Tuesday, June 28, 2011

A really long story about me getting hit on. Oh, and Ebola.


A few years ago, Chris and I decided to act like responsbile adults and get some life insurance on ourselves. We went over a few plans before deciding on one that we felt would be sufficient for our financial needs.  Of course, the policy we wanted required a medical examination by a nurse before we would be approved.  Great.
Because I couldn't think of a thousand friggin things I would rather do than pee in a cup for a random stranger and answer questions about my eating habits. Terrible. Fast food at least twice a week and I wash it down with nothing but diet soda. Poster child I am not for the USDA.  
Not only did I have to subject myself to a battery of questions, but then I had to offer up the very vein in my arm for blood.
I am not a good blood giver.
It's not that I'm scared of needles because I'm not. It doesn't bother me to get a shot, or to have my finger pricked. Heck, I give shots pretty often.  It's the act of drawing blood that makes me woozy.  The thought of a tourniquet around my arm and my bright blue vein throbbing - well, it makes my stomach flip.  I have never actually passed out from having blood drawn - I have come close, but it's never actually happened.   I would rather have my toenails pulled out by my blindfolded toddler who's hyped up on pixie stix with a pair of rusty needle nose pliers than have an IV placed.  
The thought alone literally makes me feel physically ill.
Okay, long story even longer, the nurse shoves a needle in my vein (with no incident), extracts my very life juice and puts it in a little tube to be sent out with other little purple topped tubes filled with dark red liquid.
A week or so later, Chris and I got our results in the mail. We read the hell out of those papers like we actually knew what we were reading. "Oh, yeah. Our BUN is fine," I'd say. Well, I put animal blood in a centrifuge at work. I print out bloodwork results everyday and there's a BUN level listed on it. It gives me credibility. 
Everything was within normal ranges, and all looked well.
I read my cholesterol level.
The hell?
"It says my cholesterol level is moderate to high. Dubya tee eff? What's yours say? Yours has to be insane!," I sneered at Chris who was still leering over his results.
"It says my cholesterol is low."
"Well, that's gotta be wrong. It says mine is moderate to high.  Are you sure you're not looking at mine?"
"Nope," he flipped his paper and pointed at his name at the top. "Christopher. That's me. Not you," he said with a shit-eating grin across his face.
"Then the test is wrong. They mixed up our blood." I was grasping at straws here. How in the holy hell did my husband - my husband - have lower cholesterol than I did?
I'm a healthy girl.  So, I cook with alot of butter. Sue me. It's called Paula Deen, ya'll.
"No, it's probably from all that fast food crap you eat all the time for lunch. I never eat fast food."
Hm. Could it be possible that my husband was actually right about something.
That's crazy talk!!
But, I decided then that I would try to eat better. I just needed to eat healthier. Less greasy goodness in my belly.
I told you that to you tell you this.
Earlier this week, I stopped in at Wendy's to get a salad - since you know, I'm trying to watch my cholesterol. I can't believe I just freaking typed that. I'm 28 years old. I shouldn't be worried about my cholesterol! Hell, I just need to go ahead and start slathering on the Bengay and taking a Geritol every day. Is it too soon for dentures? I'll just get those yanked out of my head, too. May as well have my hips replaced while I'm out.  What? Me? Bitter? Nooooo.

