Me, too.

CORRECTION - What precautions can be taken to prevent a similar incident?

The response to this section of report regarding my sexual assault reads: “I have spoken with Tori about what she can do if such an incident occurs in the future and encouraged her to report such incidents to me within 24 hours. Tori filed a police report and the perpetrator admitted guilt. Tori is not pressing charges, but the perpetrator has been banned from mall property.”

Now, I know this wasn’t done in malice… I love the author and honestly think she meant no harm, but it made me mad enough to quit. Only, my resignation was not accepted. So because this response is so infuriating, how about some real suggestions that would be a better “CORRECTION”:

1. We can speak to our security team about making rounds past the store at closing and making sure that we provide a visual or verbal signal that all is well.
2. We can, as a team, designate a secondary “code word” to be used in the instance we are uncomfortable using the mall’s safe word because the assailant is a fellow mall employee who is familiar with the security safe word. This can be texted to the group and someone can call security on our behalf. Additionally, we could communicate this safe word to our security team so if we need to call them ourselves, we have an alternate option.
3. Individually, we could invest in keychain mace or a panic alarm. Or better yet, since we are often required to work alone, we could keep an air horn/panic alarm beneath the register for such an occasion where pushing the silent alarm is inappropriate but making a loud noise to attract the attention of help or startle the offender would be effective.
4. In a meeting, we could review self defense techniques and even arrange a training session with CMPD. In fact, we could speak to CMPD about offering a self defense course open to any mall employee who would like to attend.

And while we're at it…

DO OTHER EMPLOYEES PERFORMING SIMILAR JOBS NEED TO BE TRAINED ALSO?

The official answer to this: “Yes, all staff members will be trained and advised on how to handle situations where customers are harassing and/or making inappropriate advances.”

My answer to this?

We have created a plan to increase our overall safety and awareness as well as openly discussed the support resources available at the store level, corporate level and privately. We have assured our team that their safety and comfort is important to us and reminded them that ideally we would hope they report such incidents to us within 24 hours.

I know it might seem like semantics to some, but in order to be part of the solution, we have to stop making sexual assault the responsibility of the victim. I refuse to take responsibility for someone else’s offenses. I will, however, take responsibility for educating, protecting and healing myself. The proper corrective action? If there is a next time, I’m leaving him bloodied in the floor. And we can revisit the blood borne pathogens policy while I’m waiting for bail money.

Thoughts On Mending

I was never a boy-crazy girl. I didn't plan my wedding, name my children or doodle Mrs. Tori ____ on my notebooks. I didn't really notice boys like the other girls did... and maybe part of it was that I wasn't really noticed by boys. Even when I started to turn their heads, I still just didn't really notice. I "dated" a little, in the sense that I talked on the phone and passed notes but it never crossed my mind that any boy I'd met would end up part of my forever.

But eventually I started getting the hang of the dating thing. I held hands with a couple of boys and I got my first kiss quite by surprise when I was 15. I began to see their intrigue and I promptly removed myself from every situation which I felt could turn into more than I was willing to give. And I wasn't willing to give anything.

The first boy I ever fell for took me by surprise. I didn't think I really caught his eye at the party, but when a mutual friend called to tell me he was adamant that he see me again, well... I let it get me. This cool, cute, fun, older and very sought after guy wanted ME?! Wow. Just. Wow.

So we went on a date and this began my first actual relationship. And we had fun. We would hang out together watching tv or blowing bubbles or listening to music. He took me to movies and to the prom... and it never crossed my mind that he would ever hurt me.

So when he coaxed me to find a way to come to this college party his friends were having, I lied to my dad and went. Two hours away and every mile filling me with dread, I realized I had made a huge mistake. I didn't drink, I definitely didn't do drugs and I wanted to go home more than I had ever wanted before. But when you're the 16 year old girl accompanying the 20 year old guy to his friends' soiree? You grin and bear it. So I did for a while. But the illicit behavior got to me and I exiled myself to the truck. And that's where he found me, him completely wasted on everything he had taken and me unable to stop him.

Nineteen years and a grown daughter later, I can finally come to terms with the reality that this event scarred me on a level I never saw coming. It made me cold to romantic love. Because, you see, the only person I had fallen for let me shatter on the ground. Then he left the pieces laying there, never understanding how they broke in the first place. It's been nineteen years and I will die before he acknowledges his offense.

