The things that come out of their mouths!

This morning, the girls and I met Jay at the Depot at Jantzen Beach to buy a new refrigerator. The $1599 Depot price beat anything we could find – So, when we add a $100 Home Depot rebate and then add the savings we got because I was willing to apply for a Home Depot credit card to get an extra 10% off, we did okay. Our total will be about $1340 – well, minus the $15 to take the old fridge to the dump. Jay's dad deposited $1500 into our joint account for the purchase, because sometimes he’s just nice like that. So, we’ll make about $150 on the deal in addition to a free new fridge that doesn’t need to be kicked closed.

As I stood at the counter waiting to pay with all of my paperwork, Ellie puked all over Jay – and herself – and the floor of Home Depot. I told the woman at the customer service desk that my daughter had just puked, and revealing in a nanosecond that she had never spewed forth her own descendants, made a grossed out face and handed me a giant roll of paper towels. Am I wrong to have expected her to call for help? Must they not have some sort of policy for cleaning up human waste once it is disgorged by a toddler in the middle of the main customer walkway of the store? Hmm. In a remarkable display of helpfulness, Maggie wanted to clean up the entire mess… and I did not want her to.

We then let Jay go back to work in his puke-stained coat, which thankfully, had been zipped over his work clothes. As he headed south, we headed north, with me wondering what we were going to do for lunch. Our “Plan A” had been to stop for lunch at Panera (aka “The Bagel House”) on the way home. We have been suffering for lack of bagels for over a week and needed a fix. Maggie had been informed of Plan A before leaving home and she is not one to flex to Plan B just because her sister is covered with stomach-bile-and-old-yogurt scented puke. Before we had left the parking lot of the Depot, Mags had informed Ellie in a stern voice (with vocal tone the auditory equal to a wagging pointer finger), “ELLIE, we Puke in the Toilet, Not on the Floor!”

So, our conversation in the car about lunch went like this: “Mags, if Ellie seems okay when it comes time, we might be able to stop for bagels, but we’ll have to take them home to eat them.”
“No, I want to eat at the bagel house.”
“Your sister is covered with puke, and she smells. Besides, she might have to puke again.”
“They have pies at the bagel house.”
“They have pies at the bagel house?”
“No, not pies – potties. They have potties at the bagel house.”
“Yes, they do. You’re right.”
“Well, then, if Ellie has to puke when we’re at the bagel house, she can go to the potty and puke. So we can eat lunch at the bagel house.” (That period should have a font size of at least 100, and it should be bold and italicized as if to say “end of story.”)

So, we pulled into the Bagel House (…Panera…) and before opening any doors, I said, “Mags, I need to hear you agree with me. We are going in and getting bagels to take home.”
“I want to eat at the bagel house.”
(Yeah, I got that…) “You can either agree with me or we can leave without any bagels right now.”
(Silence. Car is put into reverse.) “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”
“So, we’re going to get bagels and then take them home to eat.”
“Yes…”

So, even though I’ve got verbal agreement on the plan, I realize as well as she does that this will get her in the door, where without any notice, she can go back on her word and run to a booth and stuff herself so deeply under the table that I would be unable to do anything being that with one arm, I am holding a vomit-covered baby (and trying not to get too close to her stinky little body). However, there was just a loud protest once we got through a lengthy checkout process (Panera Girl: “Oh my gosh, my cash register just crashed right after I ran your credit card! I’m not sure what to do, it’s never done that before…”). I have discovered that under the given circumstances, I have no problem dragging my eldest out of a place of business while playing tug of war with her over a baker’s dozen worth of bagels. She can scream, she can cry, she can sound like the world’s biggest spoiled brat, but there are times when there can be no compromise.
Maggie to me, “I’m not your friend!”
Me to Maggie, “I’m not your friend, either. I am your MOTHER. Get in the car.”