Family Circus

No one can drive us crazy unless we give them the keys. - Doug Horton


I didn't know that Walmart sold hand-grenades

I once said, referring to my first-born daughter, that my Princess would be the child to pluck things out of my meticulously organized grocery cart and then smash them angrily on the linoleum floor of the store. I could almost hear the intercom page in my thoughts: "Redheaded, hot-tempered, fit-throwing toddler in Aisle 13 in need of a good, old-fashioned, tool-shed whipping". I just knew that it was her personality that was most suited to making a public spectacle of herself, undoubtedly in a Walmart. Little did I know that while I waited more than seven years for this spectacle, I would not be my Princess. It was my eternal infant, the miracle baby that would make me crave bushes to cower behind.

While on a trip to the store, I was doing what folks consider their Pet Peeve: parking my cart in the middle of the aisle. I did so mostly to annoy other customers just to keep my toddler out of reach of the fully-stocked shelves. Rosie seized the opportunity to grab a can of Vienna Sausages from the shelf nearby.

Before I could even make Rosie reconsider her grave decision, my toddler had the EZ Pull Ring in her teeth, gave the can a yank, then lobbed the can over her head as if tossing a live grenade.

I shook myself out of my waking nightmare, grabbed the two cans of sausages that Rosie had managed to pluck from the shelves, replaced them, while mumbling to myself that from that moment on, I would do no more shopping during my children's waking hours. I was through. Rosie was through. We got the heck-outta-dodge.


Erin: 31, Emcee. Witty redhead, handy with a whip.

DH: 30, Strong Man. Comedian, defender of virtue.

Halie: 7, Chimpanzee. Pulls teeth, loves bananas.

Catie: 5, Leaping Lemur. Gentle and cuddly, loves grapes.

Rosie: 2, Cappuccin. Flings poo, loves carrots.

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