Wednesday the kids and I headed to the commissary. I loooooooooooooooove this commissary. Right after we first got to Illinois, I went into a grocery store to pick up a few things and I was really surprised at how expensive everything was. I moaned and groaned about the commissary in Germany being so expensive (I still think $1.78 for a two liter of Coke is just silly), but turns out that I had no clue how expensive food is in normal stores these days. A box of Apple Jacks - the small one and not the big one was $4.98. Ouch. Especially since the kids are capable of eating half a box a day if I'd let them.
Since it's a new place and the other kids that we've seen haven't been running wild, my kids are behaving pretty well - so far - when we've been in the commissary. This commissary is always, always busy. Compared to the prices off base, it's understandable why that's the case. We were almost done getting the things on our list and we were in the bread section. T picked that moment in time to get upset. I'm not sure what upset him, but he decided we didn't need bread. While I applaud his umm....steadfastness and determination, there are times when it's rather annoying. Like then. So I walk to get the bread we usually buy and leave T standing where I can see him, but where he wasn't right with S and I. I grab a loaf of bread and wheel the cart back to where T is standing, being observed by an older lady with a very disapproving look on her face.
I smile at her, not sure what exactly is going on, and she announces that T has ruined the bread displays. Sounds about right if he's in a mood, so I apologize to her (cause I'm sure she's the one who created the displays - and seriously? Bread displays? Really?!?!? When did putting bread on shelves become a display?) and thank her for letting me know. Which, you know, I did appreciate because displays or not, T doesn't need to be picking on poor defenseless loaves of bread that can easily be squished and not speak up or fight back for themselves.
At any rate, it took me a minute to figure out what exactly she meant. Mollified by my apology, she stalked off after picking up a loaf of bread from a display that hadn't been destroyed by my personal Tasmanian devil. But I finally saw what she was talking about. There were two affected sections - the first section had two loaves of bread stacked up per shelf. T had pushed the top loaves to the back of the bottom loaves. The second section was the Sara Lee/Pepperidge Farm bread that's a wider but shorter loaf, so it was actually standing on it's end and he had pushed them over and then to the back of the shelf. Okay, I agree with the lady that that was unnecessary, so I explain to T that he needs to fix the loaves back.
That, naturally, starts a bit of a power struggle/standoff. He screams and cries a little bit, I stay calm despite the crowd of retirees that has gathered to see the morning show and insist that he return all bread loaves to their rightful positions and places. He tries the "But I caaaaaaaaaaan't" argument, which never works with me, and then he starts to go into full meltdown mode. I'm awfully embarrassed at this point, especially since S is adding to the fray by leaning half out of the shopping cart shouting, "NO T! NO NO NONONONONOO!" That never, ever, ever helps. Ever. The angrier he gets, the danger the bread is in of being domestically abused. When I see him go after the first loaf, I react without thinking and pop him on the head like Little Bunny FooFoo. Not hard, but enough to get his attention and change his focus.
Ten minutes later, the bread displays have been restored to their former glory and we are getting ready to head to the checkout aisle. T is finally actually talking to me and it seems the displays offend his ocd tendencies of how bread should be stacked or presented or whatever. I mean, it's really bugging him - especially the loaves that are on end. I have no idea why. So I tell him that when he grows up, he can work in a commissary and ask to be put in charge of the bread section and he can fix it any way he wants. A lady that had been standing to the side of one of the bread aisles bursts out laughing and tells me that that's the best answer she's heard a parent give a child in a long time. T, seeing her laughing, starts laughing too, and says, "Yeah, my Mom is silly."
No, no honey. Your mom is trying to come up with creative yet effective ways of dealing with public meltdowns where she doesn't leave a store in either tears or handcuffs. But silly works.
No comments:
Post a Comment