Ends of the Spectrum

Once again, we found ourselves at Target ... me and the Z's.  The inside experience was relatively uneventful.  (Except of course the obligatory, "you have your hands full" comments, see http://imasahd.blogspot.com/2010/02/human-race-has-lost-ability-to.html)

It was the parking lot experience that left me dejected and encouraged by the hearts of strangers.

To set the scene a bit, Zane had pooped (because that is what Zane does at Target) and Zadie was crying (probably because we all enjoyed lunch, while having nothing for her).  We were approaching the car when I noticed an SUV next to us backing in and out of their spot, I assume trying to get centered.  To my amazement, with the gaze of me and my four children upon her, the driver gave up trying to get it right.  Her passenger took a look out her window, saw how close she was parked to our car.  She then glanced at me, then quickly down and decided to climb over to the driver side to get out. 

OK (deep breath), van doors slide open, we will make it work.  Anyway, there is no car on the passenger side, it'll be fine.

Zoe, Zane and Zach got in the car (not buckled, just in), I put the bags in, then Zadie and headed to put the cart away.  As I got to the cart at the front of the car, I see our blue and white playground ball, that for some reason made its way into the car, rolling down the parking lot.  I immediately took off after it, catching up to it about 50 yards behind the car.  How did it get so far away you ask?  Well we had quite a bit of wind today and that can really play havoc on a light, little play ball.  You know what else wind can play havoc with?  Shopping Carts.  As I turned with the ball in hand, I see my shopping cart making its way down the sidewalk, right along the front of a row of cars.  All I could think of was ... Hit the SUV, Hit the SUV, Hit the SUV.  Really, I started my second sprint in the last 30 seconds, this one trying to stop a run away shopping cart from doing damage to something or someone.  But before I could even get close to it a teenage boy came running down the sidewalk, stopping the cart before it could hit anything.

This struck a cord with me, because so many people would have just watch to see what calamity may be caused by a runaway shopping cart.  But this boy, with his family walking behind him, sprinted to stop it and was heading to put it back with the rest of the carts by the time i could get to them.  There may just be hope out there yet.

Alright, catch my breath, change Zane's diaper, hopefully squeeze into my door and then go pick up Julie.

Now, do you ever have the feeling that you are being watched?  I had just started changing the diaper on the Passenger side front seat when I got that feeling.  I glanced over to the left and saw a lady sitting in a car, waiting at the mouth of the parking spot next to me.  Even to a casual observer, it is pretty obvious what I am doing (wipes flying and naked 2 year old legs hanging out of the car door).  But, she waits.  I finish wiping and apply the new diaper.  She waits.  I put his pants pack on and forgo putting shoes back on; why, because ... She waits.  I open Zane's door, set him in and buckle.  She waits.  I "finally" close both doors and make my way around the car.  She glares.  I glare back.  Then I gazed around at the multiple parking spots within 20 feet of hers and I just shook my head.  She could have already been inside, shopping for that replacement stick to go up her butt.

But I digress...

I carefully opened my door, so not to hit the car next to me (because that is how nice of a guy I am).  I squeezed in, without damage, but with two kids crying (Zadie and now Zoe for who knows what reason), grinding on my nerves and the fresh wounds from two inconsiderate bi*****, I felt the overwhelming urge to open my door with considerable force a few times, but then I saw it.  The door to the SUV had at least a half a dozen small dents and nicks along the door.  It wasn't personal, she does it to everyone, she just can't park.  Phew, I feel a little better. 

My thoughts turned to the teenager, sprinting to stop my cart, undoubtedly coached or trained to do so by his trailing parents.  In this 5 minutes of exchanges I felt like yelling, cursing, screaming and even causing destruction, but what would that have taught my children.  Nobody was out to get me.  There was nothing personal, just some minor inconveniences.  I want my children to react, when faced with impulsive situations to act more like the teenager rather than the lunatic raging inside of their father (at least I kept it inside).

But then again, it all can provide for some good comedy when it happens to someone else ... Take a look: