the domestic tales of four sisters

The Five Moms in the Grocery Store

Disclaimer: This is not to offend anyone. You do things how you do things. But one important thing we all must do as parents is laugh at ourselves. Otherwise the little people win. The little people can’t win. THEY CAN’T WIN! So don’t take offense. Just read, laugh, and enjoy. Oh and it may contain a cussword or two. I love Jesus, but I sometimes cuss a little. #realtalk

proverbs3125

About two weeks ago my son spit up all over my yoga pants. In the doctor’s office. Right before I planned on going grocery shopping.

I should mention that the spit up landed on my crotch.

My crotch.

Well, I wasn’t going to derail my plans so my spit up covered crotch, kids, and I all went to Walmart to grocery shop.

In the cart sat my daughter reading her books and drinking her juice. In the Moby wrap – the spit up master of a son. He was sleeping. I say all that to say this – they were perfectly content and quiet. As they usually are when I have them in the store. But I turn the corner and there stands a woman (watching my every move) wielding a sympathetic smile. She says the words I hate to hear, “Momma has her hands full, huh!?” 

Uhm, nope. I sleep 10 hours a night and my almost two year old is quieter than you on your cellphone as you talk about your upcoming cruise and what tanning salon is the best. What’s up, bro?

I wanted to say, “Nah. I think the lady three aisles over with the 6 year old throwing a b*tch fit because he can’t have the Mountain Dew and Oreos IN the store has her hands full. Hashtag: Just sayin.” 

Of course another few more aisles over I encounter another sympathetic smile and another, “momma has her hands full!” 

I couldn’t figure it out.

Then I remembered … Spit Up Crotch.

Okay … Spit Up Crotch PLUS the two kids under 2.

I discovered that I had become a stereotype. So like any good blogger I began stalking different types of moms in the grocery. So I could write a blogpost about it. It’s the sacrifice we make for quality writing.

P.S. – If you are one of the moms I stalked. Sorry. Thanks for not notifying the police. 

It is my pleasure to introduce …

Moms You See in the Grocery Store on a Tuesday Morning:

The Stay at Home Mom:

Most likely she has two to three kids. If she has more than that you need to go hug her. Maybe slip her some Valium.

She’s probably wearing an infant and has the other rascals in the cart. You may think she has Tourette’s as you listen to her from another aisle over. All you hear is, “No! STOP! Put that down! DANGIT! Are you kidding?! Crap! ” When you finally spot her there she is … In all her spit up crotch glory. Messy ponytail, yoga pants or ratty old jeans, spit up in her hair, unbrushed teeth, and possibly on the phone with her husband saying things like, “No seriously. Crap everywhere. I don’t know how he did it, but there was poop all over the place.” “What do you mean you will be late? Well. I can’t promise all of the children will be alive past 5. So you may want to come home on time. *laughter on the other end of the phone* I’m not kidding.”

Her grocery cart contains the toddler staples – hot dogs, lunch meat, mac & cheese, grapes, and milk. She has a grocery list in hand and is trying to stick within the budget, because she needs to diaper the whole famn damily.

Things she doesn’t really care about – fat count in the bag of Oreos that she will hide from her children, GMOs and fake ingredients in the Milanos she will also hide from her children, and the non-organic components of her Hershey Bar. That she will eat when she hides in the pantry. While the children watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

She’s probably smelling her hands a lot. She still smells poop from the diaper she changed this morning. There’s certainly poop somewhere on her.

The New Mom: 

This used to be me. Oh how blissful. Oh how wonderful. Oh how naive.

She’s dressed, in a cute outfit no less. The child is dressed, in a cute outfit no less. She has makeup and lip gloss on. Not a trace of spit up on her. She is speaking to her child in different languages to make the kid more intelligent. Or so that one book said that she read cover to cover when she was 12 weeks pregnant. Her teeth are brushed. She is clutching a Starbucks *DECAF* Soy Latte.

