Zeke is almost 3. He likes to “help” me do everything. Sometimes it goes well, most times it requires deep cleansing breaths and cleaning supplies.

 

The guilty party always stays around to watch his destruction.

 

Grocery shopping with Mommy means that Zeke wants to “help” put the items on the conveyor belt.

I turned my head for a nano second (to explain to the bagger how to put the cold items in my insulated bag and that a box of pretzels was NOT a cold item.) Zeke reached around behind him and picked up the vegetarian-fed, free-range, chauffeur-driven, carton of eggs.

I did an actual spit-take, “hummina, hummina” stutter when I turned around to see the entire dozen broken and dripping onto my entire cart of groceries.

“Sorry, Mommy…I had a accident…sorry, Mommy.”

“That’s OK, Zekey…accidents happen…thank you for helping me.” is what I heard coming out of my mouth, which was really hard to hear over all the screaming and cussing in my head.

I wish I had taken a photo of all the eggs in the cart but my shock and horror didn’t wear off and allow me to move for several minutes. I did get a shot of the poor bagger guy who was called to clean up:

 

Nothing like a 97 year old on his knees cleaning my mess to add to my guilt and horror.

 

At least there was a huge line of people huffing, puffing and sighing behind me.

And how was YOUR day?

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