This Ain't New York

Thus I receive the Mommy of the Year Award

I keep working on this imaginary Christmas list I have, you know, because I don't make lists. (Long live the Organization Of My Mind!)

The list, er whatever, isn't getting shorter., or checked off, or whatever you OCD's out there do with your lists.

Today I did make it out for a few errands, mailing packages and doing a little grocery shopping. First, I went to UPS with an armload of boxes. Y'all know how I hate the post office. I just love Brown. So efficient. So friendly. So courteous. So brown.

UPS- Just go ahead and send me a check.

I digress.

So, my daughter and I left UPS and walked over to Winn Dixie to pick up a few items. On the short walk over, I commented on my love for UPS and my disdain for the post office. This prompted a conversation full of "why's" and phrases like "cause they are so grouchy" and "they can actually keep up with stuff." I am nothing if not informative and deep.

While in Winn Dixie, I noticed my daughter's mood change. This isn't odd. She is a girl. And she has a flair for the dramatics. (I have no idea where she gets it.) After picking out a good slab-o-meat, we headed to the Mexican foods aisle to pick out some really authentic refried beans and tortillas. (It was burrito night, formerly known as taco night.)

Right there, next to the salsa, I finally pressed the issue...

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sick?"

"No. I don't want to tell you. "

"Do you have to potty? Do you have gas? What is it?"

"I don't want to tell you."

Then I got "the look." You know, the "Please leave me alone, Mom, before you embarrass me right here in Winn Dixie and I end up mortified from embarrassment because of this horrible issue that I refuse to share with you which may or may not include a bout with gas" look.

I hate The Look. I hate disrespect. All I want is an answer to my question.

Still. The Look.

I calmly bent down next to the pintos and the garbanzos, turned her face toward mine and calmly said, "Answer me when I ask you a question. You are being disrespectful."

Then The Look turned into The Tears, because I am such an awful mother to ask a question and then actually want an answer for it. Someone go ahead and call CPS. Cruel, demanding mother on Aisle 9!

She sniffed and whimpered and I hurriedly filled my cart. The entire time I am thinking she may vomit at any moment. For all I know, she is feeling sick. I still have absolutely no idea what is wrong.

We completed our shopping and headed to the car where the conversation continued...

"Now, will you tell me what was wrong with you?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Go ahead."

"Can I tell you when we get home?"

"No. You are going to tell me right here. I need you to understand that you are supposed to answer me when I ask you something. If you really cannot tell me something in public, then tell me it is something you can't say out in public. Or whisper it to me."

"Ok. I'll tell you. I was thinking about the cats."

"What cats?"

"The homeless cats."

"What homeless cats?"

"There was a donation box in UPS for the homeless cats and there was a picture of a cat, and I started to think about the poor, homeless cats and it made me sad, and I didn't want to say anything in the grocery store because I was embarrassed someone might hear me, because thinking about the poor, homeless cats made me want to cry."

"Oh. You could've just told me that. This would have been a lot easier. So, next time you are sad about the poor, homeless cats or you are thinking about something else, just tell me. OK?"

"OK."

Can a mother feel any lower? HOMELESS CATS, PEOPLE! HOMELESS, CATS!

Just send my award UPS.