While meandering up and down the grocery aisles this morning, Jackson was swinging his legs from the buggy seat while I was reading the list and keeping a running inventory of our pantry in my mind.
We made a morning out of the outing. It can be quite an event.
While cruising the aisles, Jack and I discuss politics, fashion and whether or not we really need chocolate milk or Oreos. ("for grandad!" he said trying to convince me...)
During this aisle-13-small-talk, I will usually try to sneak in a quick kiss on his rosy cheek or tickle his neck just to keep things silly.
Today, I bent down and dropped a noisy kiss on his right cheek.
"No, mama!" he shouts. "Don't kiss me!"
My heart sank. Already? I've heard about the dreadful moment when your kid shies away from your public affection. But one always thinks: Not my child!
So I go in for the kill and plop another on his cheek.
"No, mama!" he rejects it again. "You don't kiss me!" he declares.
"Oh, I don't?" I ask.
"No, mama," he says. "I kiss YOU!"
"Oh!" I say. Delighted, I lean forward for my prize: a noisy wet one on my cheek.
It was such a pleasant morning. Our cheery errand-running was going smoothly.
So smoothly, I got greedy. I got brave and over confident.
And that's then I made the terrible decision to "self-check-out."
Yes, that line is always shorter than the single check out girl's line. Every time I think it will be faster, more efficient, and "hey-I-don't-really-have-that-many-groceries-anyway-right?" it never goes well. Even when Eric and I tag team.
But here I was alone with my sweet boy and only a few things.
Sure the majority of it was produce but ...
Ahhh! Produce in the self-check out! Ridiculous!
I had to look up, weigh, re-bag item, look up, count avocados, weigh ...
All while Jack is taking things out of the cart and putting them on the counter. (You'd be surprised at how far he can reach.)
So helpful ... except these were items we had already scanned.
It was so crazy that I missed the part where Jack tore into a bottle of Little Noses' saline and began sucking on it like it was an icy cold Colt 45.
The two women standing next in line were just staring at him - watching as he threw his head back and chugged like a frat boy.
I snatched his salty brew, tossed it in my purse and dialed poison control all while weighing an acorn squash.
We may or may not have forgotten to pay for the can of tuna that I found tucked in Jack's coat pocket ...