In my non-mom years whenever I saw a mother in distress I always tried to help. I guess somewhere along the way I paid it forward because just recently two wonderful strangers came to my rescue.
It had been a bad week -- life changing decisions on the main burner for Daddy and me. I had done some odds and ends around the house, fed Ella lunch after her nap, strapped her in the stroller and headed for the grocery store around the corner. We only had to pick up a few things so I chucked my purchases in the stroller's bottom storage bin. We were almost finished and Ella was being an angel. She was looking around, smiling and playing with her stroller toys. I was a bit distracted -- thinking too much when we reached our final purchase: spaghetti sauce.
I grabbed one jar and put it in the stroller -- pulled the second one off the shelf and then everything went into slow motion. The glass jar slipped out of my hand and hit the tile floor with a loud explosion of flying glass and red sauce. A sliver of glass flew up at me and slashed open my hand. Fortunately, Ella was facing away from the destruction and was not affected. In fact I don't even think she realized something had happened. I stood there like a deer in headlights.
What had just happened? I'll tell you what! I had become the clean-up on aisle five.
The stock-man walked by and I caught his attention. "Could you please bring something to clean up this mess? The jar just slipped out of my hand," I said helplessly. He looked at the problem and said he'd be right back. Meantime my hand is really bleeding -- in fact blood is dripping off me and onto the floor -- making for two puddles of a big red mess.
I checked on Ella -- she was fine. Oblivous to her dumbfounded mother.
About this time another mom and her two children rolled up behind us. The daughter, maybe five, asked," what is that?" The mother explained a jar had broken and to stay away from the glass. She then smiled at me, reassuringly and said, "I'm just glad it's not me this time." I responded with a tiny giggle -- sounding more like a five year old who had just peed her pants than a grown woman and mother. It was just a smashed jar of spaghetti sauce! I told myself to get a grip.
Then another mom rolled up -- still no stock boy. Now I've bundled my hand in the tail of my t-shirt but the blood is oozing through the fabric. I didn't dare yet check to see if I needed stitches. Mom number two's little boy runs up to the splattered sauce and yells, "Oooh gross!" I feel like mom of the year. Then the mom says authoritatively, "Get over it, Justin it's just spaghetti sauce. Sometimes mommies just go crazy!" Something inside me felt like part of a sisterhood. A group whose members have on more than one occasion come unhinged for no apparent reason. I still felt helpless -- standing there with my bloody hand protecting fellow shoppers from a dangerous 3 by 4 foot section of the aisle covered in sauce, glass and blood.
The two moms went about their business, Ella (beginning to act like her true self) started to pull the bags of pretzels off the shelf next to her. With one hand I pulled the bags away from her, put them back on the shelf and started to maneuver around the mess with one hand and a bin full of groceries. About that time the stock boy showed up with a broom and a big bag of kitty litter to soak up the sauce. I thanked him and apologized for making the mess.
I then, chuckling to myself a bit because I had just made it through my first shopping incident, headed over to the medicine aisle, grabbed a box of bandaids, ripped them open and wrapped up my mutilated hand. Of course I bought the box, unlike those sickos who open deodorant in stores, take off the protective shield, slather it on and them return it to the shelf.
Helllloooo -- we know it's been used! If you don't already you should check for removed shields when buying deodorant just like you check for cracks in a dozen eggs.
My t-shirt has a little stain and fortunately I did not needs stitches. But that incident will always stand as a reminder -- every mom has been there and there is comfort in knowing every mom goes a little crazy sometimes -- and it's completely allowed.
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