Back Asswards Or Ass Backwards?

I’m supposed to have surgery on the torn meniscus in my knee.

My orthopedist told me that I have to go for physical therapy first.

Now, is it just me or does that sound ass backwards?

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It got me to thinking about all of the things that appear to be ass backwards to me in life and I’m really beginning to think that ass backwards has become my new pet peeve.

 

McDonald’s has an average of fifteen to twenty employees working per shift.

Yet, they consistently pair a poor connection on the menu board speaker with a drive-thru employee with either a heavy accent or one who speaks broken English.

Ass backwards? I’d say so!

Image result for images of drive thrus and backwards

Thinking about trying this little drive-thru move in rebellion.

 

Have you ever seen any system as ass backwards as the department of Motor Vehicle?

After waiting three hours for it to be my turn, I approached the counter at motor vehicle…finally.

I had moved back to Connecticut from North Carolina and I needed to get a Connecticut drivers license.

I had all the necessary paperwork…or so I thought.

The woman at the DMV stated that I needed a copy of my marriage license.

“My marriage license? I’ve been divorced for 2 years!”  I stated.

She replied, “That’s the document that we need or you can’t get a Connecticut State Driver’s License.”

I ended up driving to the town clerk’s office in the town that I was married.

Twenty dollars for a marriage certificate that I would never use again and forty minutes later, I was back in line waiting to get my Connecticut license.

 

I guess I’m not the only one that can’t seem to avoid all of the ass backwardness…

 

 

Donald Trump, the first billionaire president in U.S. history, currently has a net worth of $3.5 billion dollars.

Let’s take a minute and put that into a perspective that we could all understand.

According to researchmaniacs.com:

Spending: If you had 3.5 billion dollars, you could buy 116,667 cars at $30,000/each or 17,500 houses at $200,000/each.

Travel: If you were to travel 3.5 billion miles, you could fly around the world 140,557 times or take a round trip to the moon 7,325 times.

Savings: If you could save $100,000/year, it would take you 35,000 years to save 3.5 billion dollars. If you could save $10,000 every single day, then it would only take you 959 years to save 3.5 billion.

And yet, all the money in the world can’t buy Donald Trump a better hairstyle.

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Maybe it’s me…or maybe everything is just ass backwards!

 

What’s your pet peeve?

What do you find totally ass backwards?”

A Day In My Life

Knee sprain.

Weight Gain.

Headache Pain.

A day in my life…

 

John is downstairs making a cheesecake from scratch.

The dog needs to be walked…but I can’t walk.

 

My son’s friend just came upstairs to use the bathroom and “accidentally” knocked down two of the four baby pictures of my boys that I had displayed on the stairway wall.

Shattered glass.

Cleanup.

Life’s tough.

I’m not sure I would trade it for the world.

This is my life and I’m just happy to be amongst the living…

Even if I can’t walk…

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Erin Cooper Reed

 

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Moms Say the Darnest Things!

As moms we try to set the best example and say the right thing when raising our children. We have the best intentions, but sometimes lack of sleep, set of circumstances or just the plain old stress of parenting gets the best of us.

Have you been there?

With three boys, I certainly have.

Being a mom has given me the opportunity to put together sentences that I could never in a lifetime fathom that I would speak.

Example:

Ring.

Me: “Hello.”

Mom: “Hi, honey! How is everything going over there?”

Me: ” Okay. What’s new with you? CAN YOU BOYS BE QUIET? I’M ON THE PHONE! Sorry, Mom.”

Mom: “Well, today on Doctor Phil, he had this couple on, you wouldn’t have believed it…”

(COMMOTION AND NOISE IN THE BACKGROUND)

Man chases cat with spatula

Me: ” Wait would you hold on a minute mom, GET THAT SPATULA AWAY FROM THE CAT! Okay, sorry mom, you were saying?”

Mom: “Never mind honey, maybe I should let you go…”

Me: “Okay Mom. I’ll call you back.”

 

Having three boys in the back seat of the car while you are driving always makes for warm memories and insightful conversation…

Marc (to Rocky): “Stop touching me with your knee!”

Rocky: “Am not! Stop touching me with your knee!”

Marc: “Are so. Stop it.”

Kevin: “You guys are breathing on me.”

Rocky: “I’m not breathing on you, Marc is!”

Marc: “Uh-Uh, Rocky, you’re breathing on him!”

Image result for images of three kids in car arguing

Rocky: “Am not! You are!”

Kevin: “You’re both breathing on me…and you’re too close Rocky, stop touching me!”

Me: “OKAY, EVERYONE JUST STOP TOUCHING EACH OTHER! AND STOP BREATHING!!

 

Notably not the best advice…but somehow it worked. Well, the kids didn’t stop breathing (Thank God) but I did put an end to the “Touching – Breathing war.”

 

My mom has always been a class act. She is no longer surprised, or even shocked by my kids, my elevated voice or the bizarre things the come out of my mouth, although she didn’t handle things in the same manner when I was growing up.

 

One day, my mom was on the phone with a friend when an argument between my sister and I broke out in the livingroom. This was back in the day when you were chained to the kitchen phone by a short phone cord.

I can’t remember what it was that my sister and I were arguing about, but I can remember the scene like it was yesterday. As our voices heightened, my mother didn’t change her expression, pause the conversation or even let on that there was a situation arising in her home.

My mother just continued talking and reached for the nearest available item. She picked it up with one hand without skipping a beat.

She leaned into the hallway where she had a clear shot into the living room. When I glanced over, all I could see was her arm above her head spinning like she had a lasso.

I had no idea what she was holding, yet she continued her conversation with a smile.

The argument with my sister resumed and our voices got even louder.

To both of our surprise, my sister and I simultaneously got hit in the head by a flying object.

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We were immediately silenced as we stared at the loaf of Wonderbread at our feet, realizing what it was that hit us. (Damn, my mother is a good shot!)

Then, as girls often do, we broke out into laughter.

I could no longer remember what I was so upset about and I doubt that my sister could either.

Funny thinking of this now and considering my current style of parenting…

I could certainly save myself a ton of ridiculous sentences and a hoarse voice, with a trip to the bakery and a round of Lasso Lessons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Is It So Dark?

These days, I’m mostly resting in bed with a book or a computer on my lap. I tore a ligament in my knee eleven days ago and this has become my new norm. My boys come in and out of my bedroom often, with questions or just to see how I’m doing.

And, yes they yell “Mom!” from the bottom of the stairs that lead to the third floor when they want to ask me something but they’re too lazy to make the trek.

My son, Kevin is here for a visit from Long Island. I am always happy to see him, but this ultimately leads to late nights for all of my boys.

Last night was one of those nights.

Today when my fifteen year old son, Marc returned from school, he was so tired that he went straight to bed. Kevin and Rocky went out and John went to visit his mother after he had finished preparing dinner.

Finally, peace and quiet.

I read for a while then decided to take a short nap.

I awoke to the sounds of the shower running. It is not abnormal for my boys to shower at whatever time of the day or night that the desire hits them.

I glanced at the clock, 7:00 PM.

I picked up my book and started to read, then paused as I saw Marc pass by in the hallway and disappear into his bedroom.

 

I went back to my book.

 

A few minutes later I saw Marc exit his bedroom, fully dressed and then I heard his sneakered footsteps going down the stairs. I called out to him, “Marc where are you going?”

No reply.

There were some banging sounds coming from the kitchen below. Then Marc yelled up, “Mom, there is chicken and rice on the stove but where is the low carb chicken that John said he would make for me?”

 

(Note: My three boys are constantly pairing workouts with all sorts of different diets and it’s enough to drive anyone who does the grocery shopping and the cooking right over the edge. This week Marc is going to the gym and eating a low carb diet…translation, there will be no protein left in the house for anyone else.)

 

“Marc, I can’t go down the stairs. You’re going to have to look around and find the separate meal that John made for you.” I yelled loudly, so that Marc could hear me.

Five minutes later Marc was back in my room. “I can’t find it. Can you Google how many carbs there are in rice?”

I grabbed my phone.

“Forty-six grams.” I stated

Marc replied, “Can’t have that.” and went back downstairs.

 

(Sigh. Insert eye roll here.) Back to my book.

 

Then, from the floor below, “Mom, Can you call John and ask him where he put my chicken?”

God forbid this kid ingests a piece of rice. I sent John a text about the location of Marc’s chicken. He immediately replied.

 

“Marc,” I yelled, “Your grilled chicken with a side of vegetables is in the oven.” (I know, who would have thought to look there.)

 

Time to reread the same sentence in this book that I read four times before.

