I’ve been moving in a haze recently. I think it’s a form of self-preservation. It seems the only option when your day starts out with Baby bellowing “Mom! Mac keeps saying that Madagascar is a real place!”  And when you are roped into a raging debate over which is a worse pet, a lemur or a weasel and which would you prefer to have mom? Deafness is not an acceptable answer.

This is how I found myself wandering through the grocery store looking for nontoxic sunscreens when it occurred to me that it was hard to walk. It certainly would be, since Baby had wrapped both her arms around my waist and had her head resting on my stomach. Ideal shopping cart pushing position. And Mac was on the other side, arms wrapped around me, hands pushing Baby’s arms off saying “NO I love mom more!”

Yep, a picture of domestic bliss we were. Struggling down the aisle, wiping X-Man’s drool off my arms, now functioning as ground zero in a tug of war as well. I guess I could bill myself as such a magnificent mom that my kids fight over how much they love me.  They also fight over whose eyes laid on a book first. Not who read the book first, not who touched the book first but who thought

about grabbing and reading the book. So, fighting over me doesn’t boost my ego as much as you might think.

However, I didn’t see the need to share that information with the little old lady who beamed at me. She saw a mother being hugged by her children. She didn’t recognize a demilitarized zone when she saw one. Mac was digging his fingers in under his sister’s arms growling “No she’s my mom”, Baby was tightening her grip around my hips saying “Mac, I was here first.” Valid points, both. And, more importantly, to the passersby nothing but a mother adored by her children.  I’m all about image, because most days, it’s all I got.

Eventually we made it to the checkout, where the candy distracted both of them. As we were leaving Baby pointed out that the cashier had the same name as she did. “She stole my name mom!” I pointed out that the lady was significantly older than Baby, so chances were she didn’t actually steal her name. “I guess you’re right mom. Well, she’ll die way before me and then it’ll just be my name.” Maybe it’s better if they just fight over who loves me more.