Wednesday, September 1, 2010

No Children Were Harmed In The Making of This Commercial

The following is a true account to the best of my recollection.  If I could make this stuff up, I would.  However, reality is far, far, far more entertaining.

"Moooooommmmy!" Caden runs across the playground into my awaiting arms.  Sweaty, smiling and warmed from the sun, I am enthralled at the wonderfulness of my sweetie three year old.

Little did I know what was to come.

{Cue foreboding music and clouds rolling across the sun.}

"I firsty Mommy. I firsty.  I firsty.  I waaaaannnntttt a drink!" as I buckle him in his big, boy seat in the back of the Mommy SUV.

"We'll get a drink when we get home."  Lick my own lips.   Hmm, maybe a drink isn't a bad idea.  I'm kinda tired.  We pass a Starbucks on the way.....

"Kids, we are going to stop at Starbucks.  Mommy needs some caffeine and you can get a drink."

Little screeches of, "I firsty," followed by gentle mothering reminders that Starbucks was only a block away.

I proudly get my sweet sons, who now are holding hands to cross the parking lot, as we walk into the Starbucks.

Caden rushes to the cooler case and begins to pick up every beverage in sight.  Because I am a mother who wants to raise self-aware children who can make choices and own their own choices I ask,
"Do you want chocolate milk or juice?  You can have one."

"I want chockit milk."

"Okay."

"No!  I want juice!"

"Are you sure?"

"Juice!Juice!Juice!"

"Please go sit with brother while I get our drinks."

Caden sits and sucks down half the juice.  He sets the bottle down, inhales and declares in his loudest, most authoritative three year old voice, "I WANT CHOCKIT MILK!"

Whoa.  Where did that come from?  I quickly walk over.  In my best mother technique I make eye contact and calmly but firmly say, "Caden, you said you wanted juice to drink.  You are not getting chocolate milk."

{Cue ominous, Flight of the Valkyries music.}

2 seconds later....

The following is in a voice which is a cross between a banshee on fire with napalm and nails on a chalkboard, "IIIIIIIIIIII    WAAAAAAANNNNNNTTTTTT   CHOOOOOOCCCCCCKKKKKIIIIIITTTTTT MMMMMMMILLLLLLLLKKKKKKKK!!!!!"

Again, I cling to the myth that calm, authoritative mothering voice actually works, "Caden.  Please stop screaming.  You chose juice instead of chocolate milk.  Caden, stop screaming.  Caden stop yelling. Caden stop screeching!  Caaaaadeeen!!!"

It is then that I snapped.  It was one of those slow motion moments when you want to spank but you know it's both a public place and probably not a good idea.  Instead a quiet, powerful calm washed over me.

I signal the frightened barista, who is trying very hard not to cover his ears, that I would be right back.  I scoop said screaming, kicking, clawing creature up by the waist, shepherd his mortified, wide eyed brother and head to the car.  I dodge kicking Star Wars tennis shoes and calmly buckle him into his seat.

I proudly walk back into Starbucks to pick up my drinks.  To the wide eyed and astonished patrons who stare at me as I start for the door, I turn and say, "No children were harmed in the making of this commercial for....birth control."

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