“Long List” Trip to Walmart

I don’t like going to Walmart. I’m thankful we have such a place, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t wake up looking forward to this kind of outing…especially when my list is long.

I’ve tried the “long list” trips with all three kids and it’s always very interesting, to say the least. But a mom’s got to do what a mom’s got to do. It’s just too bad that long trips to Walmart and three restless kids don’t go hand in hand.

Yesterday morning, in a somewhat usual fashion, I spent a few minutes planning out my day. A “long list” trip to Walmart was included in that plan…with all three children. Half way through my morning, however, I realized that if I diverged slightly from my well thought out plan, I just might have enough time to get to Walmart with only Lily. When I realized my new found plan would work, I swept Lily up, Pj’s and all, and we rushed off to get done what needed to be done.

I felt optimistic at this point. In fact, I felt even down right happy. I was at Walmart with only one of my children. Even though it was a “long list” trip, it would be easy; I was certain of that.

We started our “long list” journey on the far side of the store – the side with all the toys. I had to. At the top of my list was “five girl’s birthday presents.” Two of them were for my own girls who share a birthday in the same week. Until she knows better, poor Lily doesn’t get much more than a can of play-doh.

Maybe I’m one in a million, mom’s you can attest, but finding cheap but decent birthday presents is not an easy task – especially when looking for five of them. We spent close to thirty minutes in the toy section, and this was only the first thing on my list. Finally, only partially satisfied with the various gifts, I made my way out of the toy section, but made one huge mistake.

Lily is obsessed with dolls. It’s somewhat humorous, maybe a little frightening, that at the age of two, she lives vicariously through them. If she’s crying, she says the baby’s crying. If she’s hungry, she brings me the baby and tells me the babies hungry. If she has a dirty diaper, so does the baby and so on and so forth. So I thought nothing of the particular aisle I turned into, until I heard Lily screaming, “my babies, my babies!” I stopped, another mistake, and noticed that the aisle I chose to use for my departure was filled with baby dolls.

I couldn’t do it. I’m usually a softy in situations like these, especially when my children’s wants coincide with my sanity, but with the prospect of purchasing five other presents, I wasn’t about to throw another doll into the mix. So I hurried on, and that’s when the demon entered my daughter’s body.

She was not strapped into the cart, so within seconds, her body was hanging over the front handle. It took all my force to pull her back, push her down, and buckle her in. But that was not the end of it. Every once in a while, these demons decide to pay this sweet little girl a visit, and when they do, her body is completely taken over. The high pitched squealing, the drooling, the uncontrollable rage. Some parents call these temper tantrums. I’m convinced otherwise.

I walked down the cleaning aisle looking at the next five items on my list. I tried to ignore the possessed girl in the cart infront of me, but when the kicking started, I realized it was going to be difficult to push the cart, so I grabbed the first thing I saw: a bottle of dish washing detergent. It was as if that bottle was an exorcist itself. Lily began to calm down. She was intrigued, and for whatever reason, it kept her entertained, and I could move on to the next item on my long list.

I’m not entirely sure how long she was holding the bottle after figuring out how to open it. I never noticed. I never thought she would get it open. I’ve made this kind of mistake before. Several months back, I gave Lily a bottle of nail polish to play with simply so that I could get dressed. Of course, the bottle was closed, but my wise child, Ella, came running into the bathroom informing me that Lily was holding a bottle of nail polish. The conversation went like this:

“Mom, Lily has a bottle of nail polish! We need to get it from her!”

I responded calmly and confidently, “Ella, honey, I know, but mommy needs to get ready and it’s keeping her happy. Besides she can’t get it open.”

“OK, but I’m not really sure a one year old should have a bottle of nail polish.” I walked out of the bathroom with my hand on Ella’s back, thinking how sweet it is that she’s so conscientious. It didn’t take long to see the red trail. I screamed for help with the thought that my baby girl was bleeding.

“Mom,” Ella said, calmly as can be, “she opened the nail polish.”

So no, this isn’t the first time I’ve made a stupid decision in giving my child something in order to hold on to my sanity, but it may be the last. I heard a slight gag, which is what caught my attention. Lily’s eyes were squinting and then she opened her mouth. I am not exaggerating when I say that bubbles began to come out. At first, I admit, I started laughing at the sight of bubbles flying out of my child’s mouth. I thought she might float up along with them.

But then I looked at the bottle. Realizing how much she drank, I turned the bottle over. I didn’t have to read much. One word glared at me: “Toxic.” I began to panic. No one else was in the aisle at the time. So, not knowing what else to do, I went with my instinct. I took my finger and stuck it down my daughter’s throat.

It worked. The problem was that she kept throwing up and throwing up and throwing up. I knew she had thrown up enough to get the soap out, so I began pushing the cart toward the paper towel aisle. I smiled at folks as I passed because I wasn’t sure what else to do. A few glanced at me then at my daughter who sat in the front throwing up on herself.