I like Wendy's salads. The kind with the chicken and the berries and the raspberry vinaigrette that's loaded with calories and fat.  What? It has fruit in it. Fruit is good for you.
Anyway, I walk in and take my place in line behind 3 men. And wait. And wait.  2 more men show up and get in line behind me.
Now I feel awkward.  I always feel awkward when I'm a situation where I'm the only female in a sea of men. Well, except for that fantasy with Daniel CraigCharlie Hunnman, and Jason Ritter, but let's not go there. That's mine. Sorry.
The guys that had come in behind me worked together, as I could tell by their matching work shirts with their names embroidered on them.  Dulane, who was standing next to me, was a portly fellow who looked to be in his 50s. He had cut the sleeves off of his denim shirt and left it halfway unbuttoned. The gold chain was a nice touch as it showed off his hairy man cleavage. Are you swooning yet, ladies? Think Larry the Cable Guy without the charm. Heh.
On one forearm he donned a "Shit Happens" tattoo.
On the other, a portrait of a topless lady with breasts so big there's no way she could stand upright without a back brace, waving a confederate flag.
I grabbed my phone to text Chris about the tattoos because that's the kind of terrible person I am, when Dulane spots my scrubs that have been emblazoned with our clinic logo.
"Oh, hey. You work for an animal hospital, huh?"
No. Ha! I could see where you would think that since I'm wearing company scrubs. But, no, I'm an embalmer over at the funeral home and this Stacey chick contracted Ebola and died. She had on these scrubs when she came in and I thought "Ya know, I look good in purple. I'm just gonna go ahead and take these and wear them. She ain't gonna be needing 'em now!" Hm. Can Ebola be spread on clothes? 
I probably should've washed these... Dillhole.
"Yes, I do," I said and prepared myself for whatever question this man was obviously going to ask me about his dog.
"So ya'll take pets?"
"Yes, sir," I said trying to refrain from pulling out my phone and taking a picture of him to plaster all over my twitter.
"So can I pet you?" He said and nudged his buddy. His amigo evidently thought this was hilarious because he doubled over in laughter. 
I'm not kidding.
Apparently, neither was Dulane, because he stared right at me waiting for an answer.
The guy in front of me in line snickered. Bastard.
Oh! *Swoon! Swoon!* Be still my heart! Let's just go out behind the dumpster and get it on right now! Please! Don't tease me with your gold chain caught in your chest hair. I have to have you. You sure know how to talk to a lady! Wooowie! 
The hell? 
"Oh, no. Sorry. No petting the employees. It's a rule." Creepy dillhole.
"Well, damn," he said. He genuinely seemed disappointed.
"But, we do have a pig. If you rub her the right way, she'll do tricks for you."
I honestly have no recollection of the little conversation that was said after this.  I was just ready to get the hell outta dodge.  You see, this is what happens when I try to do my body a favor and try to eat right. Someone else - usually a creepy someone else, also wants to do my body a favor. Next time I'm going to McDonald's for a Big Mac, with a diet coke of course, super-sized. 

Oh, and Husband - I am KIDDING about my trifecta of men fantasy.
There would be more than three..... ;)


Sunday, June 26, 2011

List Sunday

What is it with me these days?
No matter how long I sit here with this cursor flashing at me I got nothing.
I blame the season.
And I’m hot and bored and it just kind of feels like every single day is the same.

So, since I am completely unoriginal, I'm stealing my most awesome friend Aleah's idea to have a List Sunday. And since I am also lacking in the creative department, I have decided to make my list regarding the things I have been doing this week with an aptly named title:

Things I Have Been Doing This Week

1.)  Vacation preparation - I have been trying to mentally prepare for a drive across country with two young kids. While I am excited to be on the beach doing absolutely nothing for a week,  I do believe that the amount of time that I will be spending in the car with Thing 1 and Thing 2 actually falls under the category of torture by the Geneva Convention or Amnesty International. I've been having nightmares of my chair being kicked for hours only to wake up to find it's just my husband jabbing his elbows or knees and sometimes his feet into my spinal column.  I also did finally buy a bathing suit (Thank goodness because I know you were all just dying to read some more of my posts about my wardrobe dilemmas.) And of course, the bottoms are too small, so they'll have to be sent back. I should have known to order 2 sizes up instead of just 1 after reading that the line was designed by a former top model.

2.) Netflixing at Night - Hi, my name is Stacey and I'm addicted to Netflix - particularly episodes of Roseanne  which is available in it's series entirety on demand.  I can totally relate to Dan and Roseanne Conner.  While I'm busy catching up on Lanford, Chris has been busy watching the West Wing. My god. I'll be glad when he's done watching it. I think his headphones are grafting to his head.