I have known for a while that I allowed terrible men to treat me horribly because I felt like I deserved to be punished for just being who I am. I have known that I settled for men I had no intention of loving because I felt they couldn't hurt me - I was wrong, by the way. But it hasn't been until recently that I have really accepted that I actually shut down a long time ago. It wasn't the act itself. That left me feeling dirty, ashamed and like I deserved every bad thing that could possibly happen to me. No, it was the betrayal. The fact that someone who I loved and who was supposed to love me could inflict such unspeakable pain, horror and shame on me. That they could take something so precious without a second thought. And that they must have never really loved me at all.

And how could I have been so blind? So stupid? So foolish? How could I be as smart as I think I am and still be taken for a fool?

I don't know that it's a fear of loving someone or being loved that keeps my heart hardened to the possibility of a real loving relationship... I think it's the fear of being played for a fool. Sometimes betrayal hurts more than loneliness. There's never a guarantee that anything will work out. And there are still a lot of people out there just itching for the chance to see me in a jester cap.

I was broken a long time ago and it's taken me more than most people could even comprehend to even like myself at all, let alone feel as though I deserve good things in life. But I am a beautiful mosaic of life lessons and failures, laced with love and hope and bound together by optimism and determination. I may still be working on breaking through my own barriers, but I'm getting there.

I know my heart works because it hurts sometimes. Maybe I'll figure out how to bypass the shutdown, maybe I won't. But I needed to be honest with myself about the origin so that maybe it will no longer hold any power over my heart. Not every man hurts the woman who loves him. And I'm finally starting to believe that men are capable of love, too... also something that I'm almost ashamed to admit I never realized. I was always under the impression that love is weakness and only women are weak emotionally. The reality is, those who love are the strong ones.

It's time that I give myself the strength to rise above the hurt, the fear, the betrayal and the misconception that I'm not worthy of a happily ever after.

I don't usually make new year's resolutions... but perhaps I should saunter into 2018 without the baggage from 1998. I'm at least going to try.

A thought...

I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. I own that. I actually own my past more than most people are willing to accept. I will openly discuss my life story and I will give my experience based advice when asked, but it took me a long time to get to this point. I wasn't always proud of myself and I didn't always have a reason to be.

However, one thing I've learned is that we are who we are. We all make mistakes and those mistakes - along with our successes and how we handle our failures - they shape who we are. And for the first time in forever, I like who I am.

18 years ago, I lost my standing with my family. They didn't care that I really was a good student who had abstained from boys, they never cared that I was taken advantage of in a moment where I had let my better judgement slip. All they saw was shame. They were quick to tell me how worthless I had made myself and what a horrible mother I would be if I made the incredibly selfish decision of keeping my baby. I kept her anyway. And we fought. We fought like hell.

Time marched on and because impressionable young women tend to absorb the nasty opinions of those who matter to her, I fell completely into the mentality that I was no good. No one would ever want me, I didn't deserve nice things in life, I could never work hard enough to prove I was a worthy human being. So I made decisions based on that fallacy of worthlessness. I allowed myself to be paired with men who honestly did not deserve me. I allowed people to talk down to me. I allowed myself to be battered and bruised mentally, physically and emotionally. I lost my true identity because I believed that I was the person 96% of the world held no hesitation telling me they thought I was.

So I made mistakes. God, I made mistakes. I did things I can never take back. I aimed the path of my life into the dark and charged forward feeling like whatever pain and failure I absorbed along the way was exactly what I deserved for going to that party that one night... and having my virginity stolen. Dangerous relationships, suicidal behaviors, extreme depression and when I reached out I was slapped down with the assumption that I deserved everything that was coming to me.

One day, far later than I care to admit, I realized that I am not a victim. Yes... I have been victimized, many times, in fact, but I AM NOT A VICTIM. I made choices, not great ones sometimes, but it is never too late to be the person you want to be. And I didn't want to be unhappy anymore. I didn't want to hate life. I didn't want to continue to allow people to have outdated opinions of my worth and give them any stronghold to that mentality.

So I opened my mouth and I spoke. I started talking. Not really about the people who I allowed myself to engage with or how badly they had hurt me or in all honesty, how I was so unfeeling that I didn't hurt at all anymore. I opened up about kindness. About love. About hope. About self worth. About how you can't change even one moment of your past but you can direct every moment of your present and step by step work toward being the best you in every moment. And about how you should treat those who need grace. And an amazing thing happened...

