Nagoonberry

This world. This place. This life.


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Mama’s Costco meltdown

I was raised to be nice.

You know that photo that’s going around on Facebook? The black and white one with a roller coaster cars full of women? The women in the first car laugh uproariously, their skirts flying up. The women in the second car are more subdued, but smiling, and clearly enjoying themselves. The unsmiling women in the third car sit with knees pressed together, hands clasped politely in their laps.

We were third car kind of people.

So when I had a mini-meltdown in the parking lot at Costco today, it was a big deal for me; a first-car person watching would probably still be laughing about it.

The meltdown was set in motion a few days ago.

Brady needed to go to the vet, so I made an appointment for Wednesday at 2:30 in the afternoon. That felt like a time that would work with Willa’s schedule. After her morning nap I would drive to town, stop at Costco, head to the vet, and be done in time for her to nap on the drive back home to Girdwood. Seamless.

But then I watched the weather, which forecasted a big snowstorm on Tuesday night. (And it was a big one. I think we got about two feet of snow.)  Friday looked better.

I called the vet. They didn’t answer, so I left a message. They called back when I was pulling my hair out trying to do something with Willa. “Friday at 11:10 a.m.?” I said. “Sure, sounds fine.”

Except it wasn’t.

Friday mornings I finish up The Interdependent Web. At 11:10, Willa’s just starting to think about wanting a nap.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I woke up at about 5 a.m. and couldn’t get back to sleep. Then Willa woke up early. I fed her, and put her back to sleep, and I got about an hour’s more sleep.

We rushed around, getting breakfast for me, tea for Liesl, a bit of solid food for Willa and a few minutes of nursing, and then we bundled ourselves up and headed for Anchorage.

Willa started getting fussy at the vet. She was more fussy at Babies R Us, where we stopped for a diaper change and feeding. And by the time we got to Costco, she was in full meltdown mode.

When we finally got back out to the car to head home, I was relieved that the person parked next to us was leaving. I could pull the cart up to the side of the car, and swing Willa’s carseat out of the cart and into the Subaru.

I was in the middle of doing that when, over the din of Willa’s screams, I heard someone say, “Excuse me?”

I turned around. A woman in an SUV asked, “Could you move your cart so I could pull in there?”

I snapped.

“My baby is having a meltdown,” I said. “Just chill out.”

She apologized, said that she’d been there with her kids, told me to take my time.

I realized I’d been snippy, and apologized, too.

And that was that. But I’ve been thinking about human nature today, and so I wondered how much of the world’s evil comes from accumulated stress. From the crankiness that builds up in us from lack of sleep and disrupted schedules and parking lots that are always over-full. From snippy comments and unkind words that we trade like toddlers trade germs at daycare.

I don’t know. But I’m hoping to get a good night’s sleep tonight, and a fresh start tomorrow.

costco


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The sawdust in your eye

Today’s Daily Prompt asks, “Which vice or bad habit can you simply not abide in others?”

My first reaction was, “Oh, I can’t possibly write about that.”

I can’t possibly go on a rant about what drives me crazy about other people.

That’s not nice. And there’s the “people who live in glass houses” problem. Also known as the log in my own eye problem.

But the more I thought about it, the more I felt like it might be fun to just let my inner curmudgeon loose.

So, without further ado, here’s the sawdust in your eye:

  • Loose dogs and their humans. It’s OK if you’re nearby. But leaving your dog out to roam the town all day and all night? Drives me batty.
  • Don’t get me started on people who feed loose dogs, habituating them to the places where I’m trying to walk Brady, while also carrying Willa.
  • While we’re talking about dogs, how about people who don’t pick up after their pets? I picked up dog poop when I was 9 months pregnant, and I still do when I’ve got twenty pounds of baby strapped to my chest. And you can’t bend over and scoop the poop?
  • Drunk people in general, but specifically the loud ones who walk past our windows at 2 a.m. when the bars close. Sometimes it’s really tiresome living in a drinking village with a skiing problem.

And that’s where I’ll stop, for now.

Because as I was writing the list, I realized that there was only so much I felt comfortable writing about publicly. General complaints, about people I don’t know, felt safe. But being specific? Talking about things that really bother me? That’s harder.

I had a really hard day on Monday, because I’ve been (as I tweeted) “Too long downwind of other people’s garbage; too long downstream of other people’s shit.”

But I can’t write the back story of that here. That’s the work of living in relationship, the work of neighborliness, the work of forgiveness balanced with the work of speaking my mind.

Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back. . . .

Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, “Friend, let me take out the speck in your eye”, when you yourself do not see the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye. (Luke 6:36-38, 41-42)


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If I stole your shopping cart

 

shopping cartIt has probably happened to you. I know it’s happened to me.

You’ve just started shopping. Your cart’s empty. You walk away, and when you return, your cart is missing.

It has always annoyed me.

But today I was on the other side. Today I stole the shopping cart.

Willa and I went to Fred Meyer’s for some much-needed groceries. It’s always an ordeal. An hour’s drive to town, and an hour home. This time our only other errand was dropping off recycling, but I still had to think about nap, feeding, and diaper schedules.

And where to put Willa while I’m shopping.

My usual trick is to put her, car seat and all, in the cart, packing groceries around her as we go.  It works pretty well, until we get to the checkout. Groceries in bags are bigger than groceries not in bags.

Today I had planned to wear Willa in her Ergo carrier. But the logistics of that are tiresome, too, and Willa is the kind of child who wants to see  everything.  The Ergo is fine for the boring old condo. But in the grocery store? I couldn’t imagine her being happy in a carrier where she’s not facing the world.

So it was back to the car seat in the cart. And the problem of too many groceries.

I decided I would get one of the smaller carts for the overflow once I finished shopping. I would drag the small one behind me with one hand, pushing Willa in the bigger one with the other.

Except that the carts are stored on the other side of the theft-detection monitors.

And I have a deep-seated phobia about people thinking I’m shoplifting.

I kept thinking, “How am I going to get a cart? Maybe I’ll find an empty one somewhere.”

And I did. Close enough to the door that maybe someone meant to abandon it. Far enough that the person may have just walked away for a moment.

I’ll never know.

So the next time someone steals your shopping cart, remember this: maybe it was a stressed-out mama, just trying to figure out how to get her kid and her groceries to the car.

She was hoping you were done with the cart. If you weren’t, she’s really sorry, and she hopes she hasn’t made your day too much more stressful.

Because she’s learned that we’re all just trying to get by, as best we can.

 

Photo by MIKI Yoshihito, used under a Creative Commons attribution license.