Shopper Stalkers (a trip to Costco part two)

(originally published May 4th 2008)

In part one of my Costco tale, I spoke of endorphins. You know, those little things that exercise give you that make you feel mi-tee fine? In short, Costco gives you that healthy glow. After your shopping is done. Sure, coming out of that store feels great, you can't wait to get home and crack open that 7 pound bag of chips while reading your latest 5 dollar bestseller. But, as a firm believer in trade-offs and natural laws, I must also relate the yin to this yang. Like everything in this world,

(even Betty White) Costco too has.........a dark side.

It begins about a half mile from the store. Embarking on your journey is fun, and exciting. What bulk treasure will you bring home today? Then, on the street before Costco avenue, it starts. Sweaty palms. Then, faster breathing, followed by a quicker heartbeat. Sweat drops appear on your temples, and your eyes begin darting back and forth. If you are a hater of anticipation, like me, then turning into the parking lot is the worst part. The question you first ignored, then tried to ignore begins beating against your skull until you simply can't pay attention to any other issue! Your children could be choking on their gum in the seat behind you, and all you can think is,

WILL I GET A PARKING SPACE CLOSE TO THE DOOR??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah right, you are thinking as you read this. Silly question, you are thinking. Totally not me, you are thinking.

Well, I am unhappily (smugly) here to tell you that you are lying to yourself.

Do you really go to Costco, and drive straight back to the parking spot that is open farthest back from the store? That empty space that feels lonely and neglected in the furthest corner? Take a moment to consider that.

AHA!!!!! I saw that pondering look. No way jose! After a few hours you may eventually take that space, but no way do you head for it right away! You do what we all do. Drive slowly up and down the aisles, looking for a close empty spot, or watching for those shoppers with full carts huffing and puffing their way to their car. We are just as bad as the evil paparazzi!! In our quest for that close to the front parking space, we are all paparazzi! Only our esteemed title is....shopper stalkers! Let's face it folks, when a cart packed shopper leaves Costco, her trip to the car is more watched than Brittney Spears' trips to the gas station. Once she passes the fourth or fifth parking spot, the pressure is off. However, until that sixth parking spot....I have seen many shocking things.

I have seen charitable women transform into horrific monsters.

Sweet ladies who bake bread for their neighbors start to circle parking spots like hyenas around a felled gazelle! Bared teeth, manic panting, fevered grunting, screeches of rage, all from women you would have previously called first after a family emergency. I have seen a respected PTA president wait, count em, 25 minutes for me to vacate the spot I fought for, (and won) right in front of the door!

Going to Costco is so totally exhausting that yes, you do need the energy saved by getting as close as you can to that giant line of glittering carts parked right there in the front.

I support the troops, always have, always will, but I can't help but wonder if our soldiers shouldn't start holding boot camp in the war zone I describe here. They would learn valuable skills such as tracking (following the departing shopper) navigation (knowing where the most prime parking is located) and most essential of all, combat. Anyone in the armed forces could benefit from watching two minivan driving mamas grappling for the same skinny rectangle of achievement.

There is only one feeling better than getting that spot right there in the front.

Pulling out of it, and watching your rear view mirror. Go ahead, roll down the window, pull out ever so sloooooowly, wave and call out cheerily,

"Let the games begin again!

A trip to Costco! (Part One.)

(Originally published April 30th 2008) 

I once went to the Winchester mystery house in San Jose, California. The house itself was very very cool, but one thing for me really stood out. The furniture was tiny. Apparently, back in Mrs. Winchester's time period, people were a lot shorter and had tiny arms and legs and such. There are a lot of explanations for this. The main one is poor nutrition, and another one is that back then, people really had to work for their food. You know, plant the seeds, growing, watering, weeding, harvesting, shucking, butchering, etc. By the time the food hit the table and continued on to the privy, the pounds just melted off. So now, we have this obesity problem in America. As always, there are many explanations for this too (i,e, the amount of mayo on a fillet o' fish sandwich) but one commonly touted explanation does not sit quite well with me. The explanation that Americans today do not work for their food. It is "allegedly" just handed to us like a bucket brigade of food right to our plate. Now, in some respects this is true. Not that we are fat people on the end of a bucket brigade, but that food is just handed to us through easily accessible drive through windows, However, while I admit to being a little um.....wavy? I have to say I still resent the implication that I do not work for my food.

