I Tried to Be Good

"Wanna go shopping now?" I asked Son2, who'd overnighted with us and was spending the day on the plains.

"Sure, sounds good!"

So I hit the road with Son2 and the SugarPlum, and we shopped for more than an hour without me doing a single idiotic thing. The produce section is always the last stop before the check-out, and I eyed that vegetable misting system which got me into hot water with Son3, thinking to myself, "I've made it through the whole store without humiliating this one." When they live with you, they're stuck with your antics. The grown ones, though, can choose whether or not they're going to subject themselves to this and how often.

I kept my eye on those large, red, steel pillars as we exited the store, and as an insurance policy, I'd given the SugarPlum a couple of quarters, so she could ride the pony on a pedestal. If I didn't make it to the van without incident, Son2 would never know, as he was overseeing his little girl's ride into the wild blue nowhere.

With a cart overflowing -- sure can cram a lot of stuff in the cart in an hour -- I was loading the last few sacks when Son2 and SugarPlum reached the van, so he manned those bags for me, while I walked to the driver's side to poke the paper towels into the center of the van.

Just as I slid between my van and the little red sports car, the annoying blewwhh - blewwhh - blewwhh- ... of the car alarm sounded loudly in my ear, so I knew people in the huge parking lot had to be looking at me. Drawing attention to myself is one of my most dreaded and avoided situations.

Maybe it was the sense of security I feel when in the company of my grown sons which allowed me to display a nonchalant attitude about having set off the alarm on that little red sports car. "La-la," I thought. "What sort of nutcase set their alarm to sound in a parking lot if someone came within 2 feet of their car? The car's not all that cute anyway. I don't care if it blares till the cows come home!" And as long as that thing had been going off, there was probably at least one cow about to make it.

Then I heard from the other side of the van, where Son2 was strapping in SugarPlum, "Mom, that's you."

"What?"

"That's you."

"What's me?"

"That's your car."

"Oh," and I just started trotting...to nowhere. Where's that stiff pony when you need it!? I needed to get away from that noise and from all the faces staring at me.

Fortunately, Son2 trapped me near the rear of my van and grabbed for my purse, where he'd spied my keyless entry thing dangling from the little snappety thing, where I can get to it easily, and apparently where I'd squeezed it when I lifted those paper towels from the cart. In a dizzied daze, I watched as he poked a button that said PANIC. Panic -- hey, that's an appropriate label.

He'll be back, because I fed him a juicy, char-grilled burger and baked him cookies. I don't know, though, what'll happen if I ask, "Hey, you wanna go shopping?"

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. ~Psalms 91:1-4