Deak is killing me with attitude lately. Sometimes I love it, sometimes...not so much. Due to this beloved attitude, I've recently realized that I have lost whatever is left of any dignity I may have once had while out in public with him.
It's about survival baby.
Grocery shopping is an excellent example. If I am lucky enough to have had the time to compose a list before entering the store, this process is a simpler version of insanity (I could probably count on one hand the amount of times I've had the time to bring a list, but whatever). Regardless, the insanity still exists.
This is the primary problem - Deak hates cart stoppage.
When I say hate, I mean hate.
Anyone who knows Deak, knows that when he hates something the scream that inevitably follows will be life-changing, and not in the "I saw a beacon of light extend from the clouds" kind of way. In my fruitless attempt to avoid the entire grocery store experiencing this lovely gift of scream, I race around the store 'a la The Amazing Race. I push the cart with one arm while scanning the shelves and frantically attempting, with my other arm to grab the can of beans or loaf of bread. All the while attempting to read my list and/or get my holy brain to remember the freaking reason I came to the store in the first place.
After 3 or 4 aisles, my eyes get blurry, my right arm goes weak, and my incredible aptitude for stamina (he.he) has been lost.
That's when I break out into song.
Sometimes they are real songs, sometimes they are not.
But, they are loud, because that's what keeps the little man happy.
The decrease in song volume is directly correlated to an increase in screaming.
I get lots of irritated darting eyes that eventually find their way to my son and his obvious differences. At that point, the look turns to pity and assumable gratitude that they aren't me.
(I really hate those looks).
Deak will laugh, clap his hands with the always ironic, "If you're happy and you know it..." (Do you know anybody who sings that song while actually happy?), and it will buy another aisle or two.
Until THE aisle.
The one with the cereal/fruit snack/oatmeal/poptarts and Nature Valley granola bars.
Deak knows this aisle.
Deak's hands know this aisle.
And, those babies begin to take flight upon arrival.
Meaning, that I cannot under any circumstance, even for small children and the elderly....pause movement.
Because, if I pause, the arms will fling and grab and pull and I will be buying 87 packages of Dora the Explorer fruit snack bags of fun.
I know I can handle myself some sugar, but really, I don't need that many boxes.
After the final leg mad dash through the Cap'n Crunch, you may think my experience is going to come to a pleasant close. Perhaps, you might think I may feel some relief while looking at a cart full of unnecessary items.
Wrong.
I have to pay.
And, unlike most women, I don't have the luxury (and luxury it is) of choosing to go the store during less crowded hours. I get to go at 5:00.
Yes, 5:00.
When every single other human on this planet is at the store.
The 5:00 line is never short, and Deak's patience is never longer than 15 milliseconds.
It is quite the explosive combination.
He sees the scanner and without fail, screams the scream. The scream that says he wants to watch the scanner and hear the beeping of each item.
(Yes, I speak scream)
He assumes I can manhandle the 6 people in front of me, plow through their carts and place him directly in front of the scanner and next to the checker, for his viewing and listening pleasure.
That doesn't often happen how he so clearly sees it in his dreams.
..Imagine that...
So, while in line, I typically sing (again) to no avail, within extremely close proximity to at least 5 sets of other's ears and I say to Deak, for the 156th time, "Bud, I am sorry. At the store we wait our turn. You will get to hear the beeps in a couple of minutes."
That usually goes over real well.
I am always tired at this point, emotionally and physically, having burned more calories during this experience than any other I will endure throughout the week.
So, he screams.
I have no choice, I have to pay for the crap, or I'll go to jail.
I have to feed my kids, or I'll go to jail.
So- the 5:00 working folk who stand beside me in line have to endure a little taste of what I lovingly refer to as, my life.
We leave the store, laugh as Deak's curly hair blows in the wind while I push the cart and make car noises, unload groceries and give lots of kisses.
I will always tell him, "Deak, you did a good job today. You are such a big boy."
Because it's always hard, and he always tries.
He squints his eyes, smiles big and often says, "MaMaMaMa, I la ya."
He is always so proud after working so hard to use his words to show his love for me.
Man, that sentence will soften my hardest of hearts.
I return the cart, breathe deeply and offer thanks that I get the opportunity to experience a world with my crazy screaming boy in it.
Even if that world involves grocery stores.
