Second Strike

My family is starting to have a real problem with maple syrup. In the spirit of transparency, I do not have a problem telling you that it was my fault this time.

My plan for the morning was to go grocery shopping. The conditions weren't great--it was cold and rainy outside and Luke woke up with a bout of diarrhea, but I'm a real party animal, so we went anyway. Usually, I try to do errands during "second period," the part of the day that comes after George's first cycle of feeding, playtime and nap, but before lunch and afternoon naps. Writing out a grocery list is usually the obstacle that keeps me from getting to the store in a timely manner, but today was different since the only word on my list was "Everything," so we got out of here pretty fast during first period. I threw my hair up in a clip, put some training pants on Luke just in case, and away we went.

Thankfully, George was asleep when we got to the store. Feeling pretty footloose and fancy-free, I took a little longer than usual getting through produce. I'd tell you why, but if I told you that Luke and I squandered away our peaceful shopping time watching a bird fly around inside the commissary and get into mischief in the birdseed section, you'd think I was a real twit, so I'll just leave it up to your imagination. By the time we got out of produce, George was alert and getting dangerously close to his next feeding time. He started fussing a little bit, and then about five aisles in, he was really wailing.

I decided it was as good a time as any to try the kid out on Cheerios. I pulled a box off of the shelf, opened it up, and started cramming fistfuls of cereal into various open holes in George's face. Ahhh, he quieted down just in time for me to get to the syrup section of the breakfast foods aisle. Good thing, too, because I stood there thinking long and hard about whether or not I wanted to allow any more of it into my household, and I needed an ounce of clarity. I decided to go for it. Seize the day! That's what I always say!

As I pulled a bottle down and put it in my cart, an elderly amputee in a Jazzy wheeled up and started to stand up to grab a bottle for himself. He seemed to be having some trouble, so I asked him if I could help him get something. He told me which brand he wanted. I really had to reach for it, and as I did, I knocked over Mrs. Butterworth. She fell to the floor and busted open, her lifeblood draining all over the floor.

As I picked the bottle up to prop it up in a way that would prevent any more spillage, I got some syrup on my hands. I immediately started to feel the symptoms of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Luckily, just as I started seeing the black swirlies and felt a dizzy spell coming on, a commissary employee turned down our aisle and he cheerfully told me not to worry, he'd take care of it. Phew, we reached an anticlimactic end to our saga. No dogs to bathe, no rugs to throw away. The evidence of my carelessness disappeared with a quick swish of a mop, and I didn't have to listen to anybody screaming in time-out. Although, if anybody had to go to time-out, it would have been me. Hey, I wouldn't mind having a time-out! Would somebody please put me in time-out?

As I finished up my shopping, I decided that if we have one more maple syrup episode, my family is going to go Euro and start eating pancakes with Nutella. You know, I really like Nutella. I might go ahead and set up a maple syrup booby trap for Joe to stumble upon later.