This aisle was also empty. I tore open a roll of paper towels and began cleaning up what I could. I put the half used roll in the back of my cart, wishing that it was full with my “long list” items, and put the wad of vomit covered paper towels and clothes in the front of the cart – there were no trash cans in sight. Within a minute after throwing up, Lily was fine. She wanted the soap bottle again. When I said no, there were red flags waving, warning me of another posesssion. I was afraid she would start throwing up again. I knew I couldn’t handle that, so with nothing on but a diaper, I let her out of the cart.

I felt like one of “those” people. The ones who don’t know that their zipper is down, but everyone sees it. The ones who have toilet paper stuck to the back of their shoe, but are clueless. Those people who have something monstrous in their teeth, but no one tells them. The difference, however, was that I knew. I knew I stood out. I knew their were glaring eyes. I knew I had a naked daughter walking through Walmart, smelling like puke.

We made our way to the baby clothes. It took a while to find an outfit because my child was not contained. She thought it would be more fun to play hide and seek. I was not enjoying the game. I finally clothed her, pulled myself together, and looked at my list. Still on number three, I had a whole page of items to get. I wasn’t giving up. I told myself to press on. I could do it. I only had one child with me.

She didn’t want to get back into the cart after tasting freedom. So, I decided to let her walk behind me. At her rate, it would take us another three hours to get everything, so I began walking ahead, grabbing what I needed, running back to Lily, pushing her along, and then repeating the process. I thought this was working fine, but apparently one of the Walmart attendants did not agree. “Ma’am. Is this your child? She should probably be in the cart.”

That really burned me up. But I quietly submitted and picked up my daughter. I made the attendant stand and watch as the demon entered her body again. It’s quite a sight. The employee clearly felt bad, but she probably realized she wasn’t an exorcist, so she walked away.

I made my way through several aisles. When people starred at the kicking, screaming, foul smelling, drooling child in front of me, I simply smiled back. In reality, though, I wanted to yell over the loud speakers: “What in the world do you people want me to do, huh? I can’t spank her here, or I would be given over to child services. I can’t let her out or I would either lose her, another possible child services situation, or be criticized. So, people of Walmart, give a mother of a strong- willed two year old a break!” But, since I couldn’t do this, I just smiled.

I couldn’t keep pretending. The screaming became unbearable – even to me – and there, in the middle of the shampoo aisle, I lost it. A couple standing in the aisle looked at me and my possessed child and the woman shook her head. And I lost it. I knelt down beside the cart and started crying.

And then it happened. Empathy. A touch of sympath, and a gift of candy from another mother. A sweet woman – I couldn’t look her in the eye because I was so embarrassed – was kneeling down beside me putting her arms around me and showing me, hidden in the palm of her hand, a packet of candy. “I have four of them (clearly not referring to the candy), and this works every time.”

I stood up, finally looking at this Angel in the face, and thanked her.

“You’ll be fine,” she continued on, “but being a mom is the hardest job out there.”

She was sent from God, and so was the candy. The demon left Lily and was replaced by sweet, sweet sugar. And with some simple encouragement from another mother who probably knows all about posession, I got through my list.

In the check out line, I ran into an old friend. The drastic difference between the two of us as I stood in one aisle, my friend in the checkout line next to me, was astounding. She was cleaned up, dressed nicely, and her son was sitting calmly in the front of the cart. I, on the other hand, due to my quick change in plans, had not showered, combed my hair, put on make-up, and was wearing mismatched socks (which I noticed during my breakdown in the shampoo aisle). My eyes were swollen and red and Lily, well, Lily looked like she had wrestled with a demon…literally.

“Um, so how are you?” She said. I was honest and admitted that I wasn’t having the best of mornings, just in case she saw this as normalcy, but I continued conversing, not caring in that moment how I looked…or smelled. I had accomplished the task at hand. I was finished with Walmart and had nothing to complain about.

I was so ready to get out out of the store, and so was Lily. Two hours later, I was checked out. I opened my purse to get my keys….they were not there.

I stood in front of the exit door, so close to freedom and yet so terribly, terribly far away. Lily began crying again wanting to go “out.” I told her with all the calmness I could muster that “momma wants to go out too, but momma can’t find her keys to get us out of this cottin-pickin’ place!” It didn’t come out so calmly.

The greeter at the door asked me if I needed any help. While emptying my purse onto the floor of Walmart, in the hopes that my keys were at the bottom of my junk filled bag, I told the greeter that it would be helpful if she could find the candy lady. I don’t think the greeter knew how to respond. I mentally replayed my request. Yes, I sounded like a schizophrenic. I started to laugh. Gathering my things, I walked out the door with no plan, but I was finished.

When we got to the car, I found my keys in the ignition. The outing was thwarted from the very beginning. Once loaded up, I looked in the rear view mirror at my daughter who was sucking her thumb and rubbing her foot to her cheek, as she does when she’s tired.

“Lily,” I said, “Momma loves you.”

Lily smiled. Thankfully, she won’t remember these sort of adventures. But I will, which is why Lily and my “long list” will not accompany me together to Walmart for a long, long time.