So I thought
nothing of taking my adorable son Tall (age 3 and a half at the time) and his
one-year-old baby brother to Trader Joe’s to pick up a few things.
We had made
our serpentine way around the aisles, picking up such essentials as bread,
milk, juice, and frozen chicken nuggets.
I casually threw some chocolate cookies into the cart when the children
were momentarily distracted by the guy giving out fajita samples.
And then it
happened.
We turned a
corner, heading to the check-out area, and Tall tugged excitedly on my sleeve,
indicating something momentous.
“Mommy,
look!” he proclaimed, pointing. “Over
there, look!”
I was
expecting to see Big Bird or Godzilla or at the very least, a cantaloupe display
that had tipped over and blocked the ice-cream aisle. Instead, he was pointing to a section of the
store that I was already intimately familiar with.
“Vino,
Mommy! Vino! Your favorite!” Now he was yelling, in his sweet little
preschooler “outside” voice, a voice that was suddenly attracting a lot of unwanted attention
from Trader Joe employees and other customers.
Anyone within a one-mile radius was craning their neck to look over at
the mommy who clearly was a lush.
I kept
walking, feeling my face turn 100 shades of Valentine red, trying to ignore my
son and silently pretending that he had just followed me in here and I had
never met him before. Tall was oblivious
to my reaction, so he continued with his “helpfulness.” He was quite exasperated with me at this
point.
“Mommy! Mommy! Don’t forget your vino!”
At this point I realized that the only way to get him to stop screaming out was to put a bottle or five of vino into the cart. He smiled, proud of himself for assisting his mommy in remembering something so crucial to her everyday existence.
So, yes, the
letter V is for … vino. At this point I realized that the only way to get him to stop screaming out was to put a bottle or five of vino into the cart. He smiled, proud of himself for assisting his mommy in remembering something so crucial to her everyday existence.
MOV
("Mistress Of Vino")
("Mistress Of Vino")
Oh bless his sweet little heart! He just wanted to be helpful to his mommy. What a funny story! Glad you survived to shop another day. :-)
ReplyDeleteMy baby is 9 weeks old and I haven't had the nerve to take him out with me yet. How do you manage it? I have to wait until someone can watch him and then, yes, I feel like I'm on house arrest. The problem is that I can carry and hold my son, but the infant car seat carrier is unbelievably heavy already without adding a 12 pound baby into it!
ReplyDeleteWhy is it the only thing they remember at that crucial learning phase is how mommy is a wino. My son did a report on it.
ReplyDeleteI laughed. Out loud.
ReplyDeleteLove,
Janie
I will now forever assume that that is the real extrapolation of MOV. And that you set your son up for that so you could grab as much vino as possible. You are indeed a clever one...
ReplyDeleteYou will miss these days, I guarantee it! Then you get to do it all over again with grandchildren....only they will announce your grandmother status to anyone who passes by and will point out all the obvious and not so obvious signs of your aging.
ReplyDeleteSo helpful, so literate. You must be so proud, when you're not pretending not to know him. :)
ReplyDeleteReminds me of a time - oh, so long ago now - when a 5-year-old Kana used the quiet of the bank teller line to clear up some questions she had for her mother about another v-word...to give you a hint, both you and and my mother and I have one. It was QUITE the entertaining wait, I'm sure.
LOL! Aww, he helped! Well, he helped you look like a drunk, but still ;P
ReplyDelete