Real people connected with me. People who felt worthless and needed someone to tell them that they have the final say. People who struggle with depression who needed someone to help them cope with their demons. People who were shrugged off when they tried to seek help for cutting. People who needed to hear that there is hope. People who needed to hear it from someone like me.

I still have family who thinks I am a terrible person. Some just think I'm lazy and a bad mother. There will never be anything that I can do to change their opinions. And that's their issue. Not mine. I still have to deal with the ramifications of not carefully selecting the men who fathered my children. But I'm wise enough to know that the high road is the only route worth taking. I still struggle with the fear of losing everything. But I work very hard to give myself and my children the very best chance. I still slip into depression sometimes and when I do, I feel like a hypocrite. But that's okay, too.

The reality is: it doesn't matter to me what my father's brother thinks. It doesn't matter to me how old school acquaintances might talk about me. It doesn't matter to me if a stranger who has never met me feels like I'm a whore or uneducated or should be forever alone. I'm not here for them. I'm here for every person who has people like them mounting up and they're suffocating under the pressure. I'm here for my children. Those lives that I brought into this world and those humans who will go forth and spread the legacy I instill in them.

And when I foolishly allow myself to slip into the mentality that I am not good enough... I need someone like me to snap me out of those chains and remind me that I know who I am. And who I am is worthy.

Your past does not define your ability to alter your future. Weak moments do not make you a weak person. Whether you've struggled a moment, a day, a month or years... just know that you are worthy. The only person who can alter the course of your life is you. And people will either encourage you, lift you up and help guide you... or they won't. Sometimes a path has to be travelled alone. Don't let anyone's opinions chain you. Take back control of you.

If you need silver linings, you know where to find me. A dose of hard truth and clear direction does wonders for a clouded reflection.

Seeing clearly.

Much love, y'all.

Vaulting To Obscene Conclusions

I got a very concerning call today. My son, my fourth child, my baby, my wild at heart and not afraid to show it kid... well, he's in preK now. And this mama was happy - is happy - isn't as happy as she could be... Let me preface this story by telling you that yesterday his brand new PAW Patrol nap mat came in and he just couldn't wait to take it to school this morning. He shoved it in his happy monster backpack and skipped happily into school.

Around 3pm today his teacher calls. I was at work so I missed the first few tries but immediately called her back when I got a moment.

"Hi, I missed a call..."

"Oh, yes, is this Levi's mom?"

"Yes... is everything okay?"

"Well... hum... were you aware *snark* that Levi has feces in his backpack?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Feces. You know. *hushed* Poop."

"No, I heard what you said, just... what? I mean, are you sure? And no... of course I had no idea."

"Yes, well, we pulled his nap mat out of his backpack and there is feces all in the bottom. It's smeared all over everything."

*raging* "I just can't understand how something like this could have happened. I mean, *gah* this is absolutely maddening and I don't even know what to tell you. I'll replace his folder and wash everything."

"Well, we have codes and regulations and everything has to be thrown away."

"Thrown away? No... that nap mat literally came in the mail yesterday morning. I JUST ordered it off of Amazon."

"I know.. he was so excited when he pulled it out. He told me all about his new nap mat. But, it's a health hazard and we can't have it in the classroom. I have his backpack balled up in a trash bag by the door. And he HAS to have a sheet on his mattress. He can't be sleeping on a mattress with no blanket because we could get fined... you could get fined. I mean, since he's your kid..."

"Are you freakin kidding me? I sent him to school with a brand new nap mat..."

"Well, there's feces on it and he can't have it in the school..."

"I need you to send it all home for me to wash..."

"He needs a new backpack and blanket... they really need to be thrown away... do you have another..."

"I mean, I can look for another backpack but he loves his monster one and I'd really like to see if I can wash it. And that mat is BRAND NEW. I'm not throwing it away. Are you SURE it's poop??"

"Well, it's brown and it smells and, well, yes... it's poop"

"I just don't even know how this could have happened *insert rant about having been a stay at home mom and how I've never in 17 years of kids ever dealt with this and this is the first time since I started back to work in January that I've felt serious guilt about not being there for my kid...*

"Well, I asked him if his pets play in his backpack or if he defecated in his backpack..."