After all, I go to Costco.

Costco is a diamond in the rough. A yet to be discovered weight loss phenomenon! Why spend a couple thousand dollars on a membership to a gym when you can get a Costco membership, and a ton of food as well? Lets crunch some numbers.

The average shopping cart weighs about 58 pounds. The Costco shopping cart probably weighs in around 75. Once I have lugged my three children into the cart, (45 pounds, 27 pounds, and 21 pounds respective to my 4 year old, 2 year old, and 7 month old) I am pushing 171 pounds before I even hit the store! Then, over the course of the next hour and a half, I take approximately 300 pounds of food off the shelves and load them into the cart. So, by the time I head for the checkout line, I am pushing 471 pounds! And I have walked at least a half mile. I then load 300 pounds of food onto the conveyor belt, pay for it, (yikes, my bank account has now lost weight) and then load the same 300 pounds of food back into my cart. I push 471 pounds out to the car and, you guessed it, unload 300 pounds of food from the cart into the car, plus the 93 pounds of children into their car seats. And my workout is not over yet! When I get home, exhausted, I still get to burn some calories and move some muscles! At home, I have to unload 93 pounds of children, plus the 300 pounds of food, and carry it all into the house. Then, like a cool down after a long, long, loooooong workout, I get to put all that food into my cabinets. Pheeeeeeewww!
If you combine all the weight I have moved that day, it comes to a grand total of 1,857 pounds!!!!
So give up on the gym, America! It's expensive, doesn't reward your money with groceries, and it smells gross. Costco, the new weight loss revolution!!

The "Secret" Life of People Who Listen to Ipods at the Gym.

 (originally posted on June 4th, 2008)

Hello folks. The title of this post suggests that I have given up on Costco to lose my my baby weight. I still maintain that you can burn lots and lots of calories from shopping at Costco. Unfortunately, Costco turned out to be, as the saying goes, "too MUCH of a good thing." The good thing referring mainly to giant pies, and huge flats of muffins, and 30 pound bags of cookies. I now am on the "Costco Flush Diet". So, its back to the gym for me.

This post title had "secret" in the heading, because, as we all know, gyms are not private. Whatever you do is on display for all the world to see. This being said, I have discovered the phenomenon that when you are working out publicly at the gym, and wear an Ipod, suddenly your hot, sweaty, activated body has gone incognito. Without headphones on, you are self conscious. You are aware of bodily functions, weird movements or sounds, and everyone around you. But when that music fills your ears, and blasts you to your otherworldly workout zone, you are invisible.Here is a famous question.
If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?
This can be compared to,
If you do something embarrassing with headphones on so you cant hear it, does it still make a sound?
Yes.
Duh, right? Here is a list of things that people do with headphones on. They cannot hear themselves, so in their reasoning, neither can anyone else.

Sing loudly, and very, very off key.
Not to mention the fact that most people do not know all the words to the songs they are listening to. So, if you happen to be next to one of these American Idol contestants, you will hear this.
hmmmmm...ddaaadaaa...LOVE IS WONDERFUL.....hmmmm...dadadada....OH YEAH ITS TRUE.....dadadummm....PEACHES....dadadummmdee......DANCE ALL NIGHT WHEN......dummmmdeedummdadadum....GOIN ON....dumdum....CAAAAAAAAR!!!!!!!!

Farting.
I'm sorry to say this, but people fart when they work out. And when they are listening to music, they don't restrain themselves like they would anywhere else, because they cant hear themselves blatting loudly, so obviously no one else can either, right?

Dance.
Head bobbing, karaoke accompanying, arms flinging, bootie shaking moves!!!!

