Antichristo Salad

The boys are in bed, thank heavens. Christ, what an evening! The simplest things turned into massive chaos. I told Spousette if she got Subway for us, I'd snag needed groceries, so she agreed. I was worn out after biking home (nice, vigorous Chicago headwinds take the piss, they do). Had myself a root beer n' rum (not a bad pairing, believe it or not; as an Epicurean, I take it upon myself to test these things out) with my Veggie Delite. Everything's okay, until we decide to go the store (Treasure Island) -- Spousette said she'd go along, bring the boys; then B1 starts caterwauling about not wanting to so, so we're like "C'mon, we're all going, now." I think for a minute about bringing out baby backpack, packing B2 into it, but Spousette's already got him in the stroller.

So, we're walking down to TI, and B1 is in full-on fussbudget mode, carping, whining, and complaining about everything the whole way. I tell him in an offhand manner, "You know, you keep wagging that tongue like that, some troll's gonna come along and take it."

Well, that set off B1 bawling, like "Nooooo! I DON'T WANT A TROLL TAKING MY TONGUE! NOW I'M GONNA HAVE NIGHTMARES, DADDY!" So, I'm like "We're not gonna let any trolls getcha, [B1.]" And he's carrying on, and I said "Trolls are pretend, [B1.]" and Spousette said "Daddy's just teasing." That mostly mollified B1, along with showing him some impatiens flowers, with their seed poppers, which he said would give him good dreams. So, I told him to think about those poppers if he ever had bad dreams, and he said he didn't like trolls, etc.

Then we get to the store, and B2 then decides to try to grab things off the shelves in passing, including a jar of jam, which he drops to the floor with a crunch/crash/plop, which happened right as I was getting milk for us (the main reason we went out to begin with). So, we do quick parent disaster triage, with me handling the boys, and with Spousette telling the store people there's a broken jar of jam in Aisle (fucking) Four.

At this point, we put B2 in the shopping cart (versus his stroller), and continue on our way, me with the stroller and B1, Spousette with B2 and the shopping cart. B2 begins reaching into the stroller and methodically hurling things out of the cart. We're like "No!" but it doesn't deter him. He keeps grabbing things and hurling them. I grab an eight-pack of my beloved Chinotto Italian crank soda (in that the stuff is so addictive!) and the damned thing's paperboard yoke bursts, raining the cute little bottles throughout our cart. Thankfully, none of the little fuckers break. Spousette says "Those boxes ALWAYS do that, I swear." Meantime, I'm trying to keep B2 from getting at them -- so far, everything Lil' Antichristo has been hurling has been soft and/or shatterproof. The last thing I need is him chucking a glass bottle.

Against all odds, we manage to finish our grocery run, and are settling up, with B2 grabbing at everything, trying to climb out of his stroller, while B1 is fussing about this and that. We get one of those mouthbreather baggers who barely can handle his job, and I help him through it, and we've at last got stuff loaded up and we're ready to go, and we make it to the sidewalk, with B2 returned to his stroller, now.

At this moment, he decides to take his little Crocs and hurl them across the sidewalk, and to try to climb out of his stroller, so Spousette and I descend on him and put the five-point harness on him (since Spousette had only engaged two of the restraints, Lil' Antichristo had slipped free). By now, I'm sweating and stressed out, and other couples with only one kid are smiling, amused at our travails, probably thinking "Thank God our little Eleanor Anne is our only child!"

We make our way home, nerves frayed and frazzled, and then get to our building, and make our way inside our apartment. Then my mom calls for some inane reason, and I'm multi-tasking with unloading the groceries while Spousette's dealing with the boys (B2 wants to dig into the grocery bags, reaches for the eggs, I'm like "Noo, you don't!" and stash'em). I get everything unloaded, then I realize "Where the hell's the milk?"

Spousette's like "No milk? I was busy with the kids. You were with the groceries." And I'm like "I know, I was watching, I don't see it." I give my mom the phone bum's rush, and B2 is busy climbing something, trying to get at a knife. I grab him, hand him to Spousette, tell her "You handle this, and I'll get the milk." (a running joke we have is we call B2 "This" -- I actually started it, like holding him up, saying, "You take this." Now we both do it).

So, I'm heading outside and reviewing the grocery list, and I see no milk purchase on there. I'm like "Huh?" Then I flash back to TI, and I realized that at the precise moment when I'd grabbed the milks, that's when B2 had broken the jar o' jam! I'd never put them in the cart to begin with! I'm like "Ahh, okay. That's how we missed it -- there was nothing there."

Instead of humping back to TI, I just go a half-block up to White Hen, and get myself a fucking Mega Millions ticket (figuring we need some good luck, are definitely overdue, and could really use $60 million), and I get our two gallons of milk (2% and whole). I'm pleased that we didn't actually forget the milk, and get home, hearing B2 screaming angrily from down the hallway, and I'm like "Oh, that ain't good."

I open the door, and the door bumps into this table/lamp thing we had in the kids' room. "Throw that damned thing out," Spousette says. "What's wrong with it?" I ask. "B2 tried to climb it, and the whole thing fell over, knocking everything down in their room, and making [B1] upset because it broke the light bulb." I'm like, "Okay." and I cart the thing to the trash room, and on returning, I explain the milk shakeup, how it all worked out.

Then we get the boys to bed, no questions asked, and by 8:01 p.m. CST, the little stinkers are tucked in and in bed, and Spousette and I are like "Whhhhhewwww." It was pure chaos in Casa Del Daibh tonight, poppets. I told Spousette as we were heading home, "I'm totally blogging this, although I doubt I'll be able to capture the craziness of the moment." She laughed, agreed.

"Why do people have kids?" I asked her rhetorically. "For the joy," she said, laughing.