Better Blueberry Containment For All

I have a challenge for all you inventor-types out there:  Forget smart watches and smart cars and smart everything else for a minute, okay?  Because here is what I want, what I really really want:

A blueberry container that doesn't spill its contents at the barest touch.

That is all.  That's everything my shriveled little heart desires.

Why, blueberry plastic-clamshell-container-thingy?  Why the drama?  Why the mess?  Why the college-girl-with-low-self-esteem-on-spring-break-type desire to overstep healthy boundaries and spill your, ahem, bits and pieces everywhere?  I look like a hardened bomb technician trying to defuse an IED just trying to get a carton or five of blueberries from my cart to the conveyor belt every week at the grocery store.  And I know I'm not the only one who suffers from this affliction:  At least every other month I see multiple stray blueberries littering the floor near the checkout at Aldi, so I am not the only one upsetting the fruit basket with stunning regularity.  Anymore I'm like that mom of eight kids when I spill them in front of my fellow shoppers: no longer even capable of being embarrassed, just so, so tired.

And that's only at the store.  We won't talk about how many berries have been smashed underfoot on my kitchen floor.  I feel like Lucy in Italy, except there is no wine at the end.  It's very sad.

At this point I wonder if I even know what blueberries who have never indirectly touched feet taste like, and how it would affect this, my near-everyday (UTTERLY DELICIOUS) lunch:

Ingredients:  My favorite yogurt (Stoneyfield Organic, French Vanilla flavor, you complete me), a crap ton of blueberries- seriously, you need a berry to yogurt ratio of around 2:1- and a handful of rolled oats.  Oh, and a smattering of floor germs, of course.  My immune system sends its thanks, blueberry container.

Engineers (DAD), let me know when this has been solved.  I'm sure it's now your top priority, and there may or may not be blueberry pie in it for you.  Me and my taste buds are not above bribery.

Loquacious Lunes?

My original thought for this post was to simply post two photos with no text at all, a la those Wordless Wednesday posts you see on so many blogs, except today is Monday (sorry if that came as a surprise to any of you), so I guess it would have to be Mute Monday or something.

It would appear, however, that I am physically incapable of posting photos and saying nothing about them.  This is because the kind of pictures I take are worth much less than a thousand words; I'm guessing they're more in the 10-100 word range, so more often than not I feel the need to help them out with a story or anecdote or bit of triviality.


Today didn't start out in too promising of a fashion.  Last night was particularly heinous, Attticus-night-terror-wise, so Derek and I are both operating on very little sleep today.  Then this happened:

Now, I know that when a day starts like today did, the best thing to do is hunker down at home if at all possible and wait for the day to pass.  Days that start like today tend to continue on the same downward trajectory.  I'm pretty sure Newton had something to say about all that but I'm way too tired to be spouting even elementary physics.  

The problem was today was supposed to be grocery day.  Could we have made it through one more day without a trip to Aldi?  Sure.  But Adelaide, our most docile (if inexplicably tearful) child- the one who can sleep through all her brother's nighttime screaming and is a generally obedient and loving daughter- has a tendency toward panic attacks if there's anything less than four gallons of milk in the fridge.  Our family could start our own chapter of La Leche League.  Except, you know, without all the female anatomy.

I knew better than to leave the house.  I mean, I may not be Michelle Duggar, but this isn't my first rodeo, and I'm aware what happens when you take a testing toddler and an exhausted preschooler out grocery shopping:  mayhem, chaos, and dirty looks from all the people without children who have somehow decided to shop at the exact same time as you.

Still.  We were almost out of milk.  All work and no milk makes Adelaide a dull girl.  

So we sallied forth to no less than four stops.  And you know what happened?

A lady at Wal-Mart saw me struggling to separate two carts (what is that about, anyway?  It's like trying to separate a crack addict from his needle) while holding Caedmon and trying to keep an eye on Atticus, quickly took her things from the cart, and gave it to me, saying I obviously had my hands full. 

While rooting around in my pocket for a quarter at Aldi (if you've never had the pleasure of shopping at Aldi, the carts are all hooked together, and you have to insert a quarter to detach one from the herd), the boys were unintentionally making things difficult by huddling into me, trying to escape the cold wind that was trying to blow us all to Oz.  A man who had just walked in the doors of the store turned around, came back out and said, "You go on and take those kids inside- I'd be happy to get a cart for you."  I demurred, he insisted, the boys and I trooped inside while he got a cart with his own quarter, and my faith in humanity was restored.  

It seemed like every stranger I saw today was incredibly friendly, going out of their way to be helpful, which in turn gave Atticus and I something to talk about: the importance of kindness, selflessness, and helping others.  The acts plus the conversation seemed to galvanize him to be extra helpful to me as we shopped, comforting Cade when he pinched his thumb, grabbing items as I went through the list and depositing them in the cart, and being polite to all those nice people we saw.

I guess some days it really does pay to leave the house.  

To That One Mom at Aldi

To That One Lady I Saw at Aldi Who Looked Like She Was About to Die of Embarrassment:


Hi there.

You don't know me.  I would have introduced myself today, but I could see it wasn't really a good time.  I was the other mom in the store, trying to keep my boys from staring at your kid as he had a complete and total meltdown.

I want you to know that I feel your pain.  You looked like you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole today, while your toddler first threw himself onto the floor and then proceeded to scream himself hoarse because you wouldn't buy him those cookies.

I want you to know that I wasn't judging you.  Those two little boys I had with me?  Yes, they were being really good today, but that's only because we'd had a stern conversation in the van before entering the store and I'd said a lot of prayers and the moon just happened to be in the proper alignment.  (And honestly, because they were so busy staring at the spectacle your kid was making of himself.  Nothing makes kids behave like watching someone else throw a tantrum.  So thanks for that!)  They're not always that good.  In fact, you could say they've set a pretty good precedent for your son; those Aldi employees have learned that you never really know what to expect from little kids in a grocery store.  So yes, while you saw our youngest sitting calmly in the seat of the cart, and our older son walking sedately alongside me, what you didn't see was the time the little one took a ride on the conveyor belt at the checkout when I was distracted.  Or the time our older boy shut himself in the milk case and freaked out.  Or the time our daughter burst into tears because the store was out of cottage cheese and she assumed they had done it on purpose because "Aldi hates me!"  And I have lots of friends with small children who also shop there.  For my own sanity, I assume their children behave in similar ways when out in public.

I hope you didn't pay too much attention to those college girls glaring at you the entire time you were trying to pick your limp-boned child off the floor.  Anyone could see that you were trying to calm him down, and really just doing your best in a difficult and humiliating situation.  Don't worry.  I'm praying that someday those young ladies will have children, too, and then they will learn that even the most obedient kids have their moments.  I say we make a pact to get together and follow those girls around Aldi in, oh, say five, ten years, cackling malevolently each time their kid misbehaves.  It will be about as helpful as the staring and eye-rolling that they employed was today.

Just one more thing, my fellow Mama.  I didn't get to see how the situation resolved itself.  I know your kid quieted down within a few minutes.  I was trying to get through my list as quickly as possible, and couldn't tell if your little darlin' had simmered down, or if you had forcibly removed him from the store.  I just want to remind you: Be strong!  I understand that in that moment, all you want (aside from a brain aneurysm that promises instant death) is to get your kid to quiet down as quickly as possible, and while getting him those cookies may appease him this time, each time you give in, you're only making it worse for Future You, not to mention teaching your kid some pretty terrible life lessons.  I know it's hard.  Parenting includes a lot of long-term thinking and planning, and sometimes it would be so much easier just to give in.  Remember:  this is America, and America doesn't negotiate with Terrorists.

Sincerely,

A Fellow Sympathetic Shopper




P.S. Please don't be offended that I referred to your two-year-old as a terrorist.  Mine is, too.  






UPDATE:  I didn't get around to publishing this post until a few weeks after I had written it.  The day after it was posted, I went to Aldi with our two boys.  On that trip, I was the mom with the terrorists.  It felt like a very cruel sort of irony.

Now Available For Loan

I owe everyone an apology.

I have been hoarding a precious resource to myself.  This resource is none other than the phenomenon known as "Caedmon."  More specifically, "Caedmon at the grocery store."

Maybe you've been feeling like your trips to the supermarket have been a little boring of late (or maybe you haven't).  I'm here to fix all that.  Well, Caedmon is.

Here's a little example of what your weekly trips could look like, with the little addition of our 15-month-old sweetheart:


Arrive at Aldi (or whatever grocery store you frequent).  Place Caedmon in the seat provided in the front of the cart.  Try to buckle the straps around him.  Realize they aren't long enough to fit around his barrel chest and puffy Vikings winter coat.  Pray he'll just sit still long enough to get your shopping done.  Pause because you swear you hear God laughing at your naivete.

Enter the store.  Try to keep the cart close enough to one side of the aisle that others can get past you, but not so close that Caedmon can reach the food products-especially the cereal, which he can bring down a good four boxes at a time.

Stop and check the floor behind you every four or five steps.  Retrieve the food Caedmon has been throwing out of the cart.  Retrieve the shoes Caedmon has been taking off and throwing out of the cart.  Retrieve the socks Caedmon has been taking off and throwing out of the cart.  Retrieve the hat Caedmon has been... well, you get the idea.

When Caedmon tries to stand up in his seat, force him to sit back down.  Do this again, and again, and again, and again...


Eventually make it to the only check-out line that is open.  Be thankful there's only one customer in front of you, and begin loading your merchandise onto the conveyor belt.  Glance at the front of the cart to be sure Caedmon is still seated every few seconds.  Forgive God for laughing at you, and say thank you to Him for sending the pretty college-age girl and her mother who are standing behind you in line and talking to Caedmon, who is smiling, ducking his head, and coyly looking up at them through his long eyelashes.

As you finish loading your food onto the belt, look back at the seat to check on Caedmon.  Feel a moment's panic when you see that he isn't there- only a moment's, because then your peripheral vision will register the sight of Caedmon on his hands and knees, coasting past you on the belt.

Pluck him off at the same time the checker sees there's a toddler on the conveyor belt and stops it.  Be grateful everyone around you seems to have an intact sense of humor and no one appears to be reaching for their cell phones to call the authorities to come and take your children away from you.  Feel your face turn bright red anyway.

Bag your food as quickly as possible to get the heck out of that place.  Keep forcing Caedmon to sit back down in his seat.

Thank Atticus for being such a perfectly obedient little jewel of a boy.

Collapse into the seat of your car, exhausted.



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