Panting
When gym goers work out, they get out of breath, that is a given. With no headphones on, it is slightly more difficult to restrain your breathing, but you do it anyway. This is what you hear next to someone with headphones on.
HUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH, UUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH, HEEEEEEEEEGGGGGHHHH, AAAAAAAGGGGGHHH, HUUUUUUUGH, EEEEEEEEGGGGHHHH, HOOOOOOOGH, AAAAAAAAAAAH, HAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!
I actually prefer this form of breathing. It makes me feel that as long as the person next to me is bleeding from their lungs and is about to die, I myself can probably bump up my StairMaster to level 2.
And now for me. It is my turn for the confessional. I was recently given an Ipod for my birthday, so I too, became "Invisible" at the gym. I turned the critical eye on myself while hoofing it up and down the cardio machines, and realized what I do that I mistakenly thought no one could hear me doing.
I whinnie. Like a Horse.
When I am getting into it, and its getting harder and harder to keep going, I noticed that I push air out through my lips. For some reason this helps, but last night, I heard it after taking my headphones off for a few minutes.
PPPPPBBBBBBBEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWBBB!!! Of course that's unreadable. But imagine the sputtery sound a horse makes in movies, and on TV and such.
That's me.
Imagine working out next to me, minding your own business, when out of the silence, a horse whinnies!!! Again! And Again! Loudly!!!!
So, I have started working out every night, whinnying, dancing, singing, and loud panting. I am not knocking those who work out. I admire the healthy body seekers. But there is humor in everything, and if I can't find the humor in the lung searing, muscle torturing, nose assaulting (fat melting) atmosphere that is the gym, I will die. Oh, I mean trying to find the humor, not exercising. (I hope!!!)

(originally posted April 29th 2008)
 #2. 
(Yes, that number two.)

Order reigns in the universe. Natural laws accompany most things. Murphy's Law is my particular favorite. In fact, I think from now on I will write down Murphy's Law in every baby advice book at every baby shower I go to from now on.
Whatever can go wrong, will.
This is not to depress new mothers, just prepare them. To go along with that, here is a famous quote that has been widely applied to only one demographic.
You can't take it with you.
This is a quote that is usually applied to greedy people who care more for money than mankind, or doing good things. That is a time tested application of that quote, but I have a better one. You can't take it with you should be used to comfort all mothers who are sad because their child has broken the last thing in the house. Now, when you sagely quote this to new mothers, these same mothers may say to you that if they can't take "it" with them, they can still throw "it" and then you will be in pain moments later.
But I digress from disclosing Poop File #2. Here is the natural law I have found with each file.
No matter how bad the experience is, a worse one will follow.
This philosophy has never failed me. I had terrible poop file #2 all ready, but I decided to go out of order and write the one that was worse, so that you may see the natural law of diaper poop in action.
Scene.
The dollar store.
I was buying loads of dollar toys to motivate Cleve to go to the bathroom in the potty. He knows how, hes done it before, but inexplicably, Cleve decided one day to stop. So motivation was needed. A wonderful quality about children is that they think a dollar toy is just as fun as one that costs five times more, so like every other ruthless mother, I was taking full advantage of that naivete.
Suddenly, a familiar aroma filled the air. Interestingly, this aroma no longer bothers me. Its more like, a warning bell that goes off. Yes, sometimes the warning bell gets "loud" and extremely persistent, but it is just an indication that something needs to be changed. (get it? haha) A new mother of one rushes to the car the very second milk has processed through her baby's system, but a seasoned mother of three reasons that she's almost to the check out line so aromatic infant can wait a few minutes more. I got to the check out stand, and since there were many many people in the store that day (the dollar store was actually having a sale) I was assisted in unloading my cart by a very kindly woman who no habla englais. She was trying to tell me something, and this is what I heard,
"Blah blah blah blah BABY blah blah POOP blah blah blah...." I assumed she was referring to the now thick cloud of babyness that was surrounding us, so I smiled apologetically, said I was going to change him as soon as I got to the car, and continued on up to the check stand. The checker's eyes widened as she looked at me, and she asked wonderingly, "Is that mustard?" Confused, I looked down to see a gigantic dollop of what appeared to be thick and creamy mustard on my white (It had to be white) shirt. Even seasoned mothers can be incredibly dense, and the connection didn't spark for a few seconds. I dabbed the dollop, smelled it (Weirdly, the actual substance seemed to have no smell), and then I looked at my baby. Like the ending of a movie where you're shown the connecting points of a mystery, the horrifying reality unfolded before me. First, I saw this same yellow substance coating my son's legs and car seat. Then, I looked at the conveyor belt, and saw the same ghastly yellow "mustard" on the remaining toys left on the conveyor belt. Then, like a television crime scene, the worst sight was last. As though in slow motion, I slowly looked up to see the mustard all over the hands and shirts of the checker and bagger!!!!!!! Now, I know you all have figured out what this was, of course, but at the time I was in such a state of blank disconnection that it really did take me this long to have it dawn on me that this.........was................POOP! Lots, and lots of poop. Within seconds, I realized the chain of events.
I had piled many dollar toys, and my wallet in my baby son's car seat. (He likes to feel the items, and play with them). He then had a blowout all over the items and my wallet. I, of course, did not hear or see this S.B.D attack. (That's silent but deadly folks)
In taking my wallet out of the car seat, I had gobbed myself with poop, and the non english speaking employee had tried her darndest to warn me! To avoid future misery, I apparently need to learn spanish. ThisIn an effort to vacate this disgusting family from her store as soon as possible, this sweet woman had piled all my toys onto the conveyor belt, thereby coating the belt with poop. The checker and bagger had checked and bagged almost all of the toys by the time they themselves realized they were handling toxic waste. So by the time my brain had processed it, poop was everywhere. In fact, so coated was the conveyor belt that it had cycled around, and was now moving in one long continuous yellow streak! In ABJECT MORTIFICATION I took in the destruction my son (and me) had inflicted upon this poor defenseless dollar store! Holy holy holy holy cow! Red as a tomato, I choked out apology after apology to the maximumly grossed out employees (not to mention the dozens of nauseated shoppers around me), paid for my soiled goods, and fled that store as fast as a poop painted mommy could run!
Now I am really getting afraid. This file, "the worst poop experience EVER", was definitely worse than the last time, which I had also described as "the WORST poop experience EVER." Following the natural law going along with poop, it leaves me to wonder fearfully,
Holy freak, what poop evil awaits me next.

