Saturday, March 24, 2012

My Norman Rockwell Moment

As you may or may not know, about 3 weeks ago, my car tried to kill me. Truth. It caught on fire while I was driving, and, since it was electrical, I couldn't unlock the doors or roll down the windows to get out and had to call 911. But I'll save that blog for another day. I'm still slightly traumatized by the whole thing and still don't completely trust that the demon-possessed thing won't try it again.

Well, 3 weeks without a car later, I'm finally forced able to take the kiddos with me to run some much needed errands.

First on the list. Walmart. It's a Saturday, and I have all four social deviants with me. Alone. I know what you're all thinking. What could I possibly need so desperately from that fucking hell hole that couldn't wait until 2AM on a Monday. In September. Twenty years from now? Well, I needed a bunch of random stuff, and there was no way in Hell that I was going to tempt fate by dragging everyone in and out of the car all day. But mainly, I needed the strongest fucking eye drops I could get without a prescription. Ever since the car's failed attempt on my life malfunction, my eyes have hurt so badly that I want to pluck them right out of my pretty little head. See? Demon car. But I digress.

I have to admit, and I'll deny every fucking word if you say I admitted it, Walmart really wasn't that bad. The freaks were behaving, the "people of Walmart" were, too, and the gossiping old bats actually got out of my way with just one swift bump from my cart.

I was having a bit of a "Leave it to Beaver" meets the "Twilight Zone" kind of experience so I decided to reward myself the kids by eating lunch out. And candy. Never forget the candy.

At this point I'm feeling pretty cocky good about myself and wonder if being locked up for the last 3 weeks actually taught the little ones how to behave in public.

Off to the grocery store! When we got to the store, a sweet, elderly couple was right behind us. Giggling as the baby would pick up an item, ask to buy it, and shrug it off and put it back in exactly the right place when I told her "No, not today". Smiling when the Princess walked up to her brothers, kissed them on the cheek, and they thanked her. Mind you, I am not really a fan of old people. It's not that I don't like them. It's more that I can't fucking stand being around the majority of them. I blame my grandmother. She was a mean old bitch, and I think she scarred me from a young age. But this couple, in my blissfully ignorant state, was so cute that I could only imagine that their whole life had been one Norman Rockwell painting after another.

About halfway through the store, the Rockwellesque couple turns to me and says, "It's so refreshing to see such well behaved children for a change! You are obviously a wonderful mother."  I'm serious when I tell you that I was in absolute fucking shock bliss! Finally. My Norman Fucking Rockwell Moment had arrived!


The look on the kids' faces. I'm not sure if they were insulted? Offended? Confused? Angered? Or dared. That's right. These little con artists looked like they had just morphed into mini Gary fucking Colemans shocked at the fact that someone. A perfect stranger. Actually had the nerve to accuse them of being anything less than raging lunatics who scammed their way out of the nearest juvenile detention center padded room!

I instantly knew that this deceptive fucking couple (Understand why I don't like old people, now?) had just started the fucking apocalypse. The baby starts throwing stuff. The Princess tries to jump out of the cart. Gets her foot stuck. And falls on her fucking ass. And, suddenly, the boys think its the perfect time for a WWE Royal Rumble (do they still have those anymore?!?) in the middle of aisle fucking 6. I'll bet you didn't know that a 2 yr. old is the perfect size to climb under a grocery shelf but require emergency assistance to get back out. WTF?!?!? Do they have tire spikes under those damn things?!?

In a desperate attempt to hold on to my fucking sanity maintain my positive attitude for the day, I had to find something good about the old bastards unwittingly ruining my first and (more than likely only) Rockwell fucking moment.

They should praise me for my parenting skills! I deserve it. Sally fucking Field worshiping, old bat can stop shelling out her Social Security checks for Boniva once a month because her back straightened right the fuck up for the first time in twenty years! Dirty old bastard? Well, let's just say, that I'd be really shocked if he doesn't send me a Christmas card this year because he ran away in such a big ass hurry that that cane never hit the ground. Not. Fucking. Once.

When was the last time someone unknowingly ruined your Norman Rockwell Moment?

1 comment:

  1. Been there, done that, have the scars (mental and physical), and have offered to give my children to the old people. I feel your pain. Excellent blog.