I don't even like Italian dressing.

Yesterday Roman and I went to the store to pick up a few things for dinner. He had done a great deal of walking that day and was perfectly content just sitting in the cart being adorable. 

While shopping I decided to pick up a few things to make one of Mr. Potter's favorite things, pasta salad. I had gotten everything and forgotten nothing and I was about to win some SERIOUS goodly wife coins. 

I cut the pepperoni extra thick, just like he likes it. I used his favorite sharp cheese, the pasta was perfectly cooked and I added very few olives so he wouldn't have to pick around too many. 

Man, I am one heck of an awesome wife! 

Just as I had finished assembling the salad Mr. P himself walked in the door. I looked at him looking at the salad and then look at me. This was the look of excitement, this man was happy. This man just thought to himself, "I won the wife lottery!!" But he didn't vocalize any of that. No, the only thing he said was, "What kind of Italian dressing did you get?" 

My heart sank, I broke out in a cold sweat and I had visions of Italian dressing stained divorce papers being set before me. 

"Um. I uhh... I forgot the uhh  Italian dressing, honey." 

There was silence, but being the quick thinking fox that I am I shrugged it off as no big deal and showed him the other menu items: Cheeseburgers on the grill and some tasty seedless watermelon! Thank goodness I made his extra thick, if he walked away from the table hungry he might be reminded that there was TONS of pasta salad in the fridge, begging to be drenched in something. anything. WISHBONE! 

I had lost all confidence in myself, I needed to do something to validate myself. I mean, I'm a stay at home moms whose children both attend school and daycare. I have ZERO business forgetting things like salad dressing for dinner. 

My plan was to pick up Isabelle, grab the *curse word* dressing, pick up Roman and head home to give this salad a hearty bath. But, in my moment of weakness, my feelings of inadequacy took over and I proclaimed, "I will take both children to the store, and Roman will walk in his walker!!" 

That'll teach me! 

This was the first time I had taken Roman to this particular store, so in addition to the stares from the customers, the employees had to have a few looks, too. Not that I cared, we were a sight- I would have looked, too! 

So, the preschooler, the toddler and his walker and the pregnant mother start the long 20 steps to the entrance of the grocery store. "Come on Roman."... "Roman, let's go." ..."Okay Roman-Izzy and I are going in see ya later!"... "Roman, there are too many cars can we please get moving?" That's before we were even IN the store. Roman has to stop and stare whenever a big truck goes by, and I apparently didn't read in the paper that today was "big trucks drive past the grocery store day" 

Isabelle helped a lot, too. "This is my brother, he can't walk yet-but he's doing really good."... "Roman, we're going to get run over if you don't hurry up." ..."Mom, can't you just pick him up?!" 

Eventually their was a break in the traffic which awarded us with an uninterrupted path to the front door. WE'RE IN! 

My first thought was, "Wow, this will be so quick-why did I bother with his walker? The dressing aisle is the first one!" But, we have a new rule that he will use it wherever we go (unless it's like, Africa or something) So we started walking and then I heard, "I want nanas" But Roman, we picked up some yesterday, don't you remember? How can he forget that we picked up bananas yesterday. Why is he about to do to me, what I KNOW he is about to do to me. "Momma, I want nanas." I didn't want to immediately give in, although I knew I was going to anyways. Isabelle held the basket, and Roman picked out the biggest bunch of bananas I have ever seen. Award winning bananas in both length and girth. The kind of bananas that would make a 2 year old refuse his dinner because he is too full from the 12 foot banana he had at snack time. 

But, we're moving again, little boy, little girl, basket full of 6 giant bananas and a pregnant, sweaty mother. I grab the *curse word* dressing and start ushering my posse to the register when all of a sudden.....

Roman sits down. "Uhhh hey there big guy, whatcha doing?" "I want uppies, please." Uhh no buddy, no uppies, almost done, let's go home and have bananas and milk!" 

It worked! Okay, the register is at the end of this isle, we've grabbed two items and have been in the store for 15 minutes-the end is in sight! 

"Mom, we need tuna fish!" was the next fight I encountered. My mind was saying, "We don't need any son of a *curse wording* tuna fish, put it back!" But my mouth said, "Oh, I got some yesterday at the store, but thanks for remembering that sweety!!" 

I lied to her. We probably do need tuna fish. 

"uppies, UPPIES, upppiiieesss" FINE! I will carry you, Roman. FINE! 

So, little girl stewing about unpurchased tuna fish, little boy and walker in the arms of one very large, sweaty and now red faced mother arrive at the check-out. "Roman, can you stand so mommy can pay?" "Okay." he sweetly and innocently said.  I rifled around in my purse quickly to find cash so I didn't have to booger around with my ATM card. SCORE! I found a ten! (Finding this ten dollar bill was the highlight of my day.) Just as I lifted my head to thank the grocery store Gods I saw Roman was walking away from me. What the... "Roman. Come back here, please!" "No." "Roman, it's time to go eat bananas and milk!" "Nope." Okay, that only works once apparently. Time to pull out the heavy artillery, "Okay Roman, see ya later. Izzy and I are going home." his reply?  "Bye mommy, love you." He didn't even turn around! 

Seriously?! You're supposed to freak out and run to me. That is how it works Roman. I threaten you with abandonment and you return to me with a new fear of your surroundings. Who taught this kid how to be a toddler? 

I handed Isabelle the ten dollar bill and asked her to pay for the food while I grabbed Roman. He had scooted only to the next isle so I wasn't too scared of leaving her to be the adult. I scooped him up, grabbed the walker and went back into the line. Isabelle stood there with the bagged items hanging from her arm and my change and receipt in her hand. 

"Thank you" I said to her, and man did I really mean it. I couldn't believe my daughter just completed her first grocery transaction and I was too busy chasing her brother to see it. So much for feeling empowered. 

At the car, Roman is in full "flip out" mode for reasons beyond my knowledge or control. It's the typical mommy in the parking lot scene. 

When we finally got home-the kids settled down and all was well with the world again. 

I was counting down the minutes until Mr. P got home. This time it had nothing to do with dressing or my excitement that he'll finally be able to eat his favorite salad. I was counting because I needed a break after that and the second he came in the door, I took that break. 

Later he praised me for getting the Wishbone "robusto" dressing. In fact his exact words were, "That is exactly what I would have bought." 

Consider me validated.