(This was posted originally on April 12th, 2008)
THE POOP FILES.

  

All these files are horrifying.

All these files are true.

CASE 1.

THE EXPLOSION HEARD 'ROUND THE HOSPITAL.

Whenst I became a mother in February of 2004, I was warned about all the poopie diapers I would change. While that is true, I have changed thousands of poopie diapers, no one warned me about the various other poopie things that I would change. Poopie walls. Poopie car seats. Poopie clothes. Poopie couch cushions. Poopie carpet. Hey, now that I am a seasoned mother, as long as its washable, that's fine by me. I had a bit of a hissy when I found out that white silk is not washable, but I had no business wearing white silk with a baby, so that's that. However, the night I first became a mom, all I envisioned was neat little diapers with neat little poop piles that all stayed where it was supposed to, and then it would all be neatly wrapped up, and quietly find its ultimate destiny at the bottom of a trash can. Well, the first night came and went, with no poop at all! Then the second blessed day also went by without a gastric bubble in sight. Wow, I thought. Maybe I am born under a lucky star! I might be that mythical mother who was loved so much by the Gods that she never had to change a single soiled Pamper.

As with most historic epochs, a explosion began my life as NOT that mythical mom. Most of these "explosions" are metaphorical. An explosion of creativity, an explosion of innovative fervor, an explosion of necessity crashing into invention.

Mine was an actual explosion.

Heard 'round the hospital.

As afore stated, I was getting falsely, irrationally excited about the absence of this essential part of motherhood when the doctor smiled condescendingly and explained, oh so kindly and patiently, that unfortunately, the baby needed to poop and we would not leave the hospital until it happened. Thus my excitement turned to anxiety and worry. To misquote a cliche, a watched bum never poops. At the end of my second day of parenthood, in the split second that my husband and I were not peering anxiously into that barbie sized diaper, my husband scooped up our tiny 7 pound being, and. he. EXPLODED. Before I go on, I must note that at that second it did indeed occur to me that the fact that my husband happened to be holding my son meant that I had been born under a lucky star after all.

Anyway, the ensuing clamor over what to do with the bucketful of black slime that was now all over everything, and calming down the patients in the rooms around us who all thought some sick godless lunatic was actually bombing a hospital, really brought it all home.

Poop, a LOT of poop, was in our future.