3.) Listening to this song:

I know! I kinda hate myself for posting this. It's so poppy and so totally unlike me to like something like this. But I just can't help it. This might be my "summer song" for the year.  Every year has one. Last year it was "Hey Soul Sister" by Train, and now everytime I hear that song, I immediately hit the skip button on my iPod and resist the urge to throw it into oncoming traffic.  I'm sure the same will happen to Ms. Perry, but for now, I'm diggin' it. 

4.) Taking pictures of my adorable kids. I mean, really. You can't deny their adorability. (I should totally submit that word to Webster.) Lookit:

Well, I guess that's about it.  I'm boring this week. So sorry. But, I'm sure the universe will plop something into my lap that I will just have to blog about. It usually does, and it rarely disappoints.

Friday, June 24, 2011

File this under "N" for "Nasty"

I'm sorry if you were mislead by the title, but it ain't that kinda post, boys (and some girls.)

When I was pregnant with Jack, I made one of my many trips to Arby's during my lunch break.  I walked in and took my place in line behind an older man.  He looked normal enough; he was well-kept and there were no funky odors of Bengay overpowering that glorious smell roast beef and curly fries.

And then, the dude ordered his food.  Now, let me just take this moment to say I've known alot of Weird Foodies.  I once knew a girl that would order a cheeseburger with no cheese at this certain place in town. She didn't always order this, just when we were at this particular local burger joint. And I knew another one that would dip raw Ramen noodles in a mixture of ranch dressing and the flavor packet.  I'm not innocent of the odd food combinations, either. I used to eat chunky spaghetti sauce on white rice all the time during high school.   But what this man conjured up, well, it made me gag.
His order went a little something like this:

Man: I'd like a medium roast beef sandwich, please. No beef, mayonnaise only.

Clerk: Um, excuse me? Did you just ask for a roast beef sandwich with no beef?

Man: Yes. ma'am. No beef. Just mayonnaise, and I need 10 packets of Arby's sauce, too, please.

Clerk: Well, I have to charge you full price for the roast beef sandwich.

Man: That's fine. Just don't forget my Arby's Sauce.

Clerk: Okay, that'll be medium roast beef sandwich, no roast beef, with mayonnaise and some Arby's Sauce To Go? Is there anything else I can get for you?

Man: Nope. I've got a drink already. Thank you.  (He held up a bottle of buttermilk.)

Oh, my gawd, ya'll. That is nasty. Now, I've heard of people without alot of money eating ketchup sandwiches and what not, but I have never in my life heard of someone going into a fast food establishment and ordering one. Gag me with a spoon.

A few days ago, I found myself patronizing the local Arby's to fulfill my hankering for a turkey and swiss Marketfresh Sandwich. I stood in line anxiously awaiting my turn to order my mouth watering that the thought of the turkey deliciousness that would soon be making my tastebuds dance in delight.   I was debating on whether or not I wanted fries when I heard the man in front of me order:

Man:  I'll take a medium roast beef, no beef, just mayonnaise, with 10 packets of Arby's sauce to go.

This time the clerk didn't blink or bat an eye.It was obvious that this man was now a regular and this was his usual order.

Well, that, it just gross. I'm sorry.

But, man, Arby's does sound good for lunch today.

Thursday, June 23, 2011


Oh, I want one. I want one badly. Heck, I'd settle for a regular a Target. 

