While accepting the possibility that I might actually be close to the point in my life that I have time to start blogging again, I’m going to kick off a new segment called, “Fridays with Addie.”
Addie is my 2 year old and she is a hilarious child. She’s smart…too smart. She’s sugar and spice and has an Irish temper. She’s always listening. She is a constant reminder of the things I dislike about myself. For example, when driving, sometimes I say things to the cars in front of me. I don’t mean to, I just do…such as “move along,” or “let’s go genius.” She can talk to her brothers and sister, while simultaneously listening to my husband and my conversations. She stores our words in her little brain bank, and saves them for the appropriate, (but most inappropriate) times. Addie pretty much is my verbal conscience when we go to the food store, which is mortifying. Somehow, she knows the random thoughts that fly in and out of my head, when we’re in a crowded store of people that think the entire earth is revolving around them.
So this “Friday with Addie” will revolve around our recent trip to Wegman’s.
It all started in the produce aisle. While squeezing past a lady near the herbs, Addie looks at her (with a big smile) and the lady smiles, obviously thinking she’s cute. And that’s when it happens…Addie the time bomb. She opens her mouth and says, clear as day, “Move it, geeeeeenius!”
The horror and the lady’s face! My face turned red and I tried to ignore her because Addie thrives on attention. I do that often. I pretend she didn’t say what she did and people walk away, sort of baffled because they’re questioning whether they actually heard what they think they heard, or not. But after she called three more people a “genius” in the produce aisle, I knelt down at her eye level and reprimanded her, telling her “genius” is an ugly word and we don’t use that word.
Problem solved, right?
Nope. We get to cheese section and she yells, “move it along,” to a man blocking the passage. But the best moment of parental humiliation occurred in the pasta aisle.
An employee was restocking the shelves and Addie walks right up to him, huge smile and asks what he’s doing. He smiles and tells her and then she asks, “What’s your name?” (Someone needs to tell her to stop speaking to strangers.)
As I grab the pasta I need I hear him answer happily, “My name is Steve.”
Then out of the wee one’s mouth comes, “Move it, Steve.”
And that is when I decided we had enough food to survive and it was time to leave. I will keep you posted on my adventures with Addie. Every outing is either hilarious or mortifying, and always humbling.