Here You Go

I have a cousin who occasionally asks me what it is like to have kids. This is, of course, an impossible question to answer. It is something you have to live.

On the other hand, there are a myriad of small experiences which convey some information about parenthood. Take, for instance, our recent trip to Walmart. I don't think we even went to Walmart prior to children.

We pull into the snow-covered parking lot and have to get hats and coats on two wriggling boys. Who most definitely do not want coats or hats on their person. The one year old starts crying. The three year old starts whining.

We walk into the store and don't bother to get a cart. We are only there to pick up a picture frame, so we don't really need one. Or so we think. We also don't have the diaper bag due to the short nature of the trip.

The 1 year old is balanced on one hip, still resentful over the whole coat-and-hat thing, and the three year old decides to make a break for it. In the grocery section. We deduce that he is somewhere among all the produce carts and manage to catch him. The husband, in the meantime, has wandered off to look at the flat screen TV's.

The 3 year old is crying because he now has to hold your hand (akin to Capital Punishment for a preschooler). Crying creates snot. Lots and lots of snot.

I make it to the housewares department and find the stupid frame. I now have a toddler perched on my hip, a frame in one hand, and my other hand wrapped around the wrist of the 3 year old. Who is struggling to get away.

Suddenly he stops straining against my grasp. This should have been a warning sign to me, but for reasons of exasperation I took it as a minor miracle and let out a sigh of relief.

"Here you go," my sweet boy says and holds up his hand. I have no idea what he is giving me, and I can't lean over due to struggling-1-year-old on my hip. He wipes his hand against my hand, and I realize what my gift is. A booger.

Great... no diaper bag means no wipes, and now I am stuck in the middle of Walmart with two cranky small children and a gargantuan booger stuck on the back of my hand. 3 year old tries to make a break for it again, and I grab him to find the father of my offspring.

"We have to go. NOW," I say through clenched teeth. My dear husband still really has no idea of why we have to go, but takes Matt of my hands and we head to the checkout. I ask the cashier if she has a paper towel or Kleenex. Of course not! The nearest paper towel is at register number 13, all the way across the store. Forget it, I'd rather keep the booger than traipse across the store with these two kids.

We make it to the refuge of our car (yes, your car becomes a refuge when you have kids) and the relief of wet-wipes and Purell. Lots and lots of Purell.

Let's just say that I can't wait until booger season winter is over!