In the spirit of Lent, and Catholicism, and generally NOT going to hell in a hand basket I am going to exercise my right to over share on the interweb. This is another one for what my mom calls “The Bad Mommy Files.”** In other words, the many, many times when I have totally messed up as a parent. Or as a human, in front of my children. This might be the only one that qualifies as a misdemeanor though…No…Case #126 involved a traffic citation. Fanfreakintastic.
**You know, now that I think about it, my mom has been present for about 98% of the submissions into the Bad Mommy Files. Interesting. And again tonight, there she was by my side, quickly and quietly ushering me out the door...
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Our sordid tale begins with my mom telling me that she found a very cute pair of slip on athletic shoes on sale, and in my size. She wanted to buy them for me. I will tell you a little secret about that. I NEVER say no when my mom wants to buy me clothes. That just seems like a bad idea right there.
So there we were in the shoe section of the mega grocery/department store in my neighborhood. We had the kids with us. And it is probably worth noting that they were all hopped up on McDonalds. Not because that is particularly relevant to the story. But it does lend to the “I am a crap parent” theme. Right?
Sweet Pea, knowing that I am distracted, and also that her grandmother is present and she is allowed to do just about anything at all when her grandmother is present, takes the opportunity to try on a pair of peep toe wedge heel espadrille sandals that are about 3 sizes too big and, HELLO, total hoochy mama shoes made for a 7 year old. (However, for a 36 year old they would have been cute. In fact, they are exactly what I spent all last summer looking for. Le sigh.)
I was just in the process of explaining to her that they were not really appropriate shoes for a little girl. And she was just in the process of planting her hand on her hip and rolling her eyes at me - God help us – when baby brother found himself a pair of peep toe heels and started parading around the store too. (Let me tell you. Hooker shoes on your 5 year old daughter is terrifying. Hooker shoes on your 2 year old son is pretty freakin’ funny.)
We all had our laugh. Except for the clearly heartless man who was trying on ugly black athletic shoes not 3 feet away. I mean, COME ON DUDE. That is some really cute and funny stuff. Nothing? Really? Whatever...So, I go over to help Will get his own shoes back on and, OMg. It looks like a scene from Halloween XXI. Will has a cut on his finger that is bleeding, and we are talking some serious bio hazard spattered all over him, the shelf, the floor, and yep. The Shoes.
Everything kind of went to slow motion then, I shoved the shoes back in the box and put them on the shelf. Then I asked my mom for a wet wipe, hoping that I could be discreet for just a moment while I figured out what to do. But nope. Right about then, Sweet Pea sees the blood and starts screaming, “MOM, WILL IS BLEEDING. HE GOT BLOOD EVERYWHERE! IT’S EVERYWHERE MOM, THERE IS BLOOD ALL OVER EVERYTHING!!”
I think I hissed at her through my teeth, which will be really good fodder later when she is retelling this story to her therapist. And then I whispered to my mom that there was blood on the shoes, and should I buy them? And my mom asked if I had any money, and I said no, of course not. If I had money I wouldn’t be hissing at my daughter and trying to shove my 2 year old into my coat before he bled out all over ladies footwear. And my mom was unconvincingly all, “It’s probably fine.” And then we paid for my shoes while I held my breath waiting for the Hazmat team to haul me off. And then I ran out of the store and drove around my neighborhood calling people and asking them what I should do. (Everyone said to forget about it, it wasn’t a big deal. OMg. It is SUCH a big deal. Someone is going to open that shoe box and scream.)
And then we saw a raccoon. Which again, has no bearing on ANY of this. But it doesn’t happen all the time, and Will thought it was cool. So I’m just throwing it in here.
Anyhooo…I am pretty sure that I am not going to be able to sleep tonight. And I am pretty sure that I am going to go back up there tomorrow and buy those shoes. We can donate them to the children of one of the people who I called tonight. Since, clearly, you are all heathens who would probably not have any problem letting your young daughter wear hoochy mama high heels.
See. This is why I drink.