Walmart is not good for PMS

Most people who know me know that I despise Walmart. I think the corporation is a souless money-machine masquerading as a neoconservative, down-home, neighborhoods-first hero. Essentially, I think they are a big Wolf in Sheep's clothing. Oh, and I generally find the stores to be dingy, poorly lit, and organized as if someone Ainslie's age was asked what should go where.

BUT--they just built one exactly one mile from us. I resisted for over a month--but it was inevitable. When you are down to 1 cup of milk and half a roll of TP in the house and the weather sucks and you just made the much longer drive to Target yesterday, what are you gonna do? Now, today's visit wasn't my first. I am ashamed to say it was my fourth. Each time I've been in there I have left with roughly half the items on my list because they either didn't have such an inoccuous item as Suave hair gel, or the price was significantly higher than I pay elsewhere.

I digress. PMS both sucks and blows, as many of us are aware. Ainslie has taken to getting up at 5:45, I have cramps, it's the first day of Spring but a blustery, raw, 35 degrees and I'm generally disgruntled.

We enter Walmart. Amazingly, they had everything I needed, except a flagpole (our metal one literally blew in half during the wind storms last week--thank goodness it didn't break the window.) I even bought Ainslie some black patents because they were cute and significantly less expensive than anywhere else. Then we went to check out.

Tell me--why are some stores consistently slower on the checkout than others? Can you feel the hormones flowing yet? FIFTEEN freaking minutes in a line with 2 people with a moderate amount of items. Ok, we get out. Breathe. We get to the car. The wind is howling and I'm trying to get Ainslie out of the cold without damaging anyone's car with the cart. The *&^%^$@$#^% buckle on the cart is broken. It's freezing cold and I can't free my child from the shopping cart. Back in we go--by now I'm talking like a crazy cat lady in my outdoor voice about how much I hate Walmart. You know how everything is just that much worse when the progesterone is surging? Finally, we find someone to help us. Finally, she admits she needs scissors. Ugh.

Ok. Any store could have a faulty buckle. Between surges I can admit that.

The best mirror

I don't think you can ever find a more accurate mirror than a toddler. Nothing will show you how you really come across better than a person with no penchant for deception and a straightforward sense of mimicry.

I never knew how my speech is cadenced until I heard Ainslie repeat things I say. I never even realized some of the things I say, and the way I say them. Apparently, in talking to her, I have a tendency to be redundant. I say this because she often says, "Yes, ok," or "Yes, uh-huh, " or "no, uh-uh." I must hesitate sometimes when deliberating her requests, because she's taken to answering with, "ummm..."

One funny anecdote. Last night I was getting her ready for bed, and every reply to me started with "ummm."

Me: Ainslie, do you want pink jammies or purple jammies?
A: Ummmm. Purple jammies.
Me: Which foot do you want to put in first?
A: Ummmmm. This foot. Right here.
Me: Ok, do you want to zip it up?
A: Ummmm, ok!
Me: Do all of your answers begin with Ummmm?
A: (deadpan) No.

The moral of this story is to be very, very careful. They watch. They listen. She attempts to do everything I do. I don't want to show her my impatience with running on Toddler Time, because I do not want her to immitate me being impatient with her. I do not want to be critical of her attempts at new things, because I do not want to see her hestitate to try. I do not want to criticize anyone's appearance (even my own) because I never want her to find fault with hers. Thank goodness she is also a quick mirror--so if I see myself making mistakes I can try to fix them quickly.

One of the Big Questions

This has been weighing on my mind for months now, and I really don't know who to talk to about it.

Why doesn't Little Bear wear clothes? Mother and Father Bear both wear clothes, normal clothes, like you'd expect a bear to wear. Mother wears a dress and apron and Father wears a 3-piece suit, which makes perfect sense, since he is a fisherman by trade.

Once, we saw an episode in which Mother Bear was going through the attic and came upon Little Bear's baby clothes. Wait a minute! You mean they used to dress him, and then they stopped? Why? Given that most of the show's viewers are humans, and not bears, I wish the writers would address some of the finer points of Bear culture and garb. I'd just like to know.

Whine. Worry. When?

I used to think roller coasters were fun. Maybe it is just age, or a Type A personality that shows itself a little more all the time, but I'm sick of waiting for things. Show of hands: Who is good at waiting for the next phase of life to unfurl? C'mon, no matter how much you believe that you shouldn't worry and that things will be as they are meant to be, who is actually good at it?

Where has the girl gone who used to feel measurably more optimistic just singing along with "Something's Coming" from West Side Story? When did I start worrying so much? When did I start to believe that nobody can do things as quickly or as well as I can? Am I alone? Do we all do this?

Specifically, Will We Move? When? When can we fix the things that need fixing? Will we have another child? When? Will we be able to replace my car? When? Will Spring come soon? Will it rain tomorrow?

Do I KNOW that it is not my job to worry about these things? Yes. But. Well, c'mon...raise your hand!

I am That Mother

I am , unabashedly, That Mother. You know, the one who thinks her child is IT. Brighter, better looking, funnier, stronger, more coordinated, more advanced, more Everything than other children. I hate Those Mothers. I have wanted to slap Those Mothers, and here I find myself smiling and nodding when other mothers tell me that Ainslie is a good jumper for her age because she clears the floor with both feet, as I nastily think to myself, "and she has for months and months." I find myself feeling sorry for the moms of children who can not point out "Two birds on top" of the Shell sign as we drive by. I shake my head for the poor mothers with 21 month- olds who can not yet point out most of the letters of the alphabet and make the correct sound. How on earth do people parent children who are not good at pretending Kitchen, Baby Ainslie, and the Stuck Game? How hard it must be to get all the way through a shopping trip without someone commenting on your child's radiant beauty!

I am blessed and lucky. Ainslie has been nothing but easy, and we get each other. I think she even gets the competitive streak that I try to hide from her.

Of course being That Mother is not socially acceptable, and allowing Ainslie to act like That Child would be completely grotesque, but after waiting so long for her and having those painful years to plan all the experiences I wanted to give her, I think I'm somewhat entitled to some of my smug satisfaction in her perfection.