And it has been a daily joy ever since. : )

WHY PARENTING IS LIKE A HORROR MOVIE

I originally wrote this on my family blog, April 2, 2008. A new sequel has been added to this franchise in the form of a baby daughter, but its the same old story : )

When my husband and I go out on a date, we almost always have MOVIE on the list.
Dinner and MOVIE.
Beach and MOVIE.
Pottery and MOVIE.
Give blood and MOVIE.
Climb Everest and MOVIE.
But I am very particular about the movies I spend two hours of my life on. First and foremost, I have a high expectation that the movie should have a happy ending. You go on a date to escape reality, not to relive the headlines. There is nothing I hate more than a crummy ending to an otherwise gloriously romantic/exciting/adventurous movie!
I go to the movies to ESCAPE REALITY.
I used to like horror movies. The suspense, the nervous shrieks, and then embarrassed laughter (of course that wasn't me, why are you looking over here?) and then, despite knowing the movie isn't real, leaving the theater with the absolute certainty that YOU ARE NEXT TO DIE. So this is why Horror movies have (despite other obvious reasons) stopped being in my "what should we see" list. As a mother, I have discovered that these movies now hit too close to home. Basically, Parenting IS a horror movie.
Let me build my case.
I will present to you certain key aspects of a horror movie, and then parallel my life as a Parent.

1. Horror Movie
Life is the picture of bliss. Smiling people, beautiful weather, awesome soundtrack, all is perfect.
My Life
Two gorgeous parents with the four cutest children ever born. Weather in the desert always perfect because there is no weather in the desert. Soundtrack is any 80s song.

2. Horror Movie
Something suddenly doesn't seem right. Eery silences. Weird sounds. Weird smells. The plot thickens, as they say. The plot has unexpected, and ominous developments.
My Life
Okay, do I really need to elaborate? Every day of my life entails eery silences (someone is up to something) Weird Sounds (Someone is REALLY up to something) Weird Smells (Sigh, I didn't catch the something in time) and the plot thickens. You realize this parenting thing is taking some unexpected developments, and you realize, ominously, that it will never end.

3. Horror Movie
Something HORRIBLE , and TERRIFYING is found in a seemingly harmless location!
My life
Ever hear of a diaper blowout?

4.Horror Movie
Strange Phenomenon begins to happen. Normal humans displaying superhuman abilities that cannot be explained.
My Life.
My five (now 8) year old can talk himself out of any situation. (this hasn't changed, though we now know where this superhuman ability came from) I am not kidding. When we get pulled over, we let the cop talk to our oldest child/master negotiater, not us. With him in our corner, we've never gotten a ticket.
My two year old can destroy a clean home in 17.8 seconds. (now 4, he doesn't destroy everything anymore, but see below.) My baby has more drool dripping onto her shirt than 85 Novocain numbed adult males put together. (The culprit in this scenario is also two, but its not the same one as before, she's new, she's female and she destroys everything. Like a copycat killer, she became the copycat destroyer.)
strange Phenomenon.

4. Horror Movie
The evil monster/alien/rapist/mugger/terrorist/serial killer/road enraged driver/IRS agent creeps up to attack the victim while the victim sleeps peacefully, unaware....
My Life
Let me paint a picture. 3:00 am. A silent house. (Finally) Maybe a clock ticks somewhere. The heater goes on, and the fridge is humming. Suddenly...
"Joe, did you hear that?"
"wwssshhheeehhh?"
"I think I heard a-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I am the victim. The monster is my toddlers HEAD suddenly EXPLODING out of nowhere into my face! Or, in my husband's case, opening his eyes to a small head already hovering a mere inch from his own. 
(Same story, different players)
5. Horror Movie
The stand off begins! Someone eventually retreats, and runs away.
My Life
With two toddlers (now, two old enough to know better and the preschooler and a toddler), the noteworthy thing is not the ever present standoff, its me. Running Away. Everyday.

6.Horror Movie
The dark forces are inevitably defeated, and the victim emerges triumphantly the victor, albeit a little battle scarred.
My Life
Hey, I am the mom. I always win. And I am very battle scarred.

There you go. My life is in fact, a horror movie, therefore, to escape reality, I will never attend one again. And just in case I have not yet convinced you, here's a few more things that appear in every horror movie, and every parents life.

1.Poop
2. Puke
3. Blood
4. EVERYTHING AROUND YOU CAN KILL
(two words, choking hazard)
and finally, last, but NOT least,
5. The disclaimer that comes built into both horror movies and parenting manuals. That you are NOT safe. As a victim/parent, you will always, for everything, forever, BE NEXT.