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Eeney Meeney Miney Moe

I like to shop. Okay, so I love to shop. I spend countless hours online "window shopping" (Ha! Get it? Get it? Window shopping!? Because I'm online...*snort*...Ah, I'm such a comedian...)  I'm extraordinarily picky when it comes to shopping for clothes, or shoes, or accessories.  It never fails, if I'm looking for a particular piece - I will never find it - or even worse, I will find it, it will be on sale, but they don't have my size. It's infuriating.
I also shop in spurts. When I do go out shopping, it's only after I've spent an umpteen number of hours scrolling through pages and pages of tops, blouses, tank tops, sleeveless shirts, long-sleeved shirts, cardigans, sweaters, pull-overs....Dear God, why are there so many different kinds of shirts!? This has to factor in to be a reason that women are so crazy all of the time. There are way too many friggin' choices. Men - they have t-shirts, dress shirts, and polos. And all are acceptable attire at pretty much any given time. The most thought that goes into their ensemble for the day is Eeney Meeney Miney Moe.   But, I digress.  Back to the topic at hand.
I tend to shop for one thing at a time rather than an outfit. A shirt here, a pair of pants there, a necklace or a watch, or a pair of peep-toe booties. It's exhausting. You see, I am extraordinarily picky. And I do mean extraordinarily. With my criteria, I just don't have the strength to shop for more than one thing at a time.  I shop for an item with an enormous requirement list before I will even consider buying it. I want a thin 3/4 length sleeve button down ruffly cardigan in white. Not off white. Not beige. Not eggshell. White. And nothing too thick. I want it to be flowy and semi-sheer. 

Ooh! Yeah! Like that! That's perfect!  So, what's the problem, Stacey? You found what you were looking for. Yeah, I did. And the store is sold out. So, I went to the website - and they are out of my size! The hell? The WEBSITE IS OUT OF MY SIZE. You see what I mean?! There is no physical way possible for me to buy this unless I just happen upon it at a consignment store. And, let's face it, I am not that lucky. That cardigan is way too cute to be at a consignment store long enough for me to get there.

This is why I'm such a pain in the ass to go shopping with. I almost always leave the mall empty handed and feeling terrible about myself. Retail Stores of America, can we PLEASE get some better damn lighting in the fitting rooms!? Fluorescent light flatters no one. Kate Moss would look obese in some of the fitting rooms I've been in - not that Kate Moss would ever find herself in a grungy JC Penney's fitting room with the walls decorated in sharpie marker that declares "Amanda *hearts* Adam 4-Evah" .... But, I mean, if you want me to buy your ridiculously priced clothes, then perhaps some lights that don't show every single pore and wrinkle on my face might increase your revenue. Just sayin'. 

So, what is it exactly that you are shopping for now, Stacey? Well, I'm glad you asked, Dear Readers.  My current shopping woe is a bathing suit.
You think I was picky with that cardigan? Oh, Dear Readers, my checklist for an acceptable bathing suit actually has more pages than the Universal Health Care Reform Act.
But, by some miracle, I have actually found a bathing suit that I want. I must have. I love it. It's perfect - or at least it's perfect on the internet. So, here's the part where I would go to the store looking for this particular perfect suit to try on in the horribly lit fitting rooms.
And this a big but (No, not mine, thank you very much.)
There are no stores for me to actually go to try the suit on before I drop the money on one.  GAH.
I know.  The lunacy. This is my life.  It's not the manufacturer's fault - there are actual store fronts, just none around my little podunk town.
So, here it is less than a month away from vacation and I still haven't ordered the stinking swim suit yet. Yes, I know, I need to get on it - because inevitably I will order the wrong size and have to send it back which I will  then be playing Beat the Clock to get the suit that fits before we head out for vacation.
Okay, so I may have told a bit of a fib. I did find a suit that I like.  Well, technically, I found a brand of a suit that I think I like by looking at their webpage.......  Now, I'm having trouble what to get.  Last year, after having a baby in March, when swim suit season came around, I swore that I would never ever buy another string bikini again.  No way.  For starters, I just don't have the body. Nobody wants to see that. It needs to be covered up. Yes, I am petite, but petite people can still be lumpy, that's all I'm saying. Secondly, when you have kids and you put on a swim suit for any reason, you are fully expected to get in the water and actually participate. A string bikini in a pool full of kids while you're trying to hold onto your baby who's just discovered pulling loose strings = Girls Gone Wild! Woohoo!  And, I'm way too old for that. Like I said, nobody wants to see that.
So, I said NO STRING BIKINIS. (I also said no more black bathing suits, as I'm trying to step outside of my box of buying too much black. I need some color in my wardrobe.)
And, then I find this swimming attire online establishment.  Oh, Voda Swim, how your website and your promises make me happy! Your bathing suit tops will ADD 2 CUP SIZES!?! Yes, please!!  I've wasted browsed for hours on this website, and while they offer a pretty decent selection of styles and prints, one would think there's not that many listed to spend that much time looking at.  Oh, yes there is.  Folks, I have looked at this website almost daily for the past 2 weeks since I stumbled across it.  I've gone back and forth between buying one and not buying anything. And buying this kind or that kind or no, kind #1 again.
And here I am, credit card in hand, ready to make a purchase, and I CAN'T FREAKING DECIDE WHICH ONE TO BUY!
Of course, the one bathing suit I fell in love with is a friggin' string bikini, and the other one is black. See, I told you. This is my life. Infuriating.
The husband is really no help, declaring "Babe, they all look the same to me. Get whatever you want, dear."  I think what that translates to is "Boobies. Boobies. Boobies."
So, once again, here I am. Stuck. Trying to decide which dang suit to buy.
Wanna see what I have it narrowed down to? Well, tough titties, because you're going to see anyway.

