The morning before Thanksgiving, I found myself in the unhappy position of having to do the shopping with two children. It was my own fault, as on Monday when I should have done it I frittered away my time instead with more enjoyable pursuits; also, I hadn't yet planned enough to know what I needed.
But it wasn't so bad. They're at their best first thing in the morning, and we actually got out of the house by 9.30, which still counts as first thing in my book. They got a bagel each to keep them quiet, and things progressed without too many not-on-list items being added to the trolley.
As we processed down the rice-and-beans aisle (also peanut butters, honey, and juice boxes), Dash came running after me:
"Mummy, Mummy, look! Look! Can I get one of these? I've always wanted one of my very own to play with. Pleeeeease, Mummy?"
I looked to see what he was brandishing. It was a turkey baster.
On balance, I think I got away lightly with a pack of chocolate-milk straws and a bag of chips.
It was colder this afternoon than it had been in the morning, and though I did get Mabel to wear her coat, she didn't have her gloves as we waited for Dash to get out of school. I was holding her (my side of the bargain that got her to put the coat on), and she was putting her hands inside my top to warm them up. Then her hands went a little further down ... down... I had to let out a shriek-laugh as I pushed her hand away.
"I just wanted to find the..."
I stopped her before she could remember the word "nipple" - or anything like it - but I'm pretty sure the other mom I was chatting to knew exactly what had happened. It's possible that most of the school heard the squawk and knew she'd hit the spot. Letting your four-year-old get to second base with you in public is just never appropriate. (You probably knew that already.)