Spectator

There is a boy in a superman costume at Peet's. Faux muscles and all. I have seen his mom several times before, at Trader's Joe's, at the park, or walking out of a coffee shop with cardboard cup in hand while I rush in for mine. I always laugh at how frazzled she looks and until I realized that she was laughing at me too.

I thought we had a lot in common until I heard her disciplining her son one afternoon in the produce section at Trader's Joe's. She was lecturing him because he wasn't coming to her right when she asked. I was lucky if Josie stayed in the same store as me, never mind the same 5 foot vicinity.

As her bright cheeked and perfectly quiet baby bounced in the baby bjorn, the mom shook her finger at the boy and told him the next time he didn't come she wasn't going to give him any kisses. Josie would have jumped for joy at the thought of never having to place her precious, perfectly pink lips near my cheeks again.

The mom just left I miss watching spider man misbehave and run circles around the displays while his mom tried to order what had to have been her second triple grande of the day. While her body may have been over caffeinated, she was still no match for her son and his spidy sense.

I felt very fortunate to be sitting alone at a table - a spectator for a change. It was nice to use my mind delicately typing instead of using my quads hopelessly trying to maneuver my way out of the coffee store with Owen on my hip and Josie in the wind.