Humility

I had to do it yesterday.  My morning was booked, the little ones took naps in the afternoon, and our kitchen had a critical food deficit.  So I was forced to grocery shop with all four of my children once the oldest got home from kindergarten.  Anybody want to pull my toenails out...slowly?  Anyone want to tie my hands to my feet and leave me in poison ivy...forever?  Anyone want to tickle my nose and then electrocute me everytime I laugh...or sneeze?  Ok, ok, maybe I'm being a little extreme, but really, it's no fun to grocery shop with all of them.

It's not that they're bad.  They're actually pretty darn good.  They don't pick food off the shelf, they don't beg for candy, they don't even fight...too much.  Really if, when I walked in the doors, someone came on the loudspeaker and asked everyone to vacate the premises until I was done shopping, I think we would all have a lot of fun at the grocery store.  But instead we, or I - I'm the only one that gives a hill of beans in the bunch - have the stress of  ensuring that we don't make every other cart-pushing customer sigh, or grunt, or groan, or roll their eyes because we are blocking their way in the aisle while we are laughing and giggling and doing karate and running in circles around our cart.  And here's where the problem comes with having four kids with me.  I can carry one on me and I can squeeze one in the cart and usually still have enough room for Mount Grocery.  But that leaves two in control of their own feet on the floor.  It's a problem.

About the time we hit mid-store and I'd told my oldest twelve times to stand behind the cart while I picked out the optimal lunchbox cracker, I spotted a cart coming right for him.  I snapped my fingers at him and pointed to my side and gruffly said, "Get here now!"  I saw the startled eyes of the person pushing the cart our way and realized it was my good friend and visiting teaching companion.  "Oh, hi.  Just yelling at my kids at the grocery store.  And how are you?"  No, no.  I didn't say that.  "Giggle, giggle, giggle," I said.  That is usually how I begin a conversation.  And then I sighed, "I really don't like shopping with four."  I smiled and giggled some more, trying desperately to cover up my blatant impatience.  Ah humility, how I love thee...and know thee TOO well.