My CVS adventure

I recently started shopping at CVS. When I say "shopping," I mean taking advantage of their sales to get things for practically nothing. It's exhilarating, better than the Herbal Essences that I got for less than a buck last week. Granted, I wouldn't stand in the middle of CVS moaning and yelling out, "Oh, yes. Yes! YES!", but it's still a good feeling.

I had some coupons that I really wanted to use the other day, so I ran to the store closest to my house. It was raining, but I really wanted to use these coupons, so I left the kids in the car and ran inside. Before you panic and call CPS, I left all three kids in the car. I'm not in a habit of leaving my two and three year old alone in the parking lot, although there are days I'd like to put them in a box with a "Free to good home" sign. The store was out of the shampoo I wanted to buy, so I came out and got back in the car.

I pondered going to a different CVS. It was pouring rain, nearly dinner time, and the kids had been in the car about 5 minutes too long. I looked at the clock, looked at my gas gauge, looked at the kids and decided to head the two miles to the other store. On the short drive from one store to the other, I passed five gas stations. This information will be important later in the story.

I got my shampoo, and I got it for free. The cashier didn't want to let me use my coupons, so I spent a little extra time in the store waiting for her to get approval. When I finally came back out to the car, I saw Bryan sitting in the driver's seat reading the car manual. Uh-oh.

"Mom, we have a problem."

Remember when I said I passed those five gas stations? This is where that piece of information is important. Go ahead and laugh. You wouldn't have stopped for gas in that kind of downpour, either. Okay, okay, so I know I stopped for shampoo, but I had to prioritize. Free shampoo in the rain is definitely better than $4 a gallon gas in the rain. Well, until you run out of gas.

My husband was not due home yet, so I called his cell phone. I called it about ten times, hoping he'd hear it and answer, so he could bring me some gas. I forgot that he was riding his motorcycle, in the rain, and probably wouldn't be up to chatting on the phone. When I realized that my cell phone battery would probably die like the car had, I decided to call one more time and leave a message, telling him where I was and begging for help. He answered.

"HELLO?" He was screaming because he was at a stoplight, wearing his helmet, in the rain. Oops.

"Hey, can you stop at CVS on your way home? I need help."

"WHAT? CVS?"

"Yes, CVS." I told him which CVS. I gave him directions, including landmarks.

"OKAY. CVS. GOT IT." (Still yelling.)

I had a gas can in the back of my van. There was a gas station about a half a mile up the road, and I suppose I could have hiked it over there and gotten myself some gas, but it was raining. I melt, so that was out. I thought, "No problem, we'll just wait for my honey to come to the rescue."

Foolishness is not an admirable trait. I was now trapped inside a non-moving vehicle with a 14 year old, a three year old, and a two year old. It was now past dinner time, and it was hotter than Hades inside that car. The windows were foggy and we were all starting to sweat. I cracked the windows a little.

"I'm getting weeetttttttttt." Boo. Hoo. I rolled up the windows.

"I'm hooottttttt." No problem. I cracked the windows again.

"I'm getting wetttt againnnnnn." It's a vicious cycle. The only way to stop it is with distraction.

I tried to sing songs with them. We played Let's Watch For Daddy. I briefly considered taking them inside the CVS, but decided that if I did, we would never be welcome back at that store. I had already made the cashier mad by giving her coupons, there was no good reason to torture her with children as well.

"I'm hungry." This came from my older child, who obviously lacks the common sense to refrain from suggesting hunger in front of his younger sisters. That started a chorus of whining. I gave Bryan three bucks and sent him in the store to find something for the kids to snack on. He came back with a giant bag of chocolate chip cookies and two of my dollars. Good job, kid. Good job.

I doled out a couple of small cookies per child and sweetly suggested they stuff them (in their mouths). They wanted more. I tried explaining that after Daddy brought gas, we were going home to have dinner. They still wanted more.

"Look, there he is!" My knight in shining armor, flying down the road on his motorcycle. Approaching the parking lot. Going past the parking lot. Driving out of sight. Crap.

Molly was poking Abby in the face with her shoe, Abby was trying to bite her in return, Bryan was yelling at them both... and I was rethinking walking in the rain to the gas station. Maybe on the way I'd get picked up by a trucker with a chainsaw or something.

"We want more cookies!"

"Fine. Eat them all." They took me at my word. Super! Three kids on a sugar high in a confined space with no air conditioning! It's every mother's dream.

Three minutes later, my husband called. "Honey, where are you?"

"I'm still at CVS, still sitting in the van, still waiting for gas. Where are you?"

"I'm at CVS, too. I don't see you."

"Yes, sweetie, I know. I saw you drive right by us. You're at the wrong CVS."

"Oh. Ummmm... am I in trouble?"


