My face got kinda hot, and I kept my head down on the task at hand. Scan the cereal. Scan the cereal. Even though my vision remained on the box of honey nut goodness I could still see the strangers’ gazes. They were staring at me. Me, the bad mom. The bad mom with three adorable, cherub-faced children all six and under. I was the Big Bad Wolf surrounded by darling Red Riding Hoods’. Or maybe they were more aptly in line with Goldilocks, but whatever. I kept scanning my groceries in the convenient evil that is Self Check-out, and I dared not look up. I had just run into someone I knew. Oh God, I hope she didn’t see my miniature meltdown.
My 6-year-old had been “helping” me scan the groceries. We were trying our hand at checking out ourselves since every other line extended to Siberia, and this was our second grocery store we had entered this day in my quest to save money on the food bill. Sigh. The 4-year-old kept trying to scan groceries left behind by the people before us, and my 6-year-old stood on the opposite side precariously holding a carton of eggs.
“Let me scan it! Let me scan it!”
She’d repeat herself for infinity until acknowledged.
The baby spit chewed-up crackers into my purse, and the store employee standing ready to assist watched the chaotic circus we had going across the conveyor belt.
She’s gonna think I’m trying to steal something!
I just want to go home.
You see, it was two degrees outside, and I had on six layers which weren’t feeling real great right about then. And though I’d lived in Chicago, among other Northern cities, I had never had to maneuver through winter chill with three small children in tow.
Seriously, how can you buckle those snaps when you can’t feel your fingers?!
Suddenly, out of the blue, the electronic voice chirped, “There is an unexpected item in the baggage area.”
The computer lady seemed to get louder.