Cleanup in Aisle 2

Why so long between blog posts? Because Max's toddlerhood is kicking my ass.

So is karma. Remember how I said I'd never let my kids eat something in the grocery store without paying for it? No matter how well I try to adjust my errand schedule around his eating schedule, his tantrum-threatening blood sugar level often demands a tub of miniature peanut butter sandwich cookies.

In the 20 seconds it took me to write this much, Max snatched a votive candle from a drawer and drew wax lines on the bay window. When I let out an audible sigh as I was rubbing the scribbles off with my shirt sleeve, he succinctly said, "Oh, shit." So much for struggling not to swear in front of him.

Back to the grocery store. But not to the grocery store to which we usually go, and where Max usually gets to ride in one of those plastic cars attached to the shopping cart. We recently stopped at a local mom-n-pop to get some of my favorite deli treats.

Max erupted into the worst screaming fit he has ever had in public as soon as we got through the door. It unbelievably increased in intensity when I tried to wrestle him into the child seat of a regular cart. I got frustrated because I had zipped up the lining of his brand new winter parka and couldn't get it off of him so that he didn't have some sort of heat stroke while thrashing around in the cart.

Wait, I have to stop for a minute and tend to his absolute heartbroken sobbing that I won't let him play with my computer mouse.

And now I have to feel bad that when I tried to forcibly lead him away from my desk, he stumbled and fell and sat down hard right on my iPad that he was using to watch PBS. I said out loud, "Oh, shit!"

OK, back to the grocery store tantrum. It was so bad so fast that I just pulled him out of the cart and threw him back in the car before we even made it down one aisle. My superhumanly sweet mother-in-law, visiting from Arizona, was with us, and she generously offered to sit in the car with him while I shopped in peace.

I swear to God, only 83 seconds have passed since I started writing again. I had to stop to pull Max off of the kitchen table. See photographic evidence. And no, he didn't want those boxes of toys. He's looking for my new ceramic wine bottle coaster dish and stopper. He likes to swirl the stopper around in the dish and listen to the clink-clink-clink. I had it on the table only once, for a party on Sunday, but he knows he might score some salt shakers or place mats or something else if he gets up there. He has zero interest in the toys meant for him.

And while writing that paragraph, I had to yell at him for using a similar box of toys as a stepping stool on the bay window bench in an attempt to flip open the safety locks on the side windows that help keep robbers out and children in.

Where the hell was I? Oh yeah, the grocery store. But not the right grocery store. Thank goodness I remembered to leave the car running with the heat on. My mother-in-law would not have complained, but she would have been a tiny little icicle by the time I got my potato salad and sandwich spread. My toddler fell asleep, one whole hour before his usual nap time.

I've left and come back again. Max said he wanted peaches for a snack. While serving him the last container, I realize we have to go to the grocery store and get more.

I don't get to throw a tantrum. I don't get to melt down and have someone feed me and put me down for a nap. I don't have a choice that it's freaking snowing again and I would have to bundle up Max so much that he might not fit in his car seat on our trip to the grocery store.

Max is a smart, sweet, lovey-dovey boy that has a limitless need for my attention and efforts. I do better when I write more, but I haven't had the chance to blog in almost a year. I'm not as good as a mom when I don't process it, and I can process only the reality. My reality seemed too stressful, or it seemed too unseemly to complain or make Max out to be a terrible kid when he's really just a typical 2 1/2-year-old boy.

But there's no explaining to him that I will have more time to give him attention if he would just simply let me have a little time to myself. I end up feeling like I'm at this computer all day because the constant interruptions stretch out the work of five minutes to five hours.

I feel like a failure. I feel like I should be more grateful that he has energy, that he is inquisitive and curious, that he wants my hugs and kisses and tickles and smiles to make everything right in his world.

There, I've said it. I've written it. I feel it sliding off and slipping away from me, returning some buoyancy and confidence to spend the rest of today tending to my toddler's needs.

Which is good timing, because I'm pretty sure he's standing there pooping his pants.

How about Little Girls Go as Little Girls

Some costumes for sale at a local grocery store.

Maybe I am getting old. But not so old that I can't remember that when I was a young girl, I dressed up as Casper the Friendly Ghost for Halloween.

These days, girls are apparently dressing as Candy the Slutty Ghost.

If not some ridiculously pink and frilly princess, girls have few options from purchased costumes that aren't a miniature adult version of what a woman would wear to a Halloween party with the singular goal of getting laid.

Is it too much to ask that a vampire costume for a girl not include a red lace corset? Or a devil costume to include pants?

It's an adult concept that sex is part of the whole dark fantasy of a creature who can suck the life out of you, or that lust is a sin that can undo the saintliest of saints.

It's scary that young girls are parading around in these concepts and getting Snickers and suckers.

This makes me an old fuddy duddy, right? I suppose I'm rather fortunate that I have boys. Else I'd be spending all night on Oct. 30 trying to make a homemade costume appropriate for a young girl.

Clothes Shopping: Department Store vs. Thrift Store

Like all good procrastinators, a crowd of us were out shopping this weekend for our children's clothes as they begin a new school year.

Gabe is going to be a sophomore and has a very no-frills style. He likes jeans and button-down shirts, with a dapper sweater vest or two for good measure. Some dress slacks for special occasions, and he's good to go.

As I do now for his baby brother Max, I shopped at thrift stores for Gabe most of his childhood. No sense in shelling out big bucks for a kid who is a different size every four months and who puts grass stains on his jeans like it's a job.

I get Gabe a piece here and there at thrift shops still, but I'll do an annual wardrobe update at a department store for him now that he's all manly. He loves the shirts his grandpa orders from western catalogs and race fan websites, too.

He's pretty hard on shoes, though. I've been trying to keep his clod-hoppers in discounted tennis shoes, but those just don't last. He's even worn through a pair of New Balance this summer. I suppose I'm going to have to go to one of those fancy sports shoes places -- like the one where my husband bought me the most comfortable pair of walking shoes I've even worn for my birthday -- and get his feet measured by a professional and then clad in an expensive pair of shoes by a marketing genius.

There are some pretty damn cute baby clothes out there in the boutique shops, and I'll pick up some here and there, but there a nice enough pieces for Max to drool all over from thrift stores. The cool thing about baby clothes is that babies rarely fit in the month sizes that match up with their ages, so people are always giving gifts that don't fit come the right season. Those clothes get donated without ever being worn and then are snapped up by savvy mommies like me.

In the end, the price tag makes an impressive difference. To illustrate, here are my purchases this weekend from a department store and a thrift store.

From JCPenney, $368.29:

For Max: A long-sleeved and -legged outfit that says "I'm the little brother"

For Gabe: three pairs of jeans, two pairs of dress pants, eight pairs of dress socks, a pair of gym shorts, a sweater, a very fancy dress shirt, nine other button-down shirts (short- and long-sleeve), and a swaetshirt hoodie that has ear bud headphones (which we didn't even know were in the hood strings there until we got it home)

From Goodwill, $32.56:

For Gabe: A Banana Republic dress shirt that looks like it was never worn

For husband Dan: a funky short-sleeve shirt

For Max: two long-sleeved onesies, a pair of long knit pants, two pairs of sweatpants, a pair of khakis, a pair of corduroy pants, a pair of denim overalls, a Gap matching sweatsuit, a thermal sleeper, a Mickey Mouse thermal lounger, a hoodie that says "Me & my Daddy," an Old Navy quilted rain jacket, a Clifford the Big Red Dog sleeper costume complete with an eared hood, and a shirt and pants set that make a skeleton

For cousin Amelia: a dress

For me: a picture frame, and three small baskets

Sooo ...

Department store: 18 pieces plus socks, about $20.50 per piece

Thrift store: 18 pieces plus housewares,  about $1.80 per piece
A young friend once turned her nose up at thrift store items. "I mean, those clothes are used," she sniffed. I replied, "Your clothes are used the minute you wear them, so what exactly is the difference?"

This weekend, the difference was $335.73.