If I EVER...

If I ever attempt to step foot inside a Wal Mart again, please, PLEASE stop me.

I think I've had about a dozen posts on here that are related to my (ahem) experiences at Wally-World...

Here's another one to add to the list.

A little background:  the Mohawk Monster is going through a phase I like to call "The Thrilling Three's".  Don't be fooled... there is absolutely NOTHING thrilling about this phase.

He screams.  He whines.  He pouts.  He pitches temper tantrums over things like the type of cup he has his lemonade in.  On Saturday, he threw himself down inside the UGA stadium because he wanted chips and I wasn't able to give them to him RIGHT. THIS. VERY. INSTANT!!!!!

It's not pretty.  In fact, it's downright ugly in that OH-MY-GOD-WHY-CAN'T-THAT-WOMAN-CONTROL-HER-DEMON-CHILD-OFFSPRING-CALL-AN-EXORCIST kind of way.

Yesterday he was in bed at 5:30.  Yes, I said Five-Thirty.  He had thrown the millionth tantrum of the day and it was truly in both of our best interest that he be sequestered to the safe and fluffy confines of his bed.  He had books.  He wasn't being harmed.  And yes, I fed him first.

So anyway, today at Wally-World, we had another award winning meltdown...

Apparently, I am THAT mom.

We're in the line to check out.  My children are total suckers for the impulse buy items in the checkout line - it literally takes every fiber of my being to get through the line as quickly as possible without raising my bill by $100 just in impulse purchases.

Then, it happens... The Mohawk Monster sees **GASP!!** a Mater truck from the movie, Cars.

Now, the truck is only three dollars and some change, but I can't say yes every time my children ask me to buy something.  It just is what it is.  If I gave in every time, they wouldn't just be brats - they'd be spoiled brats (not that I'm saying they're brats, of course!).  And quite frankly, he didn't deserve the car since he had already had multiple meltdowns throughout the morning.

I told him, "not this time," and in an attempt to quickly divert his attention, I asked him to please help me with such-and-such.

Bad move, Mom.

He instantly switched himself into a complete tantrum, unleashing his fury on his little sister (who not to my surprise swatted right back at him in self defense) and threw himself into a screaming lump in the back of the cart.

All eyes are on me by now with the pleading "can't you control your heathen child" look, and of course, the cashier felt that it was her obligation to provide me with parenting advice at this point.

"Hon, you just need to go give that child some lunch and put him to bed.  He just tired and needs some food and a nap."

I curtly yet politely replied, "He already ate.  He's just being three."

"Mmm-mmm," she replied in disagreement.  "You need to feed that boy and give him a nap 'cause he's just plain 'ol worn out!  He'll be asleep the minute he gets in your van."

For the record, I do not own a van.  Not that I don't want to... but I'm just saying.

Apparently she couldn't translate my death stare, because she continued.

"You just need to calm yo-self down.  Count to ten.  You's was like him once too, I'm sure.  It's hard.  There's Mc Donalds, and toys, you'd be pitching a fit too.  Just get him some food and a nap.  It'll be all right.  Just give 'em what he wants.  He'll settle on down."

Mohawk Monster is now screaming at what I'm certain is the absolute top of his lungs.  I'm pretty sure DFCS is being called somewhere.

And as I grabbed my bags and hurried out as quickly as possible, I accidently caught the glance of a creepy old man who had been staring at me in my tennis skirt the whole time; he winked, nodded, and grinned (toothlessly!!!) in my direction.  I thought the stretch marks and screaming children would be enough to discourage frighten anyone from giving me the once over.  Apparently not.

Ew.  Icing.  On.  The.  Cake.

I have GOT to remember that I hate Wal Mart.

Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama