Mel Gibson and diabetes

While I like to remain anonymous-ish here I have to reveal that my Scottish ancestors were watching the events that unfolded on a recent grocery shopping trip with a mixed amount of interest and pride.

First a lesson in Scots culture, most specifically Boulder Tossing in the Highland Games.  Basic idea, you get one big, heavy, muthah of a rock and throw it.  Here is a video clip (with terrible sound) to illustrate the idea.

It is hard, at least I assume so.  I have never tried boulder or caber tossing, but either way I might be raising a perfect athlete for it in the Beans.

It all started out like any other Wednesday grocery shopping trip.  I had my detailed list in hand, my coupons, and the desperate plan to get in and out before the Beans lost his cool.  And like every other Wednesday, none of it went according to plan.

Some highlights before we get to his potentially bright future with a boulder or a caber ...

• Daddy, AKA Paul Bunyan, let him ride in one of those evil car-carts at a store as a special treat.  So now when he sees one he knows that all of Mommy's lies about "its broken" are just that -- lies.  Thanks Daddy.  So cue the screaming hysterics when I put him in a normal car that actually turns and isn't possessed.
• His legs are the exact length that my arms rest at while pushing the cart.  This means unless I have my arms locked out straight he can kick me.  Soooo if I am thinking and slightly distracted, wham!  My uterus takes one for the team.  Poor uterus.
• My kid is Stretch Armstrong.  Seriously I have no idea how in the hell he can reach either side of the aisle when I walk down the middle, but he can!  
• Grocery stores that insist on putting fifty little in-aisle displays on every damn aisle deserve to clean up the resulting mess when I run into half of them.  

When I got home I sent Paul Bunyan a text that read "that was without a doubt the Bean's worst scene in the grocery store yet."  And it was.  Need evidence?

This poor Chex box got in his way.  Then he realized that all that cinnamony goodness was inside and had I not given him some he would have pretty much sonic-boom-bat-shrieked the ceiling down on us.  Yes, bad mom, I gave him some.  But I made him ask first.

Me: Do you want some Chex?

Beans: MIIIIIIIIIIINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: If you want Chex you need to ask me. *silent prayer he just says please*

Beans: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!! *covers hands over face and makes a pathetic weeping noise, then throws head back and screams* MMMMIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEE CHICK!!!! (Which is how "Chex" sounds when he says it)

Me: Can you say please? *glancing around at all the people staring at us*

Beans: AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Pleeeeaaaase, can you please say please?! (Yes, I know I am begging, but don't pretend you wouldn't be!)

Beans: MINE WEESE?!

Me: Oh yay, good boy!

And I promptly kept his mouth as busy as possible while I rushed through the last of my shopping.  But at the meat counter, we had out Scots moment.  I was agonizing over how one picks a pork shoulder -- seriously do not send the vegetarian to do this stuff man! -- and went to put it in the cart.  I didn't have room so I set the vacuum sealed boulder of meat it in the kid seat next to Beans so I could move stuff to put it in the back when he starts picking up a ten pound shoulder to throw it out of the cart.

No shit, I think the only thing missing was a kilt and Mel Gibson screaming "Freedom!"

By the time we got to the check out counter and he threw the box of open cereal at the guy bagging I figured no one would possibly judge me for drinking at 10:30 in the morning when I got home.  When the box exploded and cinnamon Chex few everywhere, attracting the attention of the few who had not yet been staring at us, I wondered why the hell I hadn't started drinking before I left the house (insert responsible statement here about how I would never drive after drinking).

The clerk asked if I wanted another box, and since that was on the other side of the store and the supreme nuclear meltdown of epic proportions was in full swing I politely declined and got the hell out of there.

Of course, for as exhausting as it all was for me, no one was more tired or victimized by this ordeal than the Beans himself.  So like 14 seconds into the drive home when the screaming suddenly stopped I pulled over in a panic, sure that I was about to need to do emergency procedures of some sort on my child.  But no, I run leap into the backseat to find this.

He was actually snoring.

Note the cinnamon and sugar?

Yes, and that is how grocery shopping with my little Scotsman will likely lead to my arrest and his development of diabetes.