Sometimes I Eat Dinner at Zellers

There are two emotional states that can assist one greatly in the epic journey of parenting.  

Patience.  And its quiet second cousin, surrender.  

I’m not particularly good at either.

Patience is required those times you want to scream to the hills when your children won’t do what you want.  But you don’t.  Instead you steep in your sky-rocketing blood pressure.   You sigh heavily.  You curse silently (or at least very quietly).    

Surrender follows.  Surrender is when you find yourself doing things that shatter all you know to be true about yourself. 

Take last Friday night.

My husband was away for the weekend.  I was geared up for a weekend of single-parenting.  After a busy few weeks of work, I was looking forward to some uninterrupted time with my daughters.   

I picked the girls up after work.  We did a quick run to Zellers to get a few essentials, as we often do.  What followed was the usual series of events when we go shopping.  You know, me insisting that we ‘stick together’ and the kids ignoring me. The kids running around like banshees with those seemed-like-a-fun-idea-at-first little shopping baskets on wheels.  Me saying ”we’re not buying that” every 35 seconds. 

This particular day also involved the newly (and questionably) potty-trained two-year old announcing every three minutes  “I need to go poo.”

With every announcement, we abandoned our baskets and made the approximately one-kilometre dash to the washroom on the other side of the store – at the back of the cafeteria.  The two-year old then wandered in and out of every bathroom stall  – pants down – trying to decide which one to use.  Every attempt to help or hurry her resulted in screams of ”I CAN DO DIS ON MYSELF!!!!”   So I just stood, tight-lipped, and observed.  For like seven minutes. 

Patience. 

Other people came in and out of the bathroom.  They instinctively furrowed their proverbial brows at my bare-assed daughter.  I fake-smiled and nodded.  This is my child. 

Surrender. 

It didn’t stop there.  On the third trip out of the cafeteria washroom (and still no poo), the five-year old made an inquiry.  

“Can we eat dinner at this restaurant?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s 4:30.  And you don’t eat dinner at Zellers.”

“Why?”

“You just don’t”

“But why not?”

“Just because.”

“But it’s a restaurant.  I’m hungry.  Pleeeeaaaaase.”

My blood pressure began to rise.  Deep breathing started.  We’d been in the store for 20 minutes and all we’d done is go the washroom 47 times.  Can we not, I begged to any higher being on duty, just buy our paper towels and milk and leave?  

Apparently not.

I stood in silence for a second.  Thinking.  What tone did I want to set for the weekend ahead? 

Patience.   

By the time I navigate through this war zone - I found myself thinking – including three more poo-attempts, and get home, it will be dinner time. Why not eat dinner at Zellers?  Why not again? 

Surrender.

“Excuse me,” I said to the waiter.  “Could we get a table for three?”

My understanding of myself shattered again. 

My name is Susan.  

I let my daughter run around in public restrooms with her pants down. 

And sometimes I eat dinner at Zellers.