Caught in the act, and I don't care!

You know those celebrity tabloids that show photos of your favorite stars looking schlubby or doing something embarrassing, like walking around with a wedgie or dripping mustard all over their clothes?

I feel a little bit like a celebrity today.

Last night, we dragged the whole family to Target to buy a few things we needed for the house and for a cookie-decorating thing we're doing Saturday with our friends Mark and Kelly and their kids.

It was right after work, so the kids were hungry for dinner. Lester bought hot dogs and grilled cheese and popcorn (dinner of champions!) and set up in the store's little dining area, while I power-shopped. I couldn't find one item I needed, but my check-out lady told me where to find it, so after paying for all my other things, I lugged Clair back with me to the far end of the store to get it. When I came back to the dining area (still without my item), Cary and Dean were spastically rolling the shopping cart into empty tables, spilling popcorn everywhere and just generally bouncing off the walls. There was NO settling them, so I just ditched the hope of finding chocolate-covered pretzels and said, "Let's go!"

We hustled out of there (to get our tree, yay! Which Dean picked out. Of course.) and got home so late that it was all we could do to wrangle the three over-tired crazies into bed and CONK out. No Scandal. No Game of Thrones. Just sleep. (Well, Lester folded two baskets of laundry, awesome husband that he is, but *I* fell flat on my face.)

Anyway -- it was all just another day in the Davis household. Until I got a message this morning from a colleague on Facebook who said she thought she'd seen us at Target and wanted to know if we'd been there the night before.Why, yes. That was us! Awww, we could have stopped and chatted. Aww.

But as the morning wore on, I started thinking: What exactly did she see?? Did she see Clair pick up that stray chunk of hot dog from under the table across from us, and me do the TV-slow-motion dive to knock it out of her chubby little hands just before she chewed on it?

Did she tsk tsk at how I had lazily clapped Clair's hair into a frizzy 'fro on the top of her head - and that she had "runch" all over her shirt? (That's what she said when I asked her what on Earth she spilled all over her clothes. "Runch.")

Did she judge me about the veritable carpet of popcorn we left for some probably-pissed-off employee to clean up? (I did whisper "Sorry about the mess!" to the random Target employee who was sitting there taking her break, but she just glowered, so I don't know if that means "You're forgiven, poor harried mother of three" or "Eff you and happy new year!" But I digress.)

Could she hear  -- all the way from back in the section with the Christmas trees -- my boys' complete and total inability to use anything close to an inside voice? Ever?  [Seriously. WHY are they so LOUD? Dang.]


I thought we had been anonymous in Target -- the ragtag bunch of us, all hastily bundled in mismatched hats and gloves, ketchup-stained, loud, hungry and unable to find chocolate-covered pretzels or mini M&Ms, despite two trips to the back of the store! DAMMIT.

But we had been spied. By someone who knew us! This must be how Oprah feels!

If I had written this blog post in my 20s, the moral would have been, "And this is why you must always look your best when out in public!"

Thank GOD I'm no longer in my 20s.  Because I didn't care one bit. This is the blessing of getting older and less concerned about what the world thinks of you.

And I know that my colleague truly wouldn't have judged -- she's a cool person, and a Mom herself, who was running late to pick up her own kid.

But even if she did judge, it wouldn't have mattered. My kids are not always magazine-ready; they don't always behave well in public. Hot dogs are messy; popcorn even moreso. The gloves that match the hats sometimes get lost.

And so what?

As a mother in my 40s, the moral of THIS blog post is: If you want chocolate-covered pretzels from Target, to make reindeer cookies for your crazy, messy kids, you'd better get 'em early, because they sell out.