The Red Bullseye Shall be the Death of Me

I went to Target today with both kids. Third time in three days. Don't you love how you get home from a big shopping trip and realize you forgot what you went there for? I did that. Twice.

Anyway, basically our shopping trips play out as thus. We park, get out of the car and walk about 10 feet. Then Tate decides that he must be carried because apparently his feet are about to fall off or something. So then I trek into the store with a infant carrier in one hand and a gigantic toddler in the other. I usually make it all the way inside before collapsing from exhaustion. Then I put the kids in one of those cart....thingies. The one that have the little 2-seat plastic thing before the cart? Tate sits there and Nora sits in her carseat in the seat of the cart. Then I push the damn thing and realize it's like trying to steer a semi. It's like 20 feet long. Tate is usually pretty good about sitting still for a whole 3 minutes. Nora is about 8 feet away from me so I just keep calling to her so she doesn't think she's entered some type of gigantic red hell.

I decided I needed some new bras. Tate decided that bras are the coolest toy ever. He snatched them out of my hand before I had a chance to put them in the cart, and asked "Asshat (what's that), Mama?". "Bras, my child." "Bras! BRAS BRAS BRAS!" "....gack..." "Bra hat? Bra hat?" Yes, Tate decided that a bra would make a perfect kicky little cap. Then? Then he decided that bras are really made to be thrown. Into someone else's cart. An old man's cart.

Excuse me while I continue my quiet slow death of embarrassment.

But I continue on. What other choice do I have, curling up in the fetal position in the sporting goods aisle? As I'm going through the shampoo aisle, I'm perusing the 400 different kinds of Garnier Fructis, Pantene, and Herbal Essences, I hear a noise. Clunk. Clunk clunk clunk. Oh, lookie. Bottles of shampoo are being chucked on the floor. Who's sticky little paw could that be reaching out of the cart seat thingie and gleefully hurtling innocent plastic bottles to their death? Every bottle that gets picked up, 5 more get hurled down. Ok. Time to go.

Checkout is always fun too. Today Tate took some spit out of his mouth and smeared it on the conveyer belt. What the hell do I do in that situation?? Pick the spit up and put it back in his mouth? Then he pointed at the cashier and said "ASSHAT?". She did not look amused. What, you don't like being called asshat?

I know more unbearingly embarrassing things happened, but I truely believe I've blocked them from my memory.

On a completely unrelated note: I'm worried about Tate's cheek. There's a rashy-type thing on part of it. I wonder if it's because of the sunscreen I put on him everyday in Bermuda. It seems to be getting worse and tonight after I put him to bed he started saying "Wash the face? Wash the face?" It took me awhile to figure out what he was asking, and then I was blown away. Normally when we come at his face with a washcloth he acts like we're trying to rub thorns dipped in hot oil all over his face. But I took a wet wipe to his cheek and he immediately calmed down. As soon as I stopped and started to walk away, though..."MAMA! Wash the face! Wash the face!". I think I used 10 wet wipes on him. So I wonder if it's itchy or burny or what. Any thoughts on what it could be?

It's strange to see my kid with a clean face. Usually he has remnants of popsicle, raisins, peas, dog food, what-have-you smeared all over it.