There are certain places that mothers avoid. When you are outnumbered, a trip to the grocery store can be as scary and uninviting as a trip to the dentist. If there wasn’t chocolate in there, I probably wouldn’t go at all. I know that I will be squeezing down the aisles, pushing a plastic car attached to my cart while my three-year-old drags her feet on the ground out of one side and dangles her head out of the other. I’ll pay no attention to my list as I reach for canned fruit, feeding the baby with one hand and trying not to hit other shoppers with my daughter’s protruding head. We’ll eventually make it to the checkout, where I will have to hand Riley each item for her to put on the conveyor belt. The cashier hates me, the other shoppers hate me, and I am exhausted.
These unpleasantries, though, are nothing compared those suffered in Jo-Ann Fabrics. This crafty, feel-good store creates a reaction in Riley that I am sure should be studied. It doesn’t matter what her mood is, if she’s eaten, if she’s had a nap. It is all irrelevant. Nothing can be done to counter the store’s infected air.
A New Year’s resolution to decorate at least two rooms in my house this year prompted me to begin looking at curtains. New curtains meant fabric. Fabric meant Jo-Ann’s. Luckily for me, my mom is the master sewer and needed to come to ensure that I chose fabrics that would work and order the correct amounts. A knowledge base I wish I could absorb. Alas, my attention is typically divided between trying to make decisions and trying to control the thing that takes over Riley. This trip was no different.
The minute we walked through the door, Riley was off and running, leaving bolts of fabric in her wake. I found her only by her malicious laughter, rearranging button displays in a neighboring aisle. After a couple of failed attempts, I finally coerced her into compliance by allowing her to push the cart, waddling over her to ensure she didn’t damage any merchandise with her steering. Somehow, we had managed to select the fabric and proceed to the cutting table when the affliction hit again. Her hearing was clearly affected this time as she didn’t respond to any of my pleas for her to listen. She began rearranging again, continuing to grab buttons as I pulled her from the display.Then she went limp. She was dead weight as I tossed my credit card to my mom and retreated to the car. My emotions cycled between anger, embarrassment, and failure. I passed a small boy and his mother as they entered the store and couldn’t help but smile as I watched this well-mannered toddler begin to wail as he passed the store’s threshold.
Lessons learned: always enlist backup in situations that could turn ugly; never admit failure — you may be embarrassed, but your kid is learning valuable social lessons; order fabric online; and stock up on chocolate.