But I don't want this kind of cereal this week, yes I realize I ate it last week, but I wanted something different.

To this my standard response is "I had a coupon, it was on sale, live with it"

So on Sunday, he promised not to complain about anything I bought and allowed me to venture out on my own. It was blissful, even if it was 9am on a Sunday, I hadn't bothered to brush my hair, and threw on the first thing that looked half way clean.

I took my time driving to the store. I paused early at the stoplights that began to turn red. I used my turn signals, I parked a few rows away from the entrance for the extra exercise, I even bought a $4 cup of coffee at Starbucks because I knew there wouldn't be anyone to knock it over while he threw a hissy fit because mommy wouldn't let him eat the whole bag of grapes while we shopped.

I checked prices against my coupons, I evaluated the best buys with the cost per ounce sticker on the shelves. I even made a few personal phone calls while I leisurely walked the quiet, empty aisles. I was almost a little sad when I realized my shopping list was completed and I had to checkout.

But all good things must come to an end, so I drove back to the house, slowly, trying to formulate a plan that allowed solo grocery trips every week. Shouldn't be too hard. Men hate the grocery store, right?

The husband and I unloaded the car, dragged the bags inside and plopped them down on the counters. Because we'd rather cut circulation off to our fingers then make more than one trip, it only took a minute.

Tyler, eager to help out, grabbed a grocery bag off the counter and began pulling it's contents out and whipping them onto the kitchen floor. Once that bag was finished, he stood and reached for another one. In an effort to avoid a great mess, I handed him the package of diapers and asked him to go put them in his room.

He smiled his huge smile and quickly turned and ran for the stairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, planted his feet, leaned back, swung his arms behind him and tried to chuck the diapers up the stairs.

I laughed. I laughed so hard I almost cried. Because for all the times we've gone to the store, all the times I've come back realizing that the trip took longer than it should have and it sent me into turbo mode. All the times I would quickly de-bag the items, slamming them down on the counter, rushing around and then stand at the bottom of the stairs, hurling baby and bath products up the stairs into the hallway to "make-up time". It never occurred to me that this might not be a great example to set.

It never occurred to me that this would be something he'd pick-up on. Of all the things he could learn, he could copy, he decides my bad habit of "out of sight, out of mind" was the one he'd take. Figures.

I guess he's his mother's son after all.

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Wanted: A shopaholics support group

Most people have hobbies.

Activities or projects that they find soothing, relaxing and enjoyable. Sometimes these hobbies are simple and inexpensive and other times they are intricate and costly. But regardless, the cost is usually seen as an investment in a persons happiness.

I don't have any hobbies. I have shopping. It makes me happy.

It's my obsession passion. I can shopping for hours looking for the best deal on stuff. Occasionally on items I really don't need. But I can't pass up a great deal. It's these times when I'm tempted to hide my purchases from the husband and lie about what I've just bought.

It's not buyers remorse, it's the fear of being caught.

These are the times when I get a glimpse of the fact that I may have a problem.

I never have a problem, however, convincing the husband that my purchases for Tyler are in his best interest. See how happy it makes him?

The husband just shrugs and remarks "No wonder he loves his mommy best, she spoils him rotten"

Perhaps. But I don't see "Over-enthusiastic provider" listed on the 7 deadly sins, so I'm thinking I'm in the clear.

Take for example my latest trip to Target (always dangerous). I was on a mission to find bugs. The small little life-like plastic toys that little boys love to gross-out adults females with. I'd gotten a tip from my mommy underground sources (the nesties) that there were some cheap $1 ones at Target. So off I went, immediately after work.

What I found in the clearance section was perfect. A small tube of butterflys, lady bugs and dragon flys for $1. I even found a "bug house" to keep them all in for $3. I'd really hit pay-dirt today.

As we turned to leave, we rounded a corner and saw it. On the end cap. A 42-piece, Black n Decker tool set. Complete with hard hat and tool belt. It was awe inspiring.

Tyler currently had a 7 piece set with a little tool box that he carried everywhere we went. He'd gotten it for Christmas and would even get it out and attempt to help when Daddy did small home repairs.

But THIS set was different. THIS set dwarfed the other set by a mile. It had a hammer, 2 screwdrivers, a drill, a hack saw, a level, a speed square, a wood shaver, a c-clamp, a socket wrench, a pipe wrench, a ratchet set, a tape measure, pliers, and a million little bolts, nuts and nails. It was everything a little boy needed. He HAD to have it.

And Mommy was happy to oblige. So in the cart it went, along with the bugs and bug house. No sense in putting back a great deal.

We got it home, unwrapped all the piecey parts and splayed them across the living room floor. That's when it occured to us that they all wouldn't fit in his old tool box. We were gonna need a bigger box.





The husband just shook his head when he came home that night and saw the carnage. Because sadly the bugs were a distant second to his new tool set.







See even Fred the dog is concerned my shopping habits may have gotten out of control.

Good thing I don't listen to the dog.

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I don't get it

I want this purse.



I've wanted it ever since Macy's put it on display in their crystal clear display box on a pedestal in the center of the handbag department. As if to say:

Buy me Andrea....
You know you want me....
You know you can't live without me....

I'd have day dreams of walking proudly down the promenade at Easton with this purse on my arm. The purse and I would have dinner dates, long lunches, and enjoy the theater. We'd go pick out special outfits that complimented my eyes and it's color palette. It was heaven. That was until the husband saw the price tag and snapped me back to reality.

It costs HOW much?!?

Men. They just don't get it. They don't understand a woman's need for flashy, beautiful, sparkly purses. They don't understand how the desire for said purses can drive logical women into back alleys with unscrupulous characters, or ten suburban soccer moms to risk arrest to hid out in a basement and conduct "secret parties" to drool and ogle look-alikes pulled from a common black garbage bag.

They don't get how we banish them to the spare bedroom closet because we've taken over the entire closet with our collection of "going-out" purses, "spring, summer, fall and winter" purses, "this purse goes with that outfit" purses, "fun" purses, and "carry it all" purses. Nor do they get the 50 pairs of shoes that must compliment the assortment of purses.

My husband has 4 pairs of shoes, one wallet, and only 3 hats he wears on a regular basis. He most definitely does not understand spending several hundred dollars on a purse I won't carry every day.

But what he really doesn't get is when we got married, what's mine was mine and what's his became mine and that purse will be mine. [evil cackle]

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