"I can't even imagine that being the case... I mean, I'll get to the bottom of it and I'm going to have some very intense conversations with the people in my house but I'm just so angry that I could punch a wall."

"Well, kids do strange things... it's a new experience and they often have accidents and occasional bad days..."

"I get that, but when's the last time you had a kid bring a backpack of shit to school?"

*crickets* "Uhm..."

"Yeah. Exactly. This is a huge issue and I need to figure out whats going on."

"Well, ma'am, don't let this phone call ruin your day... it's just a courtesy to let you know that there was an issue."

"So you'll send his stuff home?"

*sigh* "He will have to keep it in the trash bag but yes... if that's what you want... but you'll have to send a different backpack and blanket tomorrow."

End call.

I'm livid. Like, crying hot tears of "what the hell could possibly be going on with my 4 year old son that he takes a shit in his backpack" livid. I'm plotting to cover up the murders of anyone responsible for watching my son in the last 48 hours. I'm trying to get my brain around the potential scenarios in which this is even a - thing. Did he zip a cat up in his backpack overnight? (Strangely, the most likely option...) Did he just say "yeah, I think I'll drop a load right here in my backpack."? Did Sophie play a malicious trick on him after walking Frankie? (*mwahaha see if little brother pulls my hair after THIS...) No matter how you slice it, I've got a problem on my hands and 30 minutes before I get off work so I can start sleuthing.

5 minutes later... *ring ring*

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ms Binkley? This is Ms. X, Ms C's assistant..."

"Yes...?"

"Uhm... I'm just calling to tell you that, uh, I checked again because Ms C said 'are you sure, because this mama is really upset about this...' so I took it down to the custodian for a second opinion and we don't think it's poop...'

"really..."

"Well, he said that it looks like a piece of food or fruit. But he said it's definitely not poop."

Then it hits me. "It's an orange."

"Yeah, he said it's an orange."

"No, I know it's an orange. It must've gotten squished in his backpack when he tried to shove that whole nap mat in. I saw an orange in there at the end of last week and it must've not ever made it out."

"Yeah, now, his stuff still needs to be cleaned, but I'm glad you didn't want it thrown out..."

"That makes so much more sense... thank you for calling because I was about to have some unkind words to say to some folks."

Fast forward to my son getting off the bus:

"Hey, baby boy! How was school?"

"Good... 'cept my teacher said I pooped in my backpack and we have to throw everything away. I'm sorry, mama... I really liked my new PAW Patrol nap mat..."

It's now that my blood begins to boil over again... *deep breaths*

So I left this all alone while we ate pizza and watched a movie. Then my first load of laundry finished and I went to open this *just rank enough to pass for poop* backpack. I'm expecting some beyond gone piece of citrus, something that was so unidentifiable that a teacher felt the need to call me and just, ya know, check to see if I was aware that I had sent my kid trotting off to school with Mr Hankey in tow.

This is what I found:

A. Fucking. Smooshed. Orange.

I'm seething.

It even smells like an orange. An orange of questionable ripeness, but an orange all the same.

So here I was, 3 hours earlier, considering the implications of my beautiful, bouncy boy being in need of some serious mental evaluation... and then I realize... My son was TOLD by the TEACHER that he pooped in his backpack and had to throw away his beloved monster backpack and brand new nap mat that he chose on Amazon and waited for and couldn't contain his love and excitement for when in reality, he's a 4 year old who snuck a clementine and didn't quite grasp the concept of what happens when you sit on it. My happy baby doesn't understand why she told him he pooped in his backpack because "mahmah I wouldn' do dat. I lub my backpack!" He's been made to think he did something really wrong and even after they realized their mistake, they didn't correct it with my son. If I hadn't been so upset, they would've thrown out his stuff without a second thought. They would have kept it in the record that there was poop in his bag. There is so much wrong with this that I have a headache.

So here I sit now... 

Gathering my thoughts to compose a saccharine yet very pointed email to the teacher who decided that this - this orange squish with peel intact - must be poop. And felt the need to question my awareness of it... as if I would say "oh, yeah, he's named it and all so I figured it'd be alright for lil lug nut to share with his friends... that silly kid... always poopin' in stuff... har de har..."

17 years. over 20 schools. 2 countries. 3 states. And I have never. never. never been made to feel like such an absent parent. And all because they can't be bothered to move the damn folder and see things for what they clearly are.