Here's the one that I really like, but it's a string bikini:

And here's the one in black that I like:

Decisions, decisions. Maybe I'll just try doing Eeney Meeney Miney Moe.

Monday, June 13, 2011

The Big Reveal - Sort of

Okay, so it's probably not that big of a reveal considering most of my readers are on my Facebook and have already seen pictures of the outfit I chose to wear to my 10 year high school reunion. But, just in case there's some poor soul out there that's really tore up over the fact that they just don't know what my wardrobe was for the night, I'll post pictures.

Us and the Colemans arriving at the reunion. It was raining.

The top is actually Option 3 from my previous post.  It's way cuter in person than in the picture from The Limited's website that I posted.  Obviously, I wore white pants and carried my new sequined zebra print wallet. The only thing that would fit in it was our cabin key. Poor Jennifer had to tote around my camera and phone in her purse. Truth be told, it's a super duper nice Coach purse and I just wanted people to see me digging away in it.
I'm kidding! I didn't dig in her purse.

Jennifer and I

Chris and I
We decided when we got there that Chris would be playing the part of a former Canadian Mountie that had gotten injured in the line of duty.  He talked in his accent about Tim Horton's (among other things that needn't be discussed here.) I guess it's one of those "you had to be there" things. And being there with a drink in your hand would help, too.

Awesome ladies! 

All in all, it was a good time! I enjoyed getting to spend some time with some friends whom I don't get to see too often, but man, it does make me feel old to have attended my 10 year reunion.  At least the guy at the liquor store made me feel better when he carded me.

Oh, and Spit-Up & Stilettos is on Facebook! Become a follower! It's not like a cult or anything. I promise.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

You pick it out. I'm too indecisive.

My high school reunion is this weekend.
I have been looking for something to wear since I got the invitation in February.
I still don't have any idea what to wear.
So, you, Dear Readers, are in for a treat! You get to help me pick out what I will wear!
Yeah, a little interactive blog.  I'll post a poll over there ------------------> where you can vote. And of course, please feel free to comment any feedback or suggestions you might have.

Before I start showing pictures, here are somethings that you need to know:
The attire is "churchy casual."
And...uh, that's about it, I guess.

Here is choice numero uno.
This is not me in the picture. However, I am blonde and have the same skin tone. I have tried this on and I really like it.  I would pair this with a pair of dark jeans and heels.  Yes, I know it's "church attire" but, it's also 1000 degrees here and I refuse to wear a dress because as the mother to 2 young boys - my legs are banged up worse than theirs. Scabs and bruises are not sexy. Just saying. This would be a splurge for me. Major splurge - BUT, I would wear it again.