I must be a bad, bad wife. My poor husband was drenched to the bone, driving around trying to find me because I was dumb enough to pass FIVE gas stations without stopping for gas, and he's worried about being in trouble? Hell, I was worried he'd give me a lecture about not letting the tank go lower than an eighth before filling up. He turned around and came back, and rescued us with a can of liquid gold (aka gasoline). My hero.

The next day, the kids wanted to go to CVS again. I decided to pass on the shopping expedition. It was hours from a mealtime, sunny outside, and my van had gas in it. I mean, where's the challenge in that?

Stinkin' Beauty

Abigail thinks she's a princess. When I say that, I mean it literally. She tells everyone she meets that she's a princess, and she says it with this serious face that makes me laugh every time. Her brow scrunches up, she lowers her head a little bit, then she looks up at you from under flattened eyelids and says, in this deep, serious voice, "I'm a PWINCESS."

It makes me laugh just imagining her saying it. She has no idea how cute she is.

I have a fancy princess dress that a friend gave me when her daughter outgrew it. Molly wore it when she was smaller, back when Abby didn't really care. Molly outgrew it a while back, and I put it away so they didn't make a mop (or something equally destructive) out of it. I came across it in the closet yesterday, and gave it to Abigail.

She was stunned speechless when I put the dress in her chubby little hands. She held it up to her face, closed her eyes, then giggled. I put it on her, hoping it would still fit. It did. Fluffy pink netting and sparkles surrounded my little girl like a cloud. The crown that came with it has a small cameo of Princess Aurora on it, surrounded by glittering pink gems. She was beautiful, looking just like a tiny Disney Princess.

She wore the dress all day. She tiptoed around gracefully, holding her skirts out and twirling occasionally. When she sat down, she fluffed her skirts around her and arranged herself carefully, perching on the edge of a chair so she didn't crush her dress. I felt like I should bow in her presence.

When my husband came home from work, he oohed and aahed over her dress, telling her how beautiful she was. When it was time for dinner, he took her hand and said, "May I escort you to dinner, Princess Abigail?"

She snatched her hand back with an indignant flip that only a real princess could muster.

"I'm NOT Princess Abigail."

Amused, my husband asked, "Oh? Then who are you?"

"I'm Stinkin' Beauty!"

Truer words have never been spoken. When we all dissolved into hysterics, she rolled her eyes and did a delicate stomp to her seat at the dinner table. Her twisting of words was unintentional, but it will never be forgotten. She will always be our little Stinkin' Beauty.

I'm a complete and total slacker. It's evident in the fact that the dust bunnies under my furniture brandish weapons and have organized an army. It's evident in the fact that my "to be washed" pile is always larger than my "to be folded" pile. Gosh, it's even evident in the fact that I have a "to be folded" pile.

I will never be one of those people who fold laundry directly from the dryer. I'm more of an "Is anyone out of underwear, forcing me to wash clothes?" kind of laundry person. I see no problem with this. Well, not usually. On occasion, I need a specific item of clothing and have to do emergency laundry. Those are the times when I curse my slovenliness, but it doesn't last long - only about as long as the dryer takes to run a cycle.

I'm fortunate to have a washing machine that runs a cycle in less that 15 minutes. It chugs and scrubs and cleans my clothes like a poorly paid laundry lady, minus the poorly paid part. I pay my washer well. Two dollars a load, to be exact. I am the proud owner of a coin-operated washing machine. Our washing machine went kaput a couple of years ago. I assumed my husband would fix it, because that's what he does. He has a huge box of zip ties and thousands of dollars worth of tools. He fixes everything. Everything except my washing machine. This time, he promised to bring me home a new one.

I should have questioned that, but my brain malfunctioned and I let it go. He brought me home a washing machine. He has a friend who picked up a great deal on a truckload of coin-operated washing machines, and he worked out some kind of deal with him to get one of them. I don't know what the deal was, because I didn't ask. I was too busy standing with my mouth open, wondering if I had enough quarters in the house to do a load of laundry.

I lose my laundry quarters often. They dissapear into little pockets, toll booths, the hands of the ice cream truck driver, and the bottom of the washing machine. It's a mystery how they wind up in the washer, and it's annoying that I never discover that until I've dumped the whole load in there and tried to start the cycle. You'd think I would learn to check for quarters before I put the clothes in the washer, right? Why do I even have to worry about that? Seriously, if I start questioning all the weird things that happen in my life, I'll never have time to do another load of laundry, ever. Hey... that's a good plan.

I'm feeling extra slackerish today. I know, that's not a word, but I'm too lazy to find the right one. It's raining outside and I have nothing pressing to do. It might be a good day for a princess tea party with my daughters. Heck, maybe I'll even throw a load of laundry in the washer while we're having tea and cookies. If I can find enough quarters, that is.