Don't Blink

It was a quick trip into the mega-chain bookstore. Grab the baby, our stroller, and run in, up the escalator, and into the kid's section to find some new books for the almost-three year old's birthday gifts. Should have been a quick trip, actually.

Snapping Xander into his new, cheap-o stoller (I've given up on Chicco's, Graco's, and Combi's - if you've ever gate checked one on a plane somehow they get mangled into scrap metal with bits of colorful fabric by the time they get it back to you while deplaning) I pinched my *$(%&$%)#%*&$)*^& finger again. It's just deep enough to squirt blood from your sensitive finger than never gets used unless you are attaching a five-point harness on a 15-month-old with legs he wants to use, not a diapered butt he wants to sit on.

Cursing like a sailor I tucked Xander's hands by his sides as I wrestled this beast of a harness on his meaty frame. His eyes got big and he said, "Uh Oh!" Yep.

We made it into the store and when I handed the customer service employee who knows more about American Literature than I do (with my degree to teach it) a $50 gift card. He scans it and says, "$1.72, ma'am!"

Ok, two major issues here.

1. I thought this was the $50 I won from the local paper. Check it again with your nifty gadget. CHECK IT.

2. MA'AM? I may be overweight and can't pull off a bandana as a shirt anymore, but seriously, MA'AM? When did this happen?

"How old are you," I asked, checking his name tag, "Christopher?"

"Pardon me?"

"How old are you?"

"23."

"I am in my twenties, too!" for another month. Four weeks from Sunday, actually.

"Nice."

"Yes. So why is it that you called me ma'am?"

"To be polite?" he replied with a question ringing out. At this point Xander was fussing so I popped a forbidden non-Safe-T-Pop in his little mouth and gave Christopher a stink eye. "Did you need anything else?" as he started plucking away at the computer in front of me. I knew he was updating his Facebook status to say, "is stuck helping a Fat Middle Aged Woman realize she's a long way and 75 pounds from Miss."

"Please check the gift card again. I know it's for $50. Like it says," I say smugly, thrusting the card back at him.

Swipe.

"Nope, sorry, ma'am. Still $1.72."

"So, 23-year-old-Christopher-born-in-the-same-decade-as-me-but-still-feels-the-need-to-call-me-ma'am, how do I go about getting the full amount of the gift card that should be on it?"

Christopher was now printing something and reaching for it.

"How about you go home and find Curious George Goes to the Museum {Zoe's pick}, Clifford takes a Walk {a new board book for Xander), Of Mice and Men {when I thought I should start rereading a classic a week to keep my brain active}, Sex & The City: The Series {when I realized I can only read on the toilet and in the downtime I have, I want to watch Carrie before the next one comes out, not cry over a special brother duo}, and the Sesame Street Golden Book Set {yep, blew through it about three months ago}, your receipt, and bring them back. Once returned, you will have the full $50 back on your gift card balance."You know, he said this really smug.

As I slowly turned the stroller and a very sticky Xander around Christopher made sure to say a polite "Thank you, Ma'am!"

We then tackled the escalator, made it to the kids area, and managed to only clear off three displays, four shelves, and the train table before I grabbed the first five books I saw around us, put Sticky Man back in his stroller, pinched another finger, and found the elevator to go down, detoured to the Clearance, I mean "Bargain Books" area, and then as Xander tried his best to go boneless, clear a few more shelves and shoplift a few Lindt truffles, I pulled out my wallet.

Beads of sweat trickled down my face as the line of people grew behind us. Chill out, people. Unless you have a stroller with you, chances are you don't need to get out of here in lightening speed. I mean, you are chilling in a bookstore at 10am on a Tuesday, ya know?

Where is my Visa? Visa, where are you? I called into the depths of the diaper bag, as it was apparent by the 12 expired gift cards, stale mints, used tissues, a rattle, three dollar bills,  37-cents and Iowa license strewn on the counter that it wasn't in my Coach purse. I name-drop at this point because it is the only thing on me most days that would prove we are not homeless. I dress like this because it fits and will be stained within the hour, not because I have no other choice.

My face went white as I looked up to the teller and who is it? Jack-of-all-trades Christopher is standing before me, skinny arms crossed, impatient look on his pasty face. "Ma'am, do you have means to pay?"

"Nope."

I wheeled Xander out of the store in a hurry, realized the contents of my purse were still scattered about the store, picked them up, left the stale mints and a tissue for Christopher, and was almost in tears as I realized Zoe was playing Costco last night and kept talking about her silver Costco card. I bet it also moonlights as Momma's Visa.

As I did my best to disappear an older woman stopped in front of me, out of her place in line. She was dressed very well, had on expensive pumps, and wore a gorgeous set of ivory pearls around her aging neckline.

"Don't blink, honey."

I was a little thrown off and embarrassed so I did a half-smile and tried to walk past her.

"One day he'll be off and running and you'd kill to have him so close to you again."

"My baby girl will be three this week and it's so hard to imagine that three years have happened already - I barely remember her at this age and it wasn't even a year and a half ago!"

Xander did a zerbert and the lady laughed. He then squealed, threw his sippy at her, pulled over a "Best Sellers" cardboard sign, and puked up the last of the non-Safe-T-Pop.

"Doesn't mean your days aren't tougher than shit, but it does go by too quick!" she said with a laugh and stepped into the line.

I will have to remind myself not to blink because some days I'd rather just hit the snooze button and sleep through them.