Dear King Soopers,

As an adult I have come to realize that the unwritten contractual agreements made between two adult parties are just as important as signing your name on the dotted line………. in blood. There are certain unsaid rules in my house for instance,  only men take out the garbage. I don’t even pretend to take out the trash, it just happens. This afternoon strolling along with my little weasel strapped into his stroller, we decide to go into your store, the same one that I have gone to at least five times a week for the last two years. I spend my grocery money in your store, not because it’s the closest or the cheapest, but because I like the fact that every time I come into the store, there waiting patiently for weasels grubby fingers, is a tray full of free kids cookies. These cookies are provided by your company in order to keep me in the store longer than I would be able to, if my kid decided that he was no longer in the shopping mood. Its a symbiotic relationship, ours, and I need you to start picking up your end of the deal. For the last three visits, there has been no cookies in the free cookie tray. This results in weasel-hysterics. To remedy this situation I will offer you a couple of options.

A. Just Fix it.

Just make some damn cookies, this shouldn’t just be a rule, this should be a  law. I shop at your store, please provide the necessary means for me to do so without threatening the life of the first person who asks me to keep my kid quiet sans proper cookie-distractions.

B. Deal with it.

If I get to the cookie counter and there aren’t any cookies, Im going to open up a box of cookies right there in the middle of the store and give one to every cookie-less child that I see. Those cinnamon raisin one’s are pretty incredible, I gotta tell you.

C. Suck it up.

If I can’t find aforementioned box of cookies that you have neglected to offer, despite the toddler-battered mommies that rush your store everyday , I will take whatever you have available. Please note, when it comes to meltdown avoidance, I have no shame and your pretty doughnuts are on my list of acceptable alternatives. Kids cookies are a mandatory part of running a grocery store. If you aren’t going to bring it, Im going to have to shop while weasel screams his way through each and every aisle. Im used to it, he’s lived with me everyday since conception, his screams no longer reach my inner-ear. I know that he is making noise, but it stopped bothering me months ago. With that in mind, I know from experience that his shrill cookie-lusting screams can (and will) break glass. Just bring out the fricken cookies. Best Regards, AntiSoccermom

© 2009, AntiSoccermom. All rights reserved to the original author unless stated otherwise.

I am a very lucky woman, with three beautiful and healthy children who amaze me more every single day. I am also very lucky to have baby daddy, the man who decided to cash in his last paycheck and become a stay-at-home dad to the kids so that I could write this blog and he could do whatever he does when he isn’t doing that. I know that I am lucky, but that doesn’t make my life any less frustrating. Today upon waking up and realizing that it was a Monday morning, I panicked. Monday is the first day of every week where I am left to juggle baby and business without his helping hands,and this morning I find that my toddler son was already a crumpled heap of hysterics inside his crib. Baby daddy decided to take it upon himself to, without consultation with the mother/babysitter/SAINT, throw out every bottle in our home. Now I am writing this not as a rant, but more as a warning. A warning to any parent who makes a life-altering decision, without consulting the other parties involved. To take the bottle or to move the baby out of his crib or to suddenly stop feeding him cheerios for dinner, are all things that need quiet conversation between all the adults involved and nothing less is acceptable. My toddler was probably ready to lose his bottle as it was taken when Baby Daddy found a puddle of milk underneath the crib, Yes, he might have been ready, But I was not. My son, not yet two, would take a bottle only to lay down for his naptime and at night when he was drifting off to slumber. He has been an exceptional sleeper since his first birthday, when we introduced a box fan into his routine and the noise of our home was blacked out. He no longer felt like every nap time, as soon as he drifted away, we hosted an immaculate party with cake and streamers and clowns and we never once invited him. His fear of being left out of a good time shifted in to a comfortable affection for his mid day slumber and by the time he was one, slept well throughout the night and for several hours during the day. This is no longer the case. The terror and drama that occurred between this child and I cannot be adequately described without implicating one or both of us in at least one minor crime. It was such an interesting and terrifying day that I was compelled to place a  note on the casing of my doorbell. Simply threatening the health and safety of anyone willing to ring the doorbell after I had finally rocked my listless son to sleep, the first such happening since I quit breastfeeding almost a year ago. After an hour I realized that we made it through without either of us ripping out any hair and neither of us drinking anything but the bitterness of our battered pride.

Bottle 0

Mikey 1

and

Mommy -13

So I had a minor accomplishment, in that no one was harmed throughout the entire day, even if we did experience every emotion in the trainwreck station of toddlerhood. We live and we learn and really, Im the only one that is worse for the wear. He went to bed smiling sweetly and humming to the tune of his Baby Einstein cd. The question remains, What to do with Baby Daddy? Do I kill him for making this irreversible decision without me? Do I force him into solitary confinement with said toddler and come back in 12 hours when he has met the same frustrating fate as I have? Decisions.Decisions.

He is cooking dinner, I know that.

© 2009, AntiSoccermom. All rights reserved to the original author unless stated otherwise.