Option 1:

I haven't had a chance to actually physically go out shopping, so I've resorted to online browsing - looking at stores we have locally, that way if I do find something on the website, I can go to the store and try it on.
I found this top at Dillard's.  I really like the black - but there is also an option to get the shirt in teal - which I would probably lean to. I would pair the teal top with a pair of gray slacks or black slacks. And I would buy matching shoes. This shirt is considerably cheaper than Option 1, but I'm not sure I like it as much. I like the black, so that's always an option to get rather than the teal.
Option 2:

This is option 3. I like ruffles. I have no idea what I would wear with this, so please all you fashionistas out there, help me out.

Option 3.

Okay, that's all I've got so far. Am I way off base with these choices? Is there something out there that you know of that I should be looking at?
Now, go vote! And please oh please comment and tell me WHY you picked that choice. I might be a girl that smells of flowers, but I have no sense of fashion at all whatsoever.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Why aren't you looking at me?!

Last night, I had a looong overdue girl's night with my sister-in-law, Sarah. I spent the afternoon taking full advantage of the situation and relished in the fact that I am girl. I fixed my hair, did my make-up, put on my new cute espadrilles that I got for $7 at Old Navy that I hadn't got to wear yet.

Cute, right?

We went to a movie (Bridesmaids - HILARIOUS! - crude and rude and I dig it!) and then for sushi.
After I dropped her off, I decided to make a pit stop at Wal-Mart to pick up some of the essentials we needed.  Really, I was just looking for an excuse to stay out just a little bit longer... but, shh.. don't tell my husband that. I mean, really, there's no need to waste all this effort to be cute. Now was the time for me to go into the store without the fear of being plastered all over People of Wal-Mart.

Now, I'm not conceited. I'm really not, but I felt good and I wanted to flaunt it. Is there really anything wrong with that? I go into the store, grab a cart and slowly meander through the store - seeing products that I never even knew existed. When you have kids - there is no casual stroll through the outdoor section, or browsing up and down my beloved hair care aisle.  I was like Encino Man - a caveman propelled into the modern world as I looked in awe and wonderment at things like Crackle nail polish, 2 hour teeth whitener, and vibrating mascara.  These are the things you miss seeing in stores when you have children.

I glanced at my watch and determined I needed to get my stuff and get home. Daddy had endured enough Guy Time with the boys and that if I didn't get home soon, there was likely to be someone duct taped to the wall as a form of entertainment.   I pushed my empty cart to the other side of the store, and yes, I noticed some glances coming from a few male patrons.  I kept going, stopping long enough to throw what I needed into the cart.  It wasn't until I made down the coffee aisle and tossed the 5 Gallon Bucket O' Coffee  (I wish it came in tubs like kitty litter) into the cart that I noticed I wasn't getting noticed. I know, I know. It's petty. It's stupid. But, alas, I am a girl, I am full of estrogen and smell of flowers and like pink things, and therefore I am always self conscious. It makes me feel good to know I look good. Don't deny it, you do it, too. And that's okay.  Speech over.  Anyway, I'm a bit perplexed.  Oh. I do have this little tiny thing of a zit on my face. But, really, from far away it looks like a beauty mark ala Cindy Crawford. Oh. It's bothering me now. I want to touch it. NO! Don't touch it, that'll just bring more attention to Mt. St. Helen's. It might be because you look a little bit crazy just standing in front of the Celestial Seasonings. Hm. I grabbed a box of Sleepy Time tea and continued my way to the check out.  I stood in line still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me. Maybe I had sushi in my teeth. Maybe my underwear was coming out of the top of my pants. I checked. Nope. Maybe it was just because I was blatantly checking to see if my underwear was poking out. Maybe it was because I had a gallon of whole milk and a gallon of 2% and all these men were lactose intolerant.
And then the lady in front of me glanced in my cart and said "Oh, I remember the days my kids were in diapers."
There it was.
The D-word.
The thing that will ward just about any guy away.