Moral of this story: When making harsh accusations with steep consequences... triple check.

And don't let your grade schooler take squishable fruit to school.

Hi, haters!

Hi, everyone!! Yeah, I know... it's been a while since I've blogged on this side of things. I guess I finally just felt that pull to say something.

That something is this:

Yep. That.

See, I've started working again. Some of you know that, some of you may have no clue what has been going on in my life. Either way, all you really need to know is that I've been at this particular job for about 7 months now. And I love it. (I'm also really, really good at it.) In all honesty, I feel a sort of commitment to this company because they gave me a chance. After being a stay at home mom for 8 years, people pretty much blew me off. But not them. Nope. They said "do you have management experience?" I said "no..." and they replied "staying at home with 4 kids for 8 years definitely qualifies as management experience." So here I am, slayin' the retail game because I've been given the opportunity to show 'em what I'm made of. And, man. I'm made of good stuff.

But when you come into the game and show up the veteran players, not everyone is going to be thrilled with you. And, well, that's exactly how this blog comes to be.

I have this co-worker - let's call her "V" (ha! It's funny).  V doesn't like me. Why not, you ask? Well... maybe because: My numbers are better. Colleagues like me better. Customers like me better. I'm a pleasure to be around at work. She constantly hears compliments about me. My name is consistently showing up in district shout outs. And, well, she pretty much sucks at her job. She didn't speak to me for 4 hours because my boyfriend hugged and kissed me goodbye before work. She doesn't have the best relationship... and my kissing a Puerto Rican makes it hard for her claim that I'm racist (because she's Puerto Rican) to stick.

So V likes to assert her authority by doing anything in her power to make me look bad. Writing petty notes. Sending petty emails. Setting me up (and failing miserably). Talking trash about me to customers and other management teams. She exerts so much time and energy trying to throw me under the bus that she has nothing left to put toward things that really matter. Thing is, higher ups still love me and my numbers keep rising.

Because:

And she's over here like:

And I'm all:

And she's all:

And then I'm all:

Because the best way to deal with haters is to just do you. After all... isn't that what's getting all the attention? I guess the reason for this narrated pictorial is that I know there are other people on the verge of losing it on a co-worker and hoping "crime of passion" sticks. To you I say, "just breathe". No one can fight without an opponent and I refuse to be her sparring partner, just as you should rise above the pettiness of your own "V". Some people insist on making sure they keep on throwing out that noose rope... some people insist on weaving it from scratch. But you just let them hang themselves. No reason why you should end up with rope burn.

In the end:

So remember:

And I'm focused on gold.

Y'all have a great night... and don't let the haters drag you down. Keep right on smiling and give them one more thing to hate about their miserable existence.

I'm ready to talk

Just a few things I've survived:

bullying
date rape
teenage pregnancy
cutting
crippling depression
self loathing
abusive relationships
abortion
poisoning
suicide attempts
homelessness
custody threats
anorexia
financial ruin
reposession
miscarriage
injury
cancer
unexpected hysterectomy
moving 12 times in 10 years
divorces
losing everything I owned. Twice.
...and everything else up to this point.

I've survived. I've lived through things that should've taken my life. I've moved past things that could've stolen my joy. I've risen above things that tried their hardest to push me down.

In those moments, when I was in the thick of it all, I couldn't see past the hurt, the fear, the anger. But all those things eventually faded away and I became better for it. I'm older now, wiser, more mature and experienced. I'm well versed in pain and I'm accustomed to disappointment and the vicious twists life can take. But I survive. I will never stop being that person who seeks out the silver linings in the storm clouds. I will never stop hoping that there is a happy ending to my story. If I'm silent, it's because I'm searching for the words... because I've learned that no one can twist the words you didn't say.

I've been asked repeatedly if I will write a book, My story, they say, is riveting, one that grips your attention and elicits amazement because to know me you would never imagine such things haven't spun me into the monster you'd expect from these type of experiences. I've contemplated a book, and always thought I hesitated because of the backlash that would encourage from those people in my life who don't want their dirty stories told. Truth is, I hesitate now because my story isn't over yet. There is more.

