This morning Colton was so excited to go to the Dentist. Which totally shocked the hell out of me after last time. Just as we were about to walk out the door, he said, “Oh. I almost forgot,” and ran back over to the drawer that holds all of our sunglasses. He grabbed his, put them on and said, “I don’t want anything popping in my eye again this time.”
Which is so not what this post is about. But before I throw his ass under the proverbial bus, I thought I would tell you how cute he started out this morning.
The real post.
This afternoon, after being the greatest kid EVER all day long, we were checking out at the grocery store.
“Excuse me,” Colton said as he batted his long dark eye lashes and flashed his adorable gap-toothed smile.
“Yes, young man,” responded the checker with a giant grin. Clearly sucked into the vortex that is Colton.
“May can I please have a sticker?” Colton asked. *bat bat*
(That isn’t a typo. We have been trying to teach him to say “may I” instead of “can I.” He has apparently decided to either compromise and say “may can I.” Or. It is his way of saying eff you.)
“Yes, you can,” the man said with a sweet smile, “help yourself.”
“Thank you,” Colton said. *bat bat* *big toothy grin*
The three people in line behind us were all, “he is so adorable” and “look at those eyes” and “oh my gosh those curls are TO DIE FOR” and “what beautiful manners your son has.”
“Oh,” I said blushing, “thank you.”
I looked down at Colton and said, “You may have two stickers,” as he reached over to pull them off the roll.
He looked at me and I saw the darkness cross his face. Sweet toddler sugar bottoms. This is not going to end well.
He is usually handed six stickers by the bagger kid. Which I think is totally glutenous and ridiculous. So. I put my foot down this time. Also. I am so freaking sick of peeling that crap off of my furniture, windows and appliances that I would like to shove the stickers up…I digress.
“I want four,” he responded in his baby voice. Which indicates, ALWAYS, a volcanic eruption is in 3.2.1.
“Colton,” I started in my very calm, “I am a perfect parent voice,” I reserve for public meltdowns, “I said you may have two stickers. Please pick two you would like.”
My voice rose at the end in slight desperation. Dammit. I saw his eyebrow raise as he noticed the slight variation in my voice. He smelled blood.
Like at a chess match the people behind us slowly turned their heads away from me and back in Colton’s direction. “Your play,” their faces said. And. Anxiously, they awaited his next move.
Colton said nothing. He just stared at me as he reached for the stickers. In an attempt to head him off at the pass, I reached down, tore TWO stickers off the roll and handed them to Mr. Curly Haired Big Eyes with the perfect manners.
He took the stickers out of my hand, squinted his eyes, glanced at the peanut gallery and then threw them to the ground and said, “I don’t want two stickers. I want four.”
Holy Willy Wonka’s Violet Batman.
The people behind me gasped. Loudly.
Calmly I reached down, picked up the stickers, handed them back to the lovely man behind the register who was now staring at us with his mouth wide open. I looked at Colton and said, “Now you will have no stickers.”
“I want stickers,” he said and started wailing. You know the wail. That ridiculously loud, high-pitched, AWFUL wail that they save up special for retail moments.
Now it wasn’t just the people in my line, but every person in all 12 checkout lines who were staring at me. I let him wail while I finished the process of checking out.
Debit. or Credit? I don’t freaking care. *hits debit button*
Enter pin. (why didn’t I choose credit?)
Money back? No I don’t want any money back. I just want to get the hell out of this store before green crap starts flying out of my kids mouth as his head spins on its axis.
Is the amount correct? Yes. Whatever you want. Take it. For the love of all that is decent in this world hand me that receipt.
The bagger, who has placed all of my environmentally sound bags into my shopping cart screams over my child’s wailing, “Would you like help out to your car?” Panic covered his face at the thought of me saying yes. I was tempted.
I began to push my cart towards the door. Colton was following me, screaming and doing the ritual toddler fit dance. With arms flailing wildly and his feet moving as if he was dancing on fire, I half expected him to start speaking in tongues.
As we approached the door the reality that he was definitely not going to be leaving with stickers in hand was almost too much to bare and he let out the wildest, most high pitched sound I have ever heard from a child. In. My. Entire. Life. I looked to the heavens and prayed, “Please do not let the glass break because I will leave that screaming kid here. I will. Don’t test me.”
I walked him flailing and screaming, “I WANT STICKERS,” out to the car. Every person in the parking lot stared at me wondering if I was stealing the child. Who would steal this kid? No one was concerned enough to deal with his crazy butt, I might add. I strapped him into his car seat and drove the entire way home with him screaming while visions of wine danced through my head.
As I drove I reminisced about the times I had done this very same thing with both Keenan and Noah. And a smile began to spread across my face. Those? Are the proudest moments of my parenting career. The moments when no matter how easy it would have been to give in and avoid the humiliation, I didn’t. And you know what? My oldest boys, now teens, know I mean it when I say it. Also? They have turned into really good kids that I am proud of. And? It all started when they were tiny little boys, throwing a fit in the grocery store.