Hey, Even Mama Bears Have Feelings

This afternoon I realized we were out of milk. We’re all sick and DH is out of town, but the world would spin off its axis if this household were ever without milk (no fruity pebbles! no hot cocoa! the horror!), so I had no choice but to de-pajama everyone and run to the store.

Fever apparently has a calming effect because they were angels at the store, listening (miracle) and just sort of meekly following me around as I grabbed the essentials - you know, milk and shampoo and chocolate.

We stopped in the Christmas aisle where I let them hang out for a while, pushing every button on every dancing, singing, bum shaking Christmas “decoration” they could find. (Who actually buys those things? I can't believe the market for those monstrosities is so vast, and yet they appear to be a huge profit center, since every grocery store and corner market on earth carries them.) I idly watched as some teenage girls, young and dumb and having a blast, pushed each other around in carts, squealing and laughing.

The blond girl pushing the cart popped a wheelie while the brunette girl inside the cart shrieked in protest. I kept thinking that if the cart tipped over, that girl was going to crack her head open and whatever brains were actually in there would leak out all over the floor. Clean up in aisle seven, stat.

When my head was ready to explode we got our caravan moving again, with Carter inside the cart and the girls holding onto either side as they walked. We steered toward a check-out lane and WHAM. The teenage girls came out of nowhere, ramming their cart smack into Abby at full speed, knocking her flat and pushing Sarah over for good measure.

I immediately went into full mama bear mode and yelled at the twits as I picked up my sobbing little girls. “What are you DOING?! This isn’t a playground, GROW UP!”

Abby had a nice purple lattice mark engraved on her face (that deepened over the course of the afternoon into a rich, rough bruise) and a pinched finger, but Sarah seemed none the worse for wear, just a little shocked and upset.

“Is there something I can do? Are they alright? I’m so sorry,” the blond babbled on and on and ON. I shot her a dirty look thinking, NO, you idiot, there’s nothing you can do. You’ve done enough.

After a minute or two of hugs, Sarah and Abby calmed down, and tears wiped away, we stood up. Somewhat impressively, the teenagers were still standing there, waiting to take their medicine.

I cocked my head to the side and put a hand on my hip, ready to let loose a few choice, cutting words of reprimand – my unfortunate specialty. I narrowed in on the cart driver.

She had tears in her eyes. I softened a little. She clearly felt awful about what had been, after all, an accident.

“Can I do something?” she asked plaintively. “What can I do? I’m so sorry.” She crouched down next to Abby and said, “I’m so sorry.”

As I tried to figure out what the right thing to say would be, something that would satisfy my maternal anger without completely crossing the line, Abby took over. She apparently had things SHE wanted to say and she drew herself up to her full four year old height.

Tears dripped out of her big green eyes as she looked at the girl accusingly. “You made me fall down,” she said shakily, holding my hand.

The injustice of the accident was too much for her to take and she started to cry again, her words punctuated with little sobs.

“Now--” (sob) “I’m - I’m all hurt—“ (sob) “THAT. WASN’T. NICE—“ (sob) “You shouldn’t hit—“ (sob) “people with a cart!”

She tucked her head against my coat and cried in earnest.

The teenager burst into tears. For a minute I thought she might dissolve into a sad little puddle right there in front of me.

Abby looked at the girl somberly for a minute. She nodded, then looked up at me and whispered, “Mom, she’s sorry now. You should give her a love.” She pushed me forward a little.

And that’s how I ended up hugging a random teenager at Smiths today.