I do not call my mom “mother”. I just thought that would be a funny book title for my memoir about my crazy mother, but I will never write that, so I used it for this post.
I went to Target with my mom yesterday and that one hour was packed with more insanity than our 48 hour trip. It started with this:
The reason I needed to go to the store was because I needed orange potatoes, pecans, eggs and deodorant. The reason I went to Target in particular was because my mom was desperately bored and did not feel a field trip to a regular grocery store would be satisfactory.
We pulled into the parking lot and there were a lot of options in terms of parking spots. Close spots, far spots, pull through spots, back in spots – you really could not ask for more. The spot my mom decided she wanted was already occupied. She stopped in the main street, or whatever you call a street in a parking lot, and waited for the person to load up their car and pull out. Meanwhile, a line was forming behind us. So I begged her to choose another spot because we could have been in the store by that point. She relented and chose a spot next to the original Coveted Spot.
We parked in the spot and then she forgot to put the car in park because her cigarette made little orange things go flying around and I started shouting about the car catching on fire but not in a funny way, more like a panicked way because I WAS panicked and my mom said I made her so nervous she forgot what she was doing and that is why she did not put the car in park.
We got to the doors and my mom started going in the Out door and I freaked out and sort of shouted “That is the Out! That is the Out! You cannot go in the Out! That is the Out!”.
We got in and I grabbed a cart…and put it back because there was what appeared to be a bloody tissue in it. I took the second cart and my mom said “I need a cart, too”. I asked why we couldn’t just share and she said “because if I’m going to walk a distance I need to lean on a cart” and that made me really sad because that means my mom is an old lady. I mean, she is 71, but she is not an old lady.
Our first mission was to find a hat and scarf for my mom to go with her new winter coat that she found at the Salvation Army for 20$. I found the hat and I got really excited about it because it made my mom look like a super cute old Hungarian lady (she is not Hungarian) However, as I had just learned minutes before, she is now an old lady.
The next mission was pajamas for me, which we only added to the list in the car on the way there. We found footie pajamas, but they were a material I did not approve of – I do not know what it is called, but it is sort of like thick felt. It makes you get caught in your sheets and stick to things and make sparks if you touch things, and I hate that. I also need to have pajamas with a pocket for my insulin pump because if my pajamas do not have a pocket I have to stick my pump against my stomach on the inside of my underwear so that my underwear keeps it in place and that was probably too much information, but there is a point to telling you that. Having a pump smooshed against your stomach all night (and sometimes lying on it which smooshes it further in) makes a really insanely accurate indent that stays for not just one day, but several. So after several nights of sleeping with no pocket in my pajamas, I have 3 pump indents in my stomach. And you know, that kind of hurts. I can not just leave my pump next to me on the bed because then Sabrina Von Squishy tries to murder me by chewing through the tubing. We did not find suitable pajamas.
We went to the grocery part of Target and this is where my mother abandoned me which makes me very nervous. Not being abandoned by my mom in particular, but by anyone. If I walk into a store with you, you stay with me. Unless I am the one to wander away from you, which is ok. Well, she walked away and I panicked and immediately got cranky and angry because I could not find pecans but then I found them and I found cans of orange potatoes which is what I was looking for but one of the cans was waaaayyyyy back on the top shelf and my mother, the old lady, climbed the shelves and got it. This is why I was shocked to learn that she needs to lean on a cart to walk around Target. These two things do not go together. Climbing shelves is not something old ladies do.
Last stop, deodorant for me and wrapping paper for her, but she took way too long to decide which pattern to get, so I got more antsy. Then we went to a check out line that said “returns and check out” but I was hyper focused on the “returns” part of it and could not stop saying “It says returns. We can not be in this line. It says returns. The sign says returns”. We stayed in that line….until the woman in front of us, who was returning something, took too long and my mom shoved her cart into another line that was going faster, except then the check out lady said “I’m closing after this customer”. I took control of the cart because my mom was running people over at this point and we finally checked out but not before my mom decided she did not want the old lady hat after all.
I was starting to relax a little because we were on our way out when my mom stopped right in the middle of the two sets of automatic doors – I believe in the area you might refer to as a vestibule – and decided to look through the bags for her scarf so she could put it on. This would have been fine if we were not in the middle of a vestibule with four people trying to get out behind us. I once again took control of our cart and moved it to the side. Once the scarf was found and put on, we started to go out and my mom almost ran over a guy walking by the doors and then she could not find her car because it was further away than she thought and even after she “beeped” the remote control thing she was still headed in the wrong direction and I had to show her where the car was.
WE GOT IN THE CAR and it was not on fire and we did not go IN the OUT doors and we did not (technically) run anyone over with the cart and then my mom was in the right turn lane but we were supposed to be turning left and before I could say anything she said “I KNOW I’M IN THE WRONG LANE” because she did not have her hands on the steering wheel because she was, as my dad would say, monkeying around with the window and the heat.
All that happened in the span of about an hour. I do not know how we survived our road trip.
We did not take any selfies on this trip but I think we probably should have. Especially of my mom looking like a little old Hungarian lady (she is not Hungarian).