Decaf.

That’s cute.

There has to be a cork in her kid’s ass because she smells like roses. The mom smells like roses. I wonder what her secret is. She has to be a little drunk. No one smiles that much before 11AM. She’s totally drunk. She just said she wants to go look in the toy aisle for some more toys. Oh dear. Someone needs to go to AA. Is that kid wearing Dolce shoes? Does that kid even walk? Her husband calls her on her bedazzled iPhone and she says, “Oh we are just hanging out at the store before we take our morning nap. Yeah, I had fun last night too. Thanks for that. You’re so hot.” 

That’s cute.

You immediately wish an accidental pregnancy on her.

The Granola Mom:

Granola Mom. Oh how I love her. She spends about 45 more minutes in the store than the rest of us. Because she has to read all of the labels. She says words you’ve never heard before … GMOs, doTerra, organic coconut quinoa apple butter bake (actually … that sounds good). Her children are well behaved. Probably because she doused them with her lavender doTerra oils before she took them out. And they don’t eat GMOs.

She’s wearing Toms, skinny jeans, and a vintage tshirt. A messy, yet somehow cute bun on top of her head. Can’t forget the dark rimmed hipster glasses. Most likely she’s breastfeeding a kid. Or all 3 of them. At once. Yes … her organic lifestyle makes her grow a boob whenever necessary.

It’s just the way God intended it.

Her diapered children have really, really big butts and they cannot lie. They cloth diaper.

She stands and stares at the coconut oil for about 15 minutes. Saying things like, “extra virgin” and “super Jesus refined” and “Holy, holy, holy coconut oil that cures diseases.” Her cart also contains about 15 bottles of Braggs Apple Cider Vinegar. She puts that sh*t on everything. Also in the cart … organic kale, organic soy/almond/coconut/hemp milk and organic butter. For their gluten-free bread that she baked that morning. Oh and don’t forget the dates. Those things go in everything too.

When her child touches the floor with his hands she jumps into action, rips out her doTerra oils, and has an anointing right there in the middle of the grocery. Her husband calls and she answers the “not at all ironic” Nsync ringtone. “Whole Foods?!? THEY’RE BUILDING A WHOLE FOODS!?! OMG. OMG.” or “What do you mean you didn’t like the tofu cheesecake? You know the real sh*t will kill you right? IT WILL KILL YOU. PHILADELPHIA CONTAINS GMOs! WE WILL TALK ABOUT THIS LATER!”

You throw a bag of Oreos in her cart when she’s not looking. But the Halloween kind. Nothing like some bright orange artificial coloring to scare a granola mom.

The Trying to Lose a Few Mom

She may have more than one kid, but you can tell she’s obsessed with losing the baby weight. She’s looking at the calorie count on a pack of pretzels and doing lunges simultaneously. You catch her a few aisles over jogging in place. Her children are sitting there eating their 100 calorie pack crackers. As their mom throws more into the cart. She’s wearing a Camelbak.

In the grocery store.

She has on some fancy LuLuLemon workout gear. The whole outfit cost $500. Not included: Pants or shirt or shoes. So the sports bra cost $500. She’s still kinda sweaty from her morning Crossfit workout. She’s a subscriber of either the Clean Eating Movement, Weight Watchers, or NutriSystem. Except between the hours of 8:00 and 11:00 PM. When she’s binge eating on ice cream. Because she ate Greek yogurt all day.  It’s cool though because she was able to get an extra spinning session done in the afternoon.

She frequently checks her Polar watch. She notes that she’s kinda low on calorie burn for the day. So she starts doing suicides in the middle of the cracker aisle.

Her husband calls and she answers her cell phone with the “Strong is the New Skinny” case. “Hey do we need more Whey protein? What about avocados? Yeah I was pretty shocked that I could bench press you, too.”

