Mom Talk: Scooby Dooby Doo, Where Are You?

You saw me, I know you did.  I was the mom in Target the other day with the three kids.  The baby was sitting up front of the carriage and only had one sock on.  My youngest daughter was in the back of the carriage crying because she had just dumped over her icee, and my oldest daughter was stomping behind us calling me the “Meanest Mommy EVER!” and telling me that I never listen to her.  I was the one pushing the carriage with a slightly dazed look on my face softly singing the Scooby Doo theme song.

Why was I singing the Scooby Doo theme song?  It was the only way to keep my sanity. 

I love my kids, and individually they are each different and wonderful, but I think sometimes they get together under cover of darkness and plot against me.  I am sure that they knew that just recently I had been boasting at work that they had really matured and had become easy to take out in public on my own. 

And yet, there I was explaining to my daughters that we do not need to buy things for them every time we go to the store.  My oldest was pointing to the carriage and pouting “Then why does the BABY always get something?”  She did not care for my attempt at a gentle explanation that it was baby formula, and he needs it to eat.  All she cared was he was getting something and it was not fair that she was not.  My younger daughter currently does not need much of a reason to cry about anything, so she was wailing right along. 

Baby One Sock, The Pouter and The Wailer, not super heroes or members of the X-Men… just my kids, acting up for everyone to see. 

During this time people walked by, some seeing us in the aisle, and turning their own carts around, and the occasional sympathetic look from another mom.  I wanted to yell, “I am not a bad Mom.  Really I am not!” Then I got angry.  “Who are these people to judge me?  Let them try taking three tired kids out on errands at the end of the day.”  Then I got defensive.  “My kids are awesome, and these people just are jumping to conclusions that I am a lousy mom and my kids are brats.”  Then I got real.  These people were not thinking about me or my kids the second we were out of their sight.  They all have their own lives and problems to deal with.  (Truthfully, it took a little longer to obtain the “getting real” status.)

We made it through the check-out and the kids started to beg to go to the play area.  I hate the play area in the mall.  I think it is dirty and boring, but my kids love it.  I will deal with it in the winter, but once the weather is nice, I refuse.  They can play outside when we get home.  The pouting started and the wailing started.  But, I soldiered on to the van, all the while singing, “Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you?  We got some work to do now…”