But I am finally ready to begin to tell the story of how I became the person I am, imperfectly perfect.  I know I've been quiet lately, but I think it's time. I may or may not go in order, I haven't decided. But if I've learned anything about the life I've lived, it's that I've lived to share my stories. There are countless people who have the same ones, yet don't know that they, too, can survive. You need to know you can survive. Life is short, pain is hard, and joy is within our reach.

So bear with me as I open the vault of my experiences and dredge up realities that just might make you believe there is hope for the hopeless. Much love.

This damn toddler...

I hate being mom.

It had to be said.  Now, I don't REALLY hate being mom, but right this minute? Right this minute it seems like a real load of crap.

Let's review the last, oh, say, 18 hours... not completely, I'm sure, and a bit out of order perhaps, but everything I'm about to tell you is real.

Dinner is a fight. Well, not always, sometimes I can make a meal that a family of 6 (7 depending on the day) is perfectly happy with, but most nights there is an audible distaste for whatever veggie I am forcing my children to ingest. I cook, I serve, I retrieve whatever might be necessary (albeit with the occasional assistance of a most wonderful man) and then I sit down to attempt to eat. The toddler never wants whats on his plate, he wants whats on mine. But he wants to eat it while sitting in my lap. He wants orange juice, drank from my cup - of course, so he dumps my water into his cup and then later proceeds to spit into both his and my cups. Why? Why does a toddler do anything? The kindergartener never wants whats on her plate but she will eat from her brother's, who is eating from mine, so... why not. She also likes to announce, repeatedly, what on the table she doesn't want to eat and follow dinner with a request for something to eat.

Bathtime is a fun one... The littles typically are bathed together but this practice is most certainly becoming obsolete as one likes to sit on the other and there is a lot of hair pulling and water dumping and general asinine shenanigans.  Last night? Pretty good, overall... the night before? Well, the preteen didn't want to clean the poop off the toddler pre-bath so the kindergartener screamed her objection (understandable) to bathing with "poop flakes". Mom to the rescue.

Bedtime stories are a must, reading is important and part of this mom's priorities... and last night we read 5. Yes, 5... only to have toddler fall asleep somewhere around the 8th page of the last book and must be carried to bed, waking with a start and a banshee scream when he realizes mommy isn't the one holding him anymore. Kindergartener gets in bed and finds THE book she had put aside for tonight's reading... and somehow gets irked when mom says "tomorrow". But the 2, 5 and 12 year olds were all in bed tucked in snugly by 8 or 8:30 so I'm not complaining about that.

Until around 10:30 when a cry comes from the littles' room. Kindergartener is kicking toddler in the head in the process of climbing off the top bunk. I grab her and take her from the room (because toddler is miraculously sleeping through this) and figure out that she's on the verge of peeing herself... but has made it this far without ACTUALLY peeing herself, so I sit her on the potty. Her eyes are still closed because, folks, she's still asleep. She pees, I hand her toilet paper, she wipes and....... hands it back to me. Well, alrighty. I put her back in bed... which might not seem like much, but hoisting 60 lbs of dead weight onto a top bunk silently is a talent rarely possessed.

I settle back in for more Netflix with my honey and another cry comes from the littles' room.  I crack the door to see what's going on only to find that no one is crying. I stand for a minute to be sure and right before my eyes, toddler slides off the bottom bunk and crashes head first into the floor. I pick him up, put him back, kiss his head and all is well.

Now, in the mornings, I sneak into littles' room to wake kindergartener without waking toddler. It's like playing Russian roulette with 5/6 loaded. So this means that unless I want to drag a kicking, screaming, demanding small brick of irritation with me to the bus stop, I get kindergartener up, dressed and ready without so much as a creak of a floorboard. Most mornings I'm pretty good at this. This morning, success. (This morning, only success of the week. And it's Thursday.) Luckily, wonderful man took kindergartener and preteen to the bus stop today so mommy didn't have to (even though I've been letting preteen walk kindergartener more often now since I can see the bus stop from the window and kindergartener's bus comes before preteen's... 6:30am is too early for a bra.).

But just as they walked out the door? Toddler awakens.

*sigh*

And then teenager oversleeps.

And then toddler and mommy get dressed to take teenager to school. I need gas in the car, so I stop at the gas station and go in to use my rewards ($0.30 off per gallon, ya know) and the attendant -ugh- don't get me started... heifer stole my coupon and told me I'd get the 30 cents per gallon back on my card. Lies. That's not how this works. Lies. So this debacle caused us to arrive 2 minutes late and find that we would have to drag toddler into the high school to sign teenager in... so mommy makes the executive decision to have chicken minis from Chick-fil-a first. Never attack the day without coffee. I should've known better.

