Spilled milk

I love Whole Foods . Once a month, the kiddo and I head to that side of town and shop with gusto. Usually, it's a pleasant experience and we have fun together. Yesterday, not so much.

Arriving after our big breakfast, I thought, was a stroke of maternal genius. Shopping on a full stomach would make our job easier, right? Fewer impulse purchases, and virtually no begging from my companion. We made it past the banana display with only a quick glance. Whew! By the time I hustled past the olive oil, my little monkey-boy had forgotten all about his favorite fruit. No threat of temptation for us!

Right.

At the dairy case, my child dislodged his beloved binky and smacked his lips. I put a carton of organic milk in the basket and on we rolled. Sure, it was on my list, but I think he thought he was in charge. "Tee! Tee!" came next as we skated past the cheese without stopping. When we passed the crackers, "Ca! Ca!" became his cry. And I do mean cry. I grabbed (and opened) a box and unleashed a monster. At first, I muffled his ample whines with grain. But not for long. As I did my best to fill our cart quickly, he nearly broke his back trying to grab his favorite items piling up behind him. His frustration grew frantic.

Somewhere in the cereal aisle, he lost his mind. I think the Cheerios put him over the edge. No one within 50 yards of us could miss his plaintive bleats of "O! O!" The waving arms? Also hard to miss. I threw a box in the cart and kept moving. The rest was a blur.

At the check-out counter, the cashier-in-training helped the shopper in front of me while my kid moved into meltdown formation. Suddenly, crackers, binky, even Angel Bear, offered no end to the wailing, but they made great projectiles. Arms outstretched, he gestured toward what I thought was the cooler of water. I grabbed a bottle, offered it up, and for a moment, the storm calmed. Then he choked on a big gulp, and the howling began.

At last, our turn to ring up. I had to quit the losing guessing game of "What would make my son happy?" to put my haphazard collection of food on the conveyor belt. Wait, what's this? Milk. Leaking from the carton. All over my groceries and the bags I'd brought with me.

There's a calm that supposedly overtakes drowning victims once they give up fighting for life. The same phenomenon washes over parents, I'm certain, at moments like this. The waves took me down. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't threaten, although I cajoled, but only twice. Oblivious to everything but the sound of my little he-banshee, I mopped up the milk, relinquished one of the sodden bags, and humbly accepted the cashier's kindness (and free replacement bag). Later I sent email to Whole Foods, acknowledging his help.

Not sure of how the other shoppers reacted to the memorable scene, but I'm guessing birth control sales climbed yesterday. And that cashier-in-training? He was probably promoted. Or maybe he quit.