 

Some time passed before Marc was back in my room. I assumed he was downstairs eating his dinner.

I asked, “So, how was your chicken?”

“I packed it.” Marc stated

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Before I could ask why he packed his dinner, Marc stared out the window, looking confused. It was then that I noticed that he was wearing a lightweight jacket.

“Mom, why is it so dark?” Marc asked

“What do you mean, why is it so dark? It’s 7:45 PM.” I said

“It is? I just got up and got ready for school. Didn’t you hear me in the shower? And, I packed my own lunch.” Marc said

“Well, if it was twelve hours from now, you actually would have made the bus!” I laughed

Marc sighed and walked out of the room. I guess he didn’t find it as amusing as I did. Let’s see if he can make the bus on time tomorrow…

 

My life, I swear…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the Love of Sharks

My son Rocky grew up loving sharks. I mean, he was obsessed with them from the time he could talk.

And he talked about them constantly.

He watched every shark movie that he could get his hands on and Shark Week was a major event in our home. One day I came across a bundle of shark post cards at a gift shop that featured a photo of a different shark on the front of each one, with facts about the shark on the back.

Rocky carried these cards around with him like a bible.

He talked about sharks incessantly, until I thought that my head was going to explode but I have to say that he did become very knowledgeable about all of the different kind of sharks…

…the Hammerhead, the Sand Shark, the Tiger Shark, the Great White, the Angel Shark, the Shortfin Mako, the Bull Shark, the Whitetip Reef Shark…

He knew them by sight and he knew the facts about all of them.

It was actually quiet impressive, so I lightened up on worrying about the degree of his obsession.

Until one night, Rocky came to me with a large grin and said, “Mommy, I have shark teeth!”

“Shark teeth?” I asked, “What do you mean that you have shark teeth?”

With that Rocky opened his mouth.

Image result for images of double rows of shark teeth

Sure enough, there behind his two, lower, front teeth was a second row of teeth.

I was panicked.

Did I mention that at the time I worked for a dental practice?

Well, I did.

The next morning, (a bit embarrassed for not noticing my son’s “Shark Teeth” earlier) I brought Rocky right in to see one of the dentists that I worked for.

This dentist happened to be newly out of dental school. I think that she was afraid of my 7-year-old feeling any pain…so she loaded up on the anesthetic…not one, not two, but three carpules of Novocaine.

The baby teeth came out with ease and the dentist ensured me that Rocky’s adult teeth would move forward, right into place.

 

The dentist was nice enough to let me leave work to drive Rocky a few blocks to his elementary school. I knew that I would have to be quick so I could get back in time for my first patient.

 

As we entered the school, Rocky said, “Mommy, my lip feels weird.”

I glanced at Rocky’s swollen lower lip. It was so taut and red that it appeared as if he was wearing lipstick.

“Okay honey,”  I replied “We’ll stop at the nurses office and get you an ice pack.”

 

We were a bit late by the time we got into Rocky’s classroom.

Everyone turned and stared.

The teacher took one glance at Rocky and asked with concern, “Is everything okay?”

I replied, “Yes…he just had two of his baby teeth pulled.”

Rocky slowly removed the ice pack to expose his red, swollen, lower lip.

The teacher gasped, looked at me and asked, “Mrs. Reed, you do know that today is school picture day, don’t you?”

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(That’s a hockey joke for when my boy, Rocky reads this)

 

“Well…he can just take the make up photo.” I stated, “Can’t he?”

The teacher replied, “We have to take the photo today because the school needs one to go with Rocky’s permanent record for this school year.”

Rocky shot me a bewildered look.

The teacher waited for my reply.

“Okay…” I said sheepishly, as I gave Rocky a supportive hug and a kiss before leaving.

 

I thought about my poor son the entire day that day, and the school photos.

I felt terrible but there was nothing I could do about it.

 

As parents, we buy the school photo no matter what it cost or how bad it looks.

That’s just the way it is.

We love our children more than life itself…

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but we don’t have to love the photo, or the ridiculous circumstances that led up to it.

That is just part of being a parent.

 

 

*Photo credit Disney, Finding Nemo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s All In The Details

When Kevin was three years old and attending preschool he was a die-hard Toy Story fan. I mean, he watched Toy Story over and over again, owned all of the action figures and talked about it incessantly. Often when the phone rang, I answered it to find yet another salesperson on the line. I would hear Kevin’s tiny voice on the other extension. While Kevin was babbling on about Buzz Lightyear, I would quietly hang up my extension and laugh to myself. After repeatedly asking to speak to an adult, to no avail, the salesperson would abruptly hang up. It didn’t take too many sales calls for Kevin to believe that these calls were for him and for me to realize that I had my own personal call-screener.

Of all the Toy Story characters, Buzz Lightyear was by far Kevin’s favorite…and why wouldn’t he be? I mean, Buzz Lightyear is cool, he is a toy space ranger and he believes that he could do anything that the “real” Buzz Lightyear in the actual movie could do…like fly and shoot lasers. Buzz Lightyear is a leader who is brave and has courage. He believes that following the rules is the way people should live. Most of all, Buzz believes in himself. Not a bad role model.

The morning of Kevin’s fourth birthday he woke to a giant painted, wooden Buzz Lightyear sign on the front lawn, that I had order for the occasion. It read “Happy 4th Birthday Kevin!” We went outside and I took some photos of Kevin standing with the sign, imitating Buzz’s position, both hands on hips. I was elated and proud of myself for renting the sign and making Kevin’s birthday special. (Add good mom props here).

It wasn’t until we went back inside that I realized that Kevin wasn’t so happy.

Me: “So buddy, do you like the sign?

Kevin: “Not really.”

Me: “Not really???  ($$$ Ugh!)

Kevin: “No.”

Me: “Why not? You have Buzz Lightyear on your front lawn?”

Kevin: (looking sad) “It’s just the colors are all wrong.”

Me: “What do you mean wrong?”

Kevin: “Well, first of all, his waist is supposed to black. The buttons on his chest are blue, green, red…

As Kevin went on, I grabbed a toy Buzz Lightyear from a nearby chair and ran to look out at the lawn sign through the front door. I’ll be damned, the kid is right.

So, what did I do? Being that this was my first-born son who was obviously upset on his 4th birthday…I did what any other red-blooded, doting, well-intentioned, frantic mother of an unhappy four-year old on his birthday, would…I called the lawn sign company. Immediately. Then I put Kevin right on the phone.

I stood in amazement (staring at the toy Buzz Lightyear in my hand) while four-year old Kevin perfectly described every detail and every color of Buzz Lightyear’s suit to the lawn sign man on the other end of the phone.

Kevin: “He wants to talk to you, Mommy.”

Lawn Sign Man: (seeming a bit nervous and certainly blown away by his conversation with a four-year old) “Hi ma’am. I don’t even know what to say. We never had a complaint like this before. I think our artist painted that sign using a Disney Burger King bag as a guide. I guess Burger King only prints their kid’s meal bags using a few colors.”

Me: (Speaking as if this is the most unjust thing I had ever experienced) “Well, I just wanted to make you aware that the colors are not right so this doesn’t happen to another child again.)

Lawn Sign Man: “I am so sorry. I’ll take care of it right away and I’ll be sure to check the authenticity of our other signs. By the way, that’s some kid that ya got there.”

Me: “I appreciate it and thank you, I know.”

In retrospect, it’s a funny story now. Especially my own reaction being what it was. If this situation had happened with my third kid, I would have been like, “Just shut up and have a cookie.”

Yet, I think that Kevin was onto something, there’s a lesson in here for all of us. It is all in the details…they matter more than you think. If you stop and pay attention to the details, in your work, your relationships and in your life, it will show in the big picture.

I’ll leave you with this quote by Sanford I. Wiell

Details create the big picture. - Sanford I. Weill

To infinity and beyond,

Erin Cooper Reed

 

 

 

Happy April 1st! Who Even Reads A Blog Post Without A Picture Anyway?

In the spirit of April First’s unofficial, yet globally known holiday, here is my April Fools’ Day post.

I am aware that blogs that have a photo are more likely to be read. Let me just say, I couldn’t care less. The fact is, the majority of readers care more about the photo than they do about the actual article. In fact, it has been proven time and time again, that most people will hit “like” without even reading the damn post or comment without ever reading the damn article. This is actually a huge relief to me, as I can say whatever the hell I want to and no one will be the wiser. I’m totally considering confessing some of my deepest, darkest secrets right now…I mean, hell, why not?

But seriously…HAPPY APRIL FOOLS’ DAY! This is just an example of an April Fools’ Day joke that NPR played three years ago in 2014. Here is an excerpt of their prank by Jeffery Patterson of The Desert News, March 31, 2017

ENTERTAINMENT

The best April Fools’ Day pranks in history

Posted 6:00 a.m. today
Updated 6:05 a.m. today

2014: Why doesn’t America read anymore?

Proving some troubling points about the way news stories are digested these days, NPR pulled one of the great April Fools’ pranks when it posted a fake article with a headline designed to elicit a response: “Why doesn’t America read anymore?”

For anyone who took the time to click on the headline and see what the article was about, this is what they would have found:

“Congratulations, genuine readers, and happy April Fools’ Day! We sometimes get the sense that some people are commenting on NPR stories that they haven’t actually read. If you are reading this, please like this post and do not comment on it. Then let’s see what people have to say about this story. Best wishes and have an enjoyable day.”

And so, my dear readers, Congratulations and Happy April Fools’ Day from My Life I Swear! If you have read this entire blog post, please “like” but don’t comment.

Consider it an online social experiment.

Best wishes and have an enjoyable day,

Erin Cooper Reed

P.S. – Just for the hell of it, here’s your damn photo!Image result for images of tongue sticking out

 

 

 

I Know Exactly How You Feel – The Power Of Empathy

I’m not feeling very funny today…and that’s okay. (Don’t worry, I’m sure that my sense of humor won’t be able to help but rear its sarcastic head.) Having a lot of down time (with my injured knee up) has given me time to reflect. I have spent the last two years helping my widowed mother through all kinds of ailments, most recently healing from a bad fall and prior to that, multiple hip replacements.

My mother has done, and continues to do so much for me that it is always my pleasure to give back and be there for her when she needs me. Now, my mom is one strong Polish girl! She has beaten cancer more than once, recovered from broken bones and did the hard work that it took to regain her mobility after not one, but two, hip replacements. All the while my mother remained positive, never complained and found humor during the entire process. God, I respect that about her! In fact, everyone does.

As I lie in bed writing this post, I think that now I really understand how my mom felt and some of what she had to endure.

RING

Mom: “Hello.”

Me: “Hi, Mom.”

Mom: “How are you feeling?”

Me: “Like I need a shower and I don’t know how I’m going to take one if I can’t walk or stand up. I’m miserable.”

Mom: “Remember I couldn’t take a shower right away after my hip surgery? I’ll send over my shower stool. Oh, and put a hand towel on the seat, it’s really hard plastic.”

Now, I’m thinking that I’ve got a lot more cushion on my backside than my 96 pound mother does…but mom knows best.

Me: “Okay I’ll put a hand towel on the seat. Good idea, but I don’t know how I’m going to get my leg over the side of the tub.”

Mom: “I put my good leg over first, than my bad leg second.”

Me: “Thanks mom. I love you.”

Mom: “Love you too. You can do it! Go take a shower, you’ll feel better. Good luck.”

RING

Me: “Hi, Mom.”

Mom: “How did you know it was me?”

Me: “I have caller ID Mom.”

Mom: “Oh, that’s good. How are you feeling?”

Me: “I’m in a lot of pain. Still a half an hour left until I can take my pain medication.”

Mom: “You know, you should take the pain medication fifteen minutes to half an hour before the last pill wears off, that way you won’t be in pain until the next pill kicks in.”

Me: “Wait a minute. I think I remember telling you that when you were taking pain medication for your hip.”

Advice. Easier to give then apply to one’s own situation.

Mom: “You probably did. Just try it. In fact I’ll let you go so you can take it now. Love you.”

Me: “Thanks. Love you too mom. Call you Later.”

It’s funny how all the things that my mother endured are coming back to me, yet I’m seeing them from a new perspective. Her perspective. It got me to thinking about the power of empathy and doing a little research. I came across this video on Empathy by Brene’ Brown. It’s worth the 2 minute 54 second view. (She’s funny too!)

You can also follow Brene’ on twitter:

I think my knee injury has taught me a great lesson about the power empathy. It is one thing to care about your loved ones suffering (Sympathy). It is another to feel their suffering (Empathy).

Having to deal with similar challenges in the process of healing my injury lead me to feel what it was like for my mother to overcome the same hurdles. Right now I feel closer to my mom than ever…and that’s the beauty of empathy, it breeds deeper connections.

