Ketchup Is a Vegetable: And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves by Robin O'Bryant
Authors: Robin O'Bryant
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and make a pot of coffee at the same time. When Aubrey, walked into the den fresh out of the bed and yelled, “Fire the ho!!!”
“What?”
“FIRE THE HO!” she screamed again, this time sounding a whole lot like Yosemite Sam and bringing to mind the classic Looney Tunes cartoons we had rented only a few days before.
“OH! Fire in the hole, you mean?”
“NO, FIRE THE HO!” she said adamantly and for the third time.
I just shrugged and hoped she wasn't talking about me.
Since that day I have had many opportunities to wish she had been talking about me, to wish with all my heart that she would look at me and say in her best little Donald Trump voice, “You’re firahed!” Oh, the inconveniences I could have been saved from, the hours of sleep I could have gotten, the judgmental glances I would have missed when shopping at Wal-Mart with all three kids. Even if my child had called me a whore, it would have been worth it to skip out on certain humiliating episodes.
One particular Wal-Mart trip stands out. I was pregnant with Sadie and waddling through the store with Emma and Aubrey, my two-year old and four-year old. I normally try to minimize the number of children I take with me to run errands, but on this day we were out of everything crucial we needed at home and both girls were out of pre-school.
I was talking to one of my best friends, Amy, on my Bluetooth earpiece as I pulled into a parking space.
“We’re at the store. Let me call you back later,” I said as I climbed out of the car and stuck the earpiece in the front pocket of my sweatshirt. I began unloading my kids and attempting to convince Emma that riding in the front of the shopping cart really was cool. She wasn’t buying it and straightened her legs and bowed her back as I tried to force her into the seat.
“I WANNA WALK!” she screamed.
“Do you promise to stay with me and not touch anything?”
“I pwo-mise Mommy, I not touch nuffin’.”
Of course as soon as we walked through the big double doors, both girls decided they needed to use the bathroom. Aubrey was in the “I-want-to-pee-in-every-potty-in-this-town” stage and Emma would not be outdone. Although I highly suspected neither of them really had to pee, I couldn’t risk it and we made our way to the bathroom… where they both touched every square inch of the bathroom stall, the floor and the feminine hygiene mini-trash can. (Would it kill someone to put these things up a bit higher so my kids can’t reach them?) I had heart palpitations as I repeated the Mommy’s Public Restroom Mantra, “Stop touching that! STOP touching that! STOP TOUCHING THAT!” After scrubbing their hands as though they were prepping for surgery we finally made our way out of the bathroom and into the store to shop.
They did really well. Emma lagged behind a little and I occasionally had to remind her to keep her hands to herself, but we slowly made our way through the pharmacy to house wares and the entire grocery section from the frozen foods to produce.
“Ah sweet, sweet success!” I thought as I checked the last item off of my list. We had completed our mission and the girls were starting to get a little testy and ready to leave. My phone began to ring in the diaper bag, so I reached for my earpiece in my pocket to answer the phone. But it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. My phone continued to ring, as I was unable to answer it without the earpiece.
“Mommy, your phone is ringing,” Aubrey told me.
“I know. I can hear it.”
It was my Momma, calling for our daily morning chat and I knew she wouldn’t stop calling until she reached me. I dug in my diaper bag and realized the earpiece was officially missing. I turned our caravan around and began retracing my steps through all 100,000 square feet of mega-shopping hell scanning the floor as my phone continued to ring. I would press end and a few minutes
“What?”
“FIRE THE HO!” she screamed again, this time sounding a whole lot like Yosemite Sam and bringing to mind the classic Looney Tunes cartoons we had rented only a few days before.
“OH! Fire in the hole, you mean?”
“NO, FIRE THE HO!” she said adamantly and for the third time.
I just shrugged and hoped she wasn't talking about me.
Since that day I have had many opportunities to wish she had been talking about me, to wish with all my heart that she would look at me and say in her best little Donald Trump voice, “You’re firahed!” Oh, the inconveniences I could have been saved from, the hours of sleep I could have gotten, the judgmental glances I would have missed when shopping at Wal-Mart with all three kids. Even if my child had called me a whore, it would have been worth it to skip out on certain humiliating episodes.
One particular Wal-Mart trip stands out. I was pregnant with Sadie and waddling through the store with Emma and Aubrey, my two-year old and four-year old. I normally try to minimize the number of children I take with me to run errands, but on this day we were out of everything crucial we needed at home and both girls were out of pre-school.
I was talking to one of my best friends, Amy, on my Bluetooth earpiece as I pulled into a parking space.
“We’re at the store. Let me call you back later,” I said as I climbed out of the car and stuck the earpiece in the front pocket of my sweatshirt. I began unloading my kids and attempting to convince Emma that riding in the front of the shopping cart really was cool. She wasn’t buying it and straightened her legs and bowed her back as I tried to force her into the seat.
“I WANNA WALK!” she screamed.
“Do you promise to stay with me and not touch anything?”
“I pwo-mise Mommy, I not touch nuffin’.”
Of course as soon as we walked through the big double doors, both girls decided they needed to use the bathroom. Aubrey was in the “I-want-to-pee-in-every-potty-in-this-town” stage and Emma would not be outdone. Although I highly suspected neither of them really had to pee, I couldn’t risk it and we made our way to the bathroom… where they both touched every square inch of the bathroom stall, the floor and the feminine hygiene mini-trash can. (Would it kill someone to put these things up a bit higher so my kids can’t reach them?) I had heart palpitations as I repeated the Mommy’s Public Restroom Mantra, “Stop touching that! STOP touching that! STOP TOUCHING THAT!” After scrubbing their hands as though they were prepping for surgery we finally made our way out of the bathroom and into the store to shop.
They did really well. Emma lagged behind a little and I occasionally had to remind her to keep her hands to herself, but we slowly made our way through the pharmacy to house wares and the entire grocery section from the frozen foods to produce.
“Ah sweet, sweet success!” I thought as I checked the last item off of my list. We had completed our mission and the girls were starting to get a little testy and ready to leave. My phone began to ring in the diaper bag, so I reached for my earpiece in my pocket to answer the phone. But it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. My phone continued to ring, as I was unable to answer it without the earpiece.
“Mommy, your phone is ringing,” Aubrey told me.
“I know. I can hear it.”
It was my Momma, calling for our daily morning chat and I knew she wouldn’t stop calling until she reached me. I dug in my diaper bag and realized the earpiece was officially missing. I turned our caravan around and began retracing my steps through all 100,000 square feet of mega-shopping hell scanning the floor as my phone continued to ring. I would press end and a few minutes
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