I do not have Lorelai of the beloved and recently departed Gilmore Girls‘ addiction to sugary or chocolate-covered confections. My drug of choice is usually in the Nerds or Laffy Taffy category. However, when charged with adrenaline the only way I know how to try and come back down to earth is to chug some kind of factory-processed, chocolate-covered, cake-like substance that is preferrably pumped full of whipped cream or a close relation thereto.

Yesterday I downed several. In close succession.

Because Jackson ran into a table. At full speed. And it clipped him in the face; more precisely right in the mouth. And I watched as his head whip-lashed backwards and his body arched perfectly in the air and he crashed into the tile floor of the store we were in.

The sales people were not helpful.

Jackson screaming. Me trying to comfort him and staunch the blood. Micah sensing my momentary lapse in monitoring his every move running away as fast as his fat legs can carry him.

Saleslady, “Oh my. He ran into that real hard. I heard it.”

Me, “Yea.” Frantically grabbing for Micah while trying to cradle my gangly almost-four-year-old who suddenly seems reduced to all flailing limbs.

Saleslady, “Gosh, you have a lot on your hands with two boys.”

Me, “Yea.” Desperately trying to asses if Jackson has lost any teeth while keeping a visual on Micah.

Saleslady, “Do you need some help.”

Me, “Yea. Hold the baby while I help my son.” Grabbing Micah by the ankles as he tries to crawl under a table. Dragging him toward the perfectly coiffed saleslady. Thrusting him at her.

Saleslady (while making no move other than to beckon) “come here baby. Come here. Oh, there he goes again.”

Me, “Yea.” Hauling Jackson into my right arm, latching onto the collar of Micah’s shirt with the other and yanking him into my left arm. Carrying them both to the store’s restroom. Thinking, “where the heck is the restroom; my arms are going to pull out of their sockets; is Jackson gonna be ok; why won’t Micah stop biting my shoulder?!”

Jackson was fine. A cut on the inside of both lips. Some swelling. Some bleeding. But fine.

Micah was oblivious anything amiss had even happened.

The store folks were all stares when we emerged from the restroom. Stares and whispers. But no actual help.

I was high on adrenaline. So high, I got lost on the way home. On a route I could drive in my sleep.

Hence the ho-hos. They began to do the trick. Seeing Jackson get up from his nap, smile and ask for food and permission to keep building his sandcastle fort did the rest.

But I can think of one store that just lost a customer for life.

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