Costco kicked my butt (pardon my language)

You know it’s a bad omen when… or maybe not.

There were no omens.  No dark clouds following me.  Not even a rotten morning to blame it on.  Nope, by the end of it all, I just had to laugh and drink my tea.

But none of that makes sense until I tell the story!

Once upon today, I was headed out on an adventure with my youngest.  We were off to join up with Costco.  That’s right, until today, we had not taken the plunge into bulk shopping.  But today, as it turned out, was going to be about all kinds of things… in bulk.

The ride over was uneventful.  The process by which we became members was borderline boring, and the shopping was overwhelming for sure, but not in the all consuming way I thought it would be.  We went through the check out.  We had our receipt checked by the smiling lady near then exit (which was also Costco sized), and we made it to the car, which is kind of a big deal for me because I always lose my car in new parking lots (and if I’m totally honest, familiar ones too).

I maneuvered the extra large cart through the parking lot, through the heat (yes, nearly 80 degrees and loving it) and to the back of our car.  Into the purse I went for the keys, and after only 15 seconds or so, I could foresee my immediate future.  I shaded my eyes as I peered into the front seat… at the keys sitting on the passenger seat, gleaming at me, as if to just taunt me.

Seriously?!

But one thing I love about being back in the states is that a goof up like this doesn’t turn into an epic event (or so I thought).  We called our AAA representative and waited in the shade, having nori and juice, until the truck arrived to retrieve my keys.  He arrived quick, but the car was very good at staying secure.  So it took some time… some standing in the sun, until it was ready.

I thanked him profusely, and sang a silent song of the glory that is middle clsss US conveniences, and started the engine.  We headed down the road to the “fish shop” and parked.  We went in, no incident, no fit, and our fish on sale!  Picked it up, checked out, and headed to the car.

I ploped the groceries in the car and went to get my kido and get him strapped in.  That’s when I smelled it.

“Hon, smells like you have a poopie.” (As if saying poopie will make it a more pleasant experience).

“Noooooo!!!!!!!!”

“Okay, but we should really get it out, so you can sleep on the way home.”

“Noooooooooooooo!!!!!!”

“Okay.  Well can I see?!” Somehow hoping that it was tiny (despite the oversized bulk-volume of smell).

“Nooooooooooooooooooooo!!!”

Strapped in.  I’d deal with it later… and boy would I.

Asleep in the car, the smell (oh 80 degree weather in a sealed up car), became overpowering and I just hoped it was the strong but tiny type.

We got home and as I lifted him up out of his seat, a stream of brown (dare I say) soft serve flowed out of his shorts, down his leg, into his shoe, and all across the lawn.

Oh shit.

Arms outstretched, I carried him screaming (after all, I woke him from his brief nap) into the bathtub where he proceeded to try and climb out, smearing poo everywhere.

Shoes went in.  Pants went in.  Shirt went in.  Baby went in.  He stood there and cried and screamed.  I stood there (a look of disgust on my face) and scrubbed and cleaned until the smell (and the soft serve) was all gone.

We got dry, diapered, and dressed.  I took a deep breath of clean air and then tackled the lawn and the car seat.  Honestly, the easiest part of the whole thing.

Got inside and smelled something all too familiar.

Repeat the chorus: baby, pants, shirt in tub, scrub, dry, dress.

At this point, all I could do was laugh at the absurdity of the situation, make some freakin tea for myself, and plug my poopie nap-less child into Paw Patrol.

My conclusion?  I’m not fit to have a Costco card, and I’m not as big a fan of bulk as I thought I would be.

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