Who are you calling creepy?

Last weekend, we headed out of town to do some shopping. While the purpose was to obtain some apparel, I cannot resist the urge to visit a decent grocery store whenever one is in the general vicinity. I’m a food junkie. So, I found a way to work trips to Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods into the agenda. You city dwellers just don’t know how lucky you are. I was slightly more excited to go to Trader Joe’s than is healthy, considering it is just a grocery store and all.

When we arrived, Kate was insistent upon going in and bringing Baby Kate with us. You all remember sweet, darling , Baby Kate, don’t you? If you don’t, please click here (scroll to the second picture). Don’t worry, I’ll wait. The story isn’t nearly as spectacular without being able to envision the psychotic bride-of-chuckie looking doll that Kate is obsessed with.

Almost immediately upon entering the store, Kate found a Kate-sized shopping cart. Her interest in Baby Kate waned as she attempted to tally how many ankles she could mangle with her newfound cart. Somehow in the middle of this exchange, Baby Kate ended up sitting in my cart. Now, there are times that Kate is well behaved while shopping and there are times she is not. If you were at this Trader Joe’s on Saturday, you would have witnessed that it was a time where the check mark would have indisputably been placed in the “NOT” column. After the second aisle, Craig and Kate miraculously vanished into the parking lot and I enjoyed the rest of my shopping trip in peace. Well, until I entered the next aisle.

Enter creepy dude; six-foot tall, burly, intimidating, sunglass wearing creepy dude. He kept looking at me and the weird factor was increased by the fact that he was wearing sunglasses. So, I knew he was looking at me, but I couldn’t really tell what exactly he was looking at. This continued for the next few aisles. My discomfort multiplied exponentially with each additional encounter. The anxiety was less I THINK YOU MIGHT ACCOST ME IN A DARK ALLEY fear and more I THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN TO TAKE YOUR MEDICATION TODAY fear.

Finally, in the wine aisle (where else, right?), Creepy Dude says, “Excuse me?” I look up and his brows are raised over the brim of his glasses and he is just pointing. I hesitate for a moment, waiting for some words to exit his mouth. Smile, nod, and tilt my head to the left, “Yes?” He continues to point. “Yes?” Nothing. I quizzically turn to follow his nonverbal directive. That is when I see that his finger is pointing directly at my shopping cart. Here I am sans child, with a homicidal looking doll occupying the child seat of my cart.

He looks and me and waits. His confusion is evident.

“What?” I say shrugging my shoulders. “I’m sorry, was she bothering you? She’s just been so ill behaved lately, “I exclaim indignantly while I push my cart away.

Starting the Neurosis Young

In preparation for our flight, my wonderful friend Jodi brought me a few toddler books on airports and travel. Since I’ve already explained how helpful preparing Kate for anything new is, suffice to say that I jumped at the chance to read these books to Kate, giving her an idea of what to expect at the airport and on the plane.

One of the books did an outstanding job of covering the entire experience, from arrival at the ticket counter to take-off. As I was reading the book, I got to the part where it covered the security check and the metal detector. I hadn’t thought to talk to Kate about that, but it made sense. Considering my security-check record, we’d likely be chosen for “additional security checks” anyway, so I might as well prepare her for the magic metal wand and humiliation of emptying our belongings out for the world to see. Who put THAT in there? No, that certainly isn’t MINE. It must be because I didn’t keep my bags in my possession since I arrived at the airport.

Yes, back to the book. As the book carefully described the security checkpoint, it said, “…to make sure no one is bringing anything dangerous onto the airplane.” The first time I read that sentence, it caught me totally off guard. Why would you interject such a comment into a children’s book? I am quite certain that Kate has not been pondering the dangerous items that might be aboard our aircraft. I think it is called the bliss of childhood, no? I quickly read that sentence and moved on to finish the book. I never gave it additional thought.

Days later, as we pulled into the airport parking lot, Kate started talking about the airport. Soon, she started talking about the metal detector. In a naive moment, I encouraged her narrative, excited that she knew what to anticipate. Suddenly, she asked an unanticipated question.

“It will make sure we don’t have anything dangerous, right mommy?”

I tried to feign a calm front, while wondering why my darling child chose the freaky part of the book to remember. I brushed off her question, hoping to redirect her attention to a less conspicuous activity.

“Mommy, what is dangerous? We can’t bring anything dangerous on the airplane?"

Once again, I calmly assured Kate that nothing on the airplane was dangerous. MOVE ON KID. We only have a few hundred feet until we enter the terminal and you need to exhaust this question before you draw attention to us.

“Mommyyyyyyyyy, is our suitcase dangerous?”

I ignored her. What else could I do? We quickly navigated the self check-in kiosk and headed towards the infamous security checkpoint. In midst of the chaos and luggage orchestration, I forgot about Kate’s current rant. Within minutes she started chastising the couple behind us, asking if their luggage was dangerous.

A proud parenting moment.

Deep Revelations from Vacation

There isn’t much worse than returning home from vacation, is there? I promise, soon I will stop talking about vacation. How annoying it is that everything is all about my vacation? Instead of posting about my vacation all week long, forcing me to sob at my desk while I return to reality, I figured I’d wrap up the whole vacation in this post. Save for the stories about the security checkpoint and the toe-cracker incident, which totally deserve their own posts at a later date.

With that lame introduction, I present the top three things I learned on vacation.



First, Kate is a fantastic traveler. To counteract her Tasmanian Devil tendencies, all she needs is an airplane to turn into a perfect little Shirley Temple. Maybe it’s the cabin pressure. Note to self: find a way to simulate said pressure on an ongoing basis. Her favorite parts of the flight were TAKE-OFF, LANDING, and TURBULANCE. If I didn’t know that this child was surgically extracted from my uterus, I’d use this as proof that she certain does not have my DNA.



Second, apparently some obscure memorandum was issued to select mothers advising them that allowing their child to PEE in the SAND at a public beach is permissible. I was omitted from that mailing list, but the family next to us on Sanibel Island apparently was not. I can appreciate the immediate urgency to locate facilities for a potty-trained toddler who needs to pee NOW, and may even grant a poor mother a courtesy pass in those circumstances. I do not appreciate the indolent mother who instructs her children to “go” before they start playing and even if they don’t have to that they should “at least try.” That activity was followed up by a directive to cover it up with sand. I expected the catnip and Fancy Feast to follow.



Third, it is not advisable to wait until you feel like you are getting burned before you apply sunscreen. Nothing good will come of that approach. It is even less advisable if you are of Scandinavian decent and are so pale-white that you border on translucent. Retuning to taunts of “Powder” and “Albino” despite having been in a sunny climate are preferable to having skin so irritated that walking around without any clothes on in a public place almost sounds like a logical solution. Additionally, if someone had offered to sever my sunburned feet off with a dull butter knife last night, I would have entertained the idea because it certainly would have been LESS PAINFUL.



Now please excuse me while I mourn vacation and apply some more Aloe Vera.

A Glimpse of Vacation

She says she doesn't want to go back home. For some reason, I don't think crying and commiserating with her would help, would it?

Perhaps Some Vocational Exploration is Needed

During this visit to Florida, I was informed that the current unemployment rate in this area hovers around 11%. It makes me almost proud to be from Michigan, you know, where the economy is stellar in comparison. With such a staggering unemployment rate, one would guess that those in the workforce would be diligently working to ensure their continued employment. At least, one would think.

Yesterday we visited a local tourist trap, one where the vacuums suck your pockets dry upon entry, and there is no shortage of garbage (both literally and figuratively) available. Call me a cynic, but I am always too irritated with succumbing to these places to enjoy the experience. At the end of the long, expensive day, we stopped by the ice cream parlor before we headed to the car. When we went to order, I noticed the elderly lady, probably in her mid-seventies, working behind the counter. Initially I assumed she was the owner, or perhaps was such a gem that she’d just worked there for ages. Imagine my surprise when she was not only borderline incompetent, but also behaved in such a way that I believe kicking her ass might have crossed my mind. When you are considering accosting a senior citizen over ice cream, you know things have reached a new low.

Apparently this lady must need employment, because she is grappling at straws with this whole ice cream gig, which is evidently not her calling. Considering the current unemployment rate and my career in the HR field, I feel compelled to offer this woman some helpful tips to help her maintain successful employment and avoid altercations with stressed parents of tired, combative, toddlers.

First tip, when the parent goes to order raspberry ice cream for their toddler, do not look confused, and ask if they’ve noticed all of the other ice cream available. Lady, I’ve ordered ice cream enough times to understand that there are different flavors in each of those little buckets there. I’m also bright enough to realize that the convenient little placards advertise all of the flavors you have available. I would have thought the whining toddler affixed to my leg, my wild-eyed look, and the urgency in which I conveyed my order would have dropped the hint that time was of the essence.

Second tip, when the parent assures you that they are satisfied with their stated choice, do not, I repeat DO NOT ask if the parent realized that they had Superman ice cream and politely ask if maybe the child would prefer that instead. See, Kate was exposed (against our will) to Superman ice cream last year and after eight months of intense brainwashing, we had slowly been making progress. Superman ice cream has been my nemesis. I’ve perfected the technique of scouting out the culprit and carefully positioning Kate in a way she can’t see it. That sort of defeats the purpose when the lady behind the corner loudly announces its existence. I'd like the 30 minutes of my life back that this argument sucked out of me.

Third, when the parent affirms that they are still satisfied with their initial choice, do not loudly ask if they are aware that it is SUGAR FREE. I am aware that times were different “back then” and you likely fed your children Superman ice cream and they did not grow an extra appendage or turn into serial killers. To each their own. Just don’t look at me like sugar free ice cream is the equivalent of crack cocaine.

I am typically forgiving, especially to the geriatric population, but this wasn’t particularly cute or grandmotherly. It is possible that you were trying to save poor Kate, save her from the injustices of her mother. Unless you plan on sticking around for the next fifteen years, I say we might as well let Kate get a good dose of reality now.