As we're eating breakfast, toddler decides the play area isn't climb-y enough, but that mama, who is attempting to eat her food, makes a perfect ladder... and proceeds to stand on my back, shoulder, wedge his way between me and the seat and dig his tiny elbow into my shoulder.... so he earned himself a swat on the rear and mama's stern talking to. The couple behind me told me I was doing a good job and that they're happy to see my discipline him... and I take it as a compliment because after nearly 16 years and 4 kids of parenting I'm pretty good at deciphering a genuine compliment from a condescending remark. We leave, take teenager to school and have an hour before story time at the library. So mommy decides to go to Old Navy.

While the actual roaming of the store part was not terrible, the checking out part was. Why, Old Navy, WHY do you keep that overflowing container of various sporting balls at your register? Don't you know that a grumpy, sleepy toddler is bound to pick one up and be hell bent determined to take it home? And when mama says no, over and over and OVER again and she tries to put the ball back only to have 3 fall and toddler pick another up and and AND vicious cycle...... Well, your cashiers know. So a hand slap and stroller confinement got us out of there... But I did buy a white cardigan and 2 bottles of sparking fruit water. Which brings me to the parking lot.

Yeah. I see you, first time mom with 4 month old baby. She's cute now and I know you can't imagine her EVER having to be held down while you strap her into her car seat as she pinches you and proceeds to bite your hand while screaming at the top of her lungs. Judge away. But this *circles pointer finger around this whole situation* THIS is what every toddler looks like at some point. And the fact that I kept my cool and calmly handled my hellion's tantrum may say less about my resolve to be on my personal best behavior and more about my proximity to my snapping point. So I put away the stroller and sit in the driver's seat, not going anywhere until the rhythmic shrieks from the back seat level closer to tolerable and I cracked open my fruit water. Not terrible. And then it begins... The demands. I calmly tell the back seat terrorist that he must as me nicely and then I will open his water. We're at a stalemate. Until he throws the cup of iced coffee remnants at me. (I had given him the ice from my iced coffee when we left breakfast and it had melted a bit while we were in the store.) I'm pretty sure I actually said the words "Aw HELL no..." out loud this time. He got a swat on the leg and I decided waiting for the screams to subside was akin to waiting for the flood to cease before seeking higher ground.

So... library's out.

He screamed at me all the way home.

Finally, he has a moment of clarity and in his sweetest "this is why I'm still alive" voice, asks me politely for his sparking fruit water. The red. Carbonated. Fruit water. Which I opened. Holding the bag with my new white cardigan in it... only to find that he had shaken the bottle. *sigh* I hand him the bottle after it stops fizzing and retreat to my room to assess the potential damage. Not bad. Not bad at all.......... So while I'm back there anyway, I figure it's a good time to pee. Before I even get firmly planted, the door swings open and there are toddler and fur child (the dog) both staring intently at my urination experience. Veteran moms know peeing with an audience is sometimes the only option, so I finish up. Before I even flush, fur child is whining because toddler has a firm grip on his rear leg. After several minutes of "let go of his leg" "he yikes it" "no, he doesn't like it, he's going to bite you" "*giggle* he no bite me"... I shoo toddler out of my bedroom and try to love fur child by feeding him because I know all to well how dealing with toddler makes you feel the overwhelming need to eat something... and then I walk into the kitchen where this kid has poured the entire bottle of red soda stuff into a cup and is now pouring it BACK into the bottle...... because we're in our "I do it" stage of development where EVERYTHING HITS THE FLOOR. So. 2/3 of this bottle of overpriced water stuff is puddling on the kitchen table and in the floor and in the chair where a distressed toddler is unhappy because HIS. FOOT. IS. STICKY.

He's now asleep beside me on the couch as I type this. Thank the good Lord. It could be worse. Ya know, like yesterday when at this very time, he dumped out every toy he has and proceeded to throw blocks and train pieces at my head repeatedly out of anger (why you mad, kid?) and then fight a nap to the point I just locked the door to his room and watched an episode of Frasier.

Have I mentioned how much I LOVE being mom?