In the search to becoming a better mom, after therapy this morning, I decide to take Miss C to get some new sneakers. She already owns two pairs that fit nicely, but both are white. Miss C has an obessive compulsive mother, these sneakers are not worn unless they are fucking spotless. Her grey sneakers, need replacing, so says my Mom:

"Um...I know you like her grey sneakers, and she's had them for the past 18 months, but just so you know, they don't fit her anymore".

Don't give me that look, they've fit well for the past year and a half, I have to get my money's worth.

So, we drive to the mall to get her some sneaks. Bare in mind, I'm a fashion momma, but I'm not gonna pay more than 30 dollars for some sneakers for her. Sooo not worth it. So we go into Marshall's and see some cute black sneakers...very sporty, very fashion. Miss C's take:

"No...don't like black".

Ok. So I wanna be a good mom and Miss C has to learn about choices anyway. So I decide to find another pair, this pair being grey, purple and having a white trim and tell her:

"Ok, pick one, black or grey"
"No...no sneakers".

Ok. fine. you've just saved me 20 bucks. Let's go.
So I go to pay for some sunglasses I desperately needed. Please make a note that I hardly wear shades, but lately the sun in the morning is killing my driving skills. So as I am paying, I become very aware that "shit, she does need new sneakers, regardless". So I give it another try:

"Miss C, do you want some sneakers?"

"Yes. Sneakers yes".

Great. So we go back, I sit her down, I try on the black pair and she says:

"Black no".

Fine. The black ones were two small anyway. So I try on the grey, they fit great and we start out to the cash register.

"Momma, my black sneakers".

Fuck. Didn't she just say she doesn't want them? And even is she did, they are too small and there is no larger size.

So I try the whole reverse psychology stint. I take both boxes, which are identical, to the cash register. I tell the gal:

"Pss..::whispering:: This second box I'm not gonna buy, but she wants them and they are too small, so I have to fool her into believing I am going to buy them".

Gal winks and cooperates with my mission.

Everyone is happy, gay, content. Everyone is full of glee. Miss C insists on carrying her bag with her new sneaks. We get to the Death Van, I ask her if she wants to get breakfast, she happily squeals, we get in, I start the car.

As I am pulling away, I hear her opening the bag and I look through my mirror and I see her pulling out the box. She opens it.

"These are not black!...my black sneakers!"

Fuck. What is wrong with these kids??? I wasn't that smart at her age, and boy I was smart, believe me.

So on it begins...all the way home...

"Black sneakers, black sneakers!!!" wah wah wah!!

"ok..ok...the sneakers are at home"...

"no no no". She starts opening up bags, throwing keys, launching quarters, money...the whole shabang..

People are honking horns, giving me the finger, yelling stuff about my momma.

She threw herself on the floor and fell asleep.

As I approached the bakery she woke up. I feared for my life. She took her new sneakers, lifted them up in the air and said:

"LOOK!!! My sneakers new...they are pretty!! they are mine!!"

Phew!!!
::shakes sweat beads off forehead::
So much for choices and endless possibilities.

******
Thought of the day: If you are still single and want to get married and have kids, let me send you a video of my life...it's a great reality check.