You throw a bag of Oreos in her cart, too. Only you know she won’t remove them. She’ll just dip them in Greek yogurt.

The Pregnant Mom

She’s about 38 weeks pregnant. And you know that it is her 4th shopping trip this week. Partly because she forgets everything, and mostly because she wants to try and walk that kid out of her uterus. She’s buying stuff to make freezer meals, but in the back of her head is pretty convinced she won’t get it done. Her kid in the cart is so oblivious to her contractions that he just sits there and continues to stare at the iPhone playing Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Meanwhile everyone else in the aisle watches her like a hawk. Waiting for that baby to just shoot out of her like a bullet.

She’s standing perfectly still. Is she okay? Oh yeah. She’s okay. She’s just sleeping.

Every few feet she stands there and asks herself, “Okay … what did I come down this aisle for again?

You want to give her a hug but you are afraid she will bite your hand.

Or your face.

She puts cat food in the cart, and her child informs her that they don’t have a cat. She responds, “I don’t feel like lifting the big bag of dog food. So the dog is getting cat food this week.

She’s most likely drinking full strength coffee – to the judgement of others. But at that point she doesn’t care. At least it isn’t wine.

She answers her husband’s phone call and for the 800th time says, “No. I’m NOT IN FREAKING LABOR! I WILL CALL YOU WHEN IT HAPPENS!” and then hangs up. And grabs a bag of Oreos and opens them … right there in the aisle. Because she’s pregnant. And eff life.

You throw nothing in her cart. You just run away. Really fast. Before she eats your soul.

Bonus: The Working Mom

She’s not in the store on a Tuesday morning. Homegirl has a job. But she’s wishing she were in your shoes. Don’t take it for granted.

All in all, moms of all types, we do a pretty important job. Raising of the little people. So do it big, do it out loud, and take no prisoners. You are enough. Whether you are granola, staying at home, trying to lose a few … you are enough. And exactly who God intended to raise those little people.

Well, guys, I’m off! We are in our last full week of living in Wyoming and there’s so much to do! I can’t wait to see what Colorado has in store for us! Also today Hilary turns 29! Wish her a Happy Birthday!

Happy Monday,

Kelsea

 




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5 thoughts on “The Five Moms in the Grocery Store”

  • Smile on my face as I read this 😉 i see abit of me in all types mentioned. Oh and doing grocery shopping with my 3yrs old daughter and 10month son, I can still relate to “Okay … what did I come down this aisle for again?“ oh sweet motherhood I love who it gets me laugh at myself 🙂

  • This is so funny. I have four boys and probably look like I got run over by a truck every time I’m at the store. Sometimes I get lucky and my husband is home and I only have to take the two youngest with me. You know, because God forbid he watches all four at home so I can shop in peace. Today, I only had the 2 year old and 5 year old with me at the store, so I grabbed a double cart that had the 5 point harness buckles on it. My 2 year old wiggled out of that sucker somehow and kept jumping/falling out of the cart. I was the mom that sounds like she has Tourette’s LOL. I was just glad to get out of there without having to go to the hospital so he could get stiches….again.

  • HAHAHA! I am so a combo of these! Although I try to only grocery shop when my husband is home to watch the kids, sometimes it just has to be done! I have to drag all 5 of my kids (yup, 5, SAH, homeschool mom here!) to the store, and it’s usually just for a few things because there is no way I can get through a full shopping trip with all five in tow. So I am a bit the SAHM and the granola mom. Oh, and I couldn’t care less if my kids are clean (they never stay that way for very long so why bother), have shoes on or are even wearing real clothes (my son slipped past me in a batman costume once or twice) BUT, I figure if anyone is going to look put together it is going to have to be me, and maybe someday they’ll learn by example. I do not go out wearing something that I would wear to bed or workout in. And I try to have my hair at least neat and some mascara on. After all, I don’t want anyone to commit me. If I went out with five kids looking a mess, someone would put me in a white coat and take me away.

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