That Girl

If you were in my neck of the woods on Wednesday, you might have observed the following:

After her own car broke down, a mother behind the wheel of a stick shift sedan (generously on loan from Uncle C) for the first time in fifteen years, lurching around corners, rolling down hills and stalling at traffic lights.  That was me.

A frazzled mother, upon finally arriving at the grocery store, threatening her tragically misbehaved five year old with “pulling his pants down and spanking him right here on aisle five.“  [To which smarty-pants son replied “There is no bullying allowed in Public (read: Publix) I just need to look at the bottom of Cookie’s feet.”]  Yep, me.  And why on Earth does he need to look at the bottom of his brother’s feet???

A frazzled, bullying mother, while stuck in the checkout behind a lady with one gazillion coupons and bickering over the price of her shredded cheese, having to resort to a candy bribe to keep her littles in the cart and then too loudly proclaiming “Your coupons saved you fifteen dollars and cost me a pack of gum.”  Need you ask?  I swear…I often think these things but rarely actually say them.

A frazzled, bullying, slightly embarrassed mother gladly taking advantage of the Publix carry-out service, having to explain to the nice high school bag boy pushing the gigantic rocket buggy with two monsterous littles and a hundred dollars worth of groceries that she forgot not only where she parked but also what her (fourth) car (of the day) looked like and then having to pull out the key to determine that it was a Saturn.  Guilty.  Why four cars, you ask?  Because (1) broke down, (2) was usurped from Honey to get the PCP back to the urgent care for the third time in a week, (3) was borrowed from JuJu to get me to an appointment across town that I couldn’t/wouldn’t miss and (4) was the aforementioned stick shift on loan from Uncle C to get me through the rest of the day.  Between that and lurching out of my parking place, I’m sure the poor boy thought I was hittin’ the hard stuff.

A frazzled, bullying, slightly embarrassed and totally forgetful mother now cruising down the street with all the windows down due to the fact that it’s ninety something degrees outside and she can’t simultaneously figure out the air conditioner while managing the whole clutch-shift-gas-break thing.  One child hanging his arm out the rear driver’s side trying to high five passers-by, and his minion dangling nothing short of his whole leg out the other.  Both smacking gum with all the gusto they can muster, having the time of their lives.  Me again.

A frazzled, bullying, slightly embarrassed, totally forgetful and tragically sweaty mother in the UPS parking lot fighting with the rear driver’s side window now permanently stuck down, while her littles beg and plead to just leave it down.  UGH. You guessed it. Me.  And they felt awfully victorious when I had no choice but to leave the darned thing down.

xoxo

PS. Don’t be fooled by my Lilly-fied, priss pot front.  This girl from the deep South learned to drive on none other than a manual pick up truck with no power steering.  Today proved Daddy-O right (once again) in that apparently driving a stick really is like riding a bike.  Once you learn, you never forget.  And it is a pretty darn useful skill.