A Big Wiener

Having the spousal unit work out of town and only make infrequent appearances on our doorstep has made for some interesting parental problems. I'm not really a single momma, yet I don't have the hands on, daily support of a live-in baby daddy.

Which means, I'm a single momma with a sugar daddy, legally obligated to stay at home, mind his nest, spend his money and not flirt with other boys.

There are no rules for flirting with other girls, however.

Hey, how YOU doing, Sandra and Jen? Why don't the two of you slide on over here and come talk to Big Red?

So many women, so little time.

I digress. I'm one of the lucky ladies out there. I've got a man who loves me, is gorgeous, a great provider, a wonderful father, and more importantly, leaves me to my own devices more times than not.

Life is gooooood.

The dark side to being a single parent 80 percent of the time, (besides having to take out the trash myself, police the children, and become best friends with my buddy, Mr. Rabbit) is I can not go anywhere without my children unless I dig deep into my pockets and shell out a small fortune into the hands of a shifty eyed teen I have to entrust my children to.

After all, a girl can only go begging for baby-sitting to her MIL so many times before rumours start to swirl.

Which means, where I go, they go.

Need a new bra? Let's go, kids. And Frac, try not to put the big ones on your head and chase your sister around the store. It's not cute.

Need feminine hygiene products? Come on, kidlets, momma needs some cotton. Don't ask, don't look and please don't talk loudly when we are checking out said items.

Ran out of Irish Cream for my coffee? Let's go to the liquor store babies! Momma needs her juice.

Now that my darlings are a bit older, things are slightly easier. I no longer lose them in the store aisles, I don't have to worry about potty breaks and they generally do what they are told.

(All right. I bribe them. But still. They respond to it.)

Of course, there are hazards. Like last Friday, when we headed off into the great big city to stock up on food supplies.

After refereeing a fight over who gets to push the grocery cart, everything went fairly smooth. We were laughing, co-operating and having a good time in the midst of the big box grocery chain. I preened with pride, feeling like I was Mommy of the Year, setting an example for all the other harried parents in the store.

Watch me and learn, earthlings. Bwhahahaha!

Soon our cart was piled high with food stuff and Fric and Frac struggled to steer the behemoth cart down the aisles. No problem. Mommy to the rescue. Except every time I tried to push the cart, the damn thing would squeal loudly and draw the attention of all the non-squealing, perfect, cart-pushing shoppers around us.

Which made us laugh harder. Because it only squealed when I touched the darned thing. Which I had to do to turn the cart or manoeuver it around a sea of aisle hogging shoppers.

My kids thought this was hysterical. Which lead to silliness and bad behaviour. Suddenly I was no longer the momma with the perfect kiddies but that Redneck who came to town, scratched her ass in public and let her children run loose like monkeys.

I was rapidly losing my ability to contain the situation and made a command decision to get the hell out of Dodge. Scanning my list to see what items I could forget about, and which items I absolutely needed, I decided the only thing I couldn't live without was wieners.

Story of my life, really.

The meat section was on the other side of the store. Of course, why wouldn't it be? As my son started to imitate a bad circus juggler near the apple section, I debated on leaving them in the produce department and running by myself to get the meat.

Bad idea, I thought to myself as other shoppers were sending us their bad mojo complete with evil eyes. Corralling the kiddies and pushing our monster cart towards the other side of the store, Fric and Frac giggled loudly as the cart screamed to anyone who would listen what a pack of hillbillies the three of us were.

Finally in the meat section, Fric, my always helpful daughter, grabbed the closest pack of hotdogs to her. As she tossed it into the cart with a triumphant look, I snatched it out and tossed it back into the case.

"Honey, if I'm going to eat chicken lips and assholes for a week, I want them to be good," I proudly proclaim as I peruse the selection before me. Every shape, size and type of tubed meat lay before me, like wiener heaven.

"Mom, a hotdog is a hotdog. They're all disgusting until you put ketchup on them."

"No, sweety. You don't understand. You're mother is very particular about the wieners she puts in her mouth. I want them big and juicy."

Yes, I said it. To my ten year old child. Not realizing the double entendre I was stating. However, the matronly woman standing beside me certainly was and gasped in horror at what I had just said. Trying not to make eye contact with her death glare, I continued to focus on the wieners as though my life depended on it.

Except that was difficult to do, with the two men who stood on my other side and had also heard what I had said.

They wiggled their eyebrows at me to suggest that perhaps I might like their wiener selection.

Realizing how badly this situation could go, and that I was screwed if I turned left or right, I told the kids to back up the cart and head west...we didn't need no stinking hotdogs.

However, I snagged a package of big wieners on my way out, while staring at the floor. A girl has to feed her family, you know.

As we were loading up the car with our loot, I blushed with shame as I thought about the scene in the meat department.

"Next time I go shopping, I'm leaving the two of you locked in the closet at home," I said as I dove to save the eggs my son had almost dropped.

"But why Mom? We had so much fun?" They looked at me, all big blue eyed and innocent.

Devil spawn, I thought.

"It's just easier with out you sometimes, darlin."

"But mom, everybody knows that kids are the greatest thing in the world. And we can always help you pick out a great wiener."

Just what every mother wants to hear. I'm the luckiest mom in the world.