Yep. They won't even look at you. It's like garlic to a vampire.  Like when you try to attach the wooden caboose magnet to the Edward the Engine magnet and you have the wrong ends trying to touch each other.  Or like you have put on the Cloak of Invisibility.
I'm also willing to bet that tampons in your cart would have the same effect as diapers on men.
So, ladies, if you're ever in a store and there's some creepy guy eyeballing you - grab a box of Kotex, a couple giant boxes of Huggies, some Ghirardelli chocolate and a 40 ounce can of beer and head to the checkout.  No man would dare take that challenge. They might even move outta line for you. Hey, it's worth a shot.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Orville Reddenbacher to the rescue

This should've been posted yesterday because yesterday was Friday. And you know what happens on Fridays? Fawk You Friday! I've linked up with Boobies Babies and a Blog to post a rant. She does it every Friday, so feel free to mosey over there and check her out! That being said, here's my belated post.

Fawk You: Grocery Shopping

I really need to go the grocery. I mean, really need to go to the grocery.  We need the essentials. We're out of toilet paper, bread, almost out of milk, and I just finished off the last of Ben N Jerry's Karamel Sutra deliciousness. So, I really need to go.
However, Chris is at work, so it's just me and the two spawn at home right now.  I would rather be tied to a chair with my eyelids taped open forced to do trigonometry than take my kids grocery shopping alone.  Oh, yeah, I take them all the time to run in and pick up a few things, but this will be a big trip - and this is not a mission I am willing to accept anytime soon.
I only have two kids. I only have two kids. I only have two kids.  I have two very active kids. They are full of energy and if I could figure out a way to bottle it and sell it, I'd be a millionaire.  It exhausts me just thinking about it. But, sometimes, even with my "only two" toddlers, I feel like I'd be better at herding chickens.
A trip to Wal-Mart is not complete without checking out the ridiculously priced Thomas the Train aisle, where my three year old proceeds to name every single train and informs me that he "needs one."  This always occurs right before a Fit.  A Fit happens when you tell your child "No" and can come in several forms: it can be crying loudly, it can be screaming, yelling "I WANT TO GO HOME!" , or my favorite, the throwing of the toy down on the floor so hard it breaks that you are now obligated to buy.
Of course, it never fails, some little old lady is giving out samples that Grayson just has to have - which he hates (it's law) and will proceed to spit-out in my hand.  (It's what moms do.) And, because the universe enjoys my misery, there is not trash can around, so now I am wrangling the children and steering the cart with one hand.  At some point, the youngest will decide that the seat in the shopping cart is no longer sufficient, and he will Houdini himself out of the safety belt and attempt to stand up. Once this starts, this becomes a game. He's either standing up or sucking on the metal bars. Yum. Can you say "Strep Throat?" Remember that handful of chewed up, disliked sampled food from Grayson earlier? Yeah, that's still there since there is nary a trash can, and I am now playing with one hand.
It's during this time that the random stuff somehow makes it way into the cart - and I don't notice it until I get home.
I certainly don't remember picking up De-Icer. I don't even remember going down an aisle that had De-Icer in it.
The shopping trip consists of me constantly saying "No" "Put that back" "GET DOWN FROM THERE!" and "You're not getting a train!" I should just record myself saying that series of phrases over and over and just hit play whenever we go grocery shopping.
If I'm lucky, I'll be out of the store in less than 6 hours and I'll spend no more than $500.
Even though I'm looking in the fridge thinking "It looks like we'll be having Mustard Ranch Dressing soup with a side of a stick of butter,"  there is not a Seratonin/Speed cocktail out there that I know about that would convince me that I could make it through a shopping trip without attempting to sell my kids to gypsies.
Looks like we'll be having popcorn for dinner.