Setbacks in life always have hidden blessings…you just have to take a moment to recognize them.

Erin Cooper Reed

 

My Easter Shoe Shopping Bandits (Pre-Easter Antics Part 2)

On a warm, sunny April afternoon, back in 2007 (when My family and I lived in Charlotte, North Carolina) I loaded my boys into the minivan in hopes of tackling the buy one, get one half off sale at our local Payless Shoes Store. My boys went through sneakers at such a rate that taking advantage of a sale was the only way that I could keep them in shoes. Kevin was ten years old, Eric (aka Rocky) was eight and Marc had just turned five. As I write this I miss the pre Jordan and Lebron sneaker shopping days that were much easier on my wallet than they are today with a house full of picky, fashion minded teenagers.

When we arrived at Payless the parking lot was packed. Wow, this must be some sale I thought, forgetting that it was the Sunday before Easter. Once inside I noticed the store was filled with kids…little girls in their “Sunday Best”, straight from church hoping to select the perfect Easter shoes to wear on Easter Sunday. Charlotte is located in the bible belt where people take dressing up for church very seriously, I thought, but I was here on a mission to get my boys new sneakers.

Of course my excited boys went in three different directions scanning the racks of sneakers while calling out to me, “Mom, what size am I?” I struggled to help all three simultaneously, yet somehow managed to get everyone situated with a pair of sneakers to try on.

Kevin was being particularly selective as he had outgrown the appeal of the sneakers with popular Disney characters and super heroes. This was surely going to be Kevin’s last year of shopping at Payless Shoes.

As soon as I finished helping Rocky find the correct size, checking where his big toe was in his shoes and tying Marc’s sneakers, they both took off like a flash. They began running around the crowded and busy store, weaving in and out between the shoppers. I called theirs names to no avail and then resorted to chasing them both down, grabbing each one by the arm.

“Boys, you can not run around in the store!” I instructed.

“But Mom, we just wanted to see if our sneakers were fast enough…” Rocky replied.

“Well, obviously they are,” I stated. “No more running in the store. Let’s go find Kevin.”

To my surprise, Kevin had actually found a pair of sneakers that he liked and a second pair of shoes (Shoes that, unbeknownst to me, he would later glue wooden blocks onto to appear taller to a girl he liked).

Perfect, three pairs of sneakers, one pair of shoes, two pairs half price. I was aware that people were staring at us. I just wanted to get to the check out and get out of this crowded store.

The lines were long and I couldn’t wait until it was our turn to check out. Shopping with three kids was exhausting and I certainly had had enough. The boys put their shoes on the counter. Finally. It was almost over. As the cashier rang up each item, I watched to make sure the second pair of shoes rung up at half price. I paid, completed the transaction and turned to hand the boys the pile of bags.

They were nowhere in sight.

Oh God, where are they? “Kevin, Rocky, Marc!” I yelled directing everyone’s attention to me. I paused to slide my bank card into my wallet.

When I looked up, there they were. Kevin, Rocky and Marc standing at the front of the store with purses hanging on each of their bent arms and peds stockings over their heads and pulled down over their faces.

What in God’s name? They looked like they were about to rob the place. It crossed my mind to just pretend I didn’t know them…that they weren’t MY kids. Nah, too late, there wasn’t a person in the store that didn’t know that I was their mother.

I dragged an armful of bags off of the counter as I approached my boys.

“What are you doing? Take those peds off of your faces!” I demanded.

“What are peds?” Rocky inquired.

“Peds are small stockings that cover your feet so you can try on shoes if you’re not wearing any socks,” I heard myself say.

The boys stared at me as if what had I said made no sense. Never mind.

“But they’re free!” Marc blurted out.

Kevin added, “Yeah, they have little boxes of them at the end of every aisle.”

As they began taking the peds off, I noticed that not only were the purses that they were holding stuffed with peds, so were all of their pockets.

“And put ALL of those back!” I ordered as the show came to an end and the crowd of onlookers began to disperse.

When we got finally got in the car I said, “Well I guess we won’t be shopping at Payless again,” as I turned the key to the ignition.

“Thank God,” Kevin mumbled.

“Why not?” Rocky asked. “It was fun! I like that store!”

“Me too!” Marc replied.

I didn’t answer. In fact I didn’t say a word.

My Life, I swear…