Preschoolers Will Say Anything!

So I sucked it up and went to the commissary this afternoon. As Peter Pan is my witness, I will likely never go back again. I don't care how much I save anymore. I ended up behind two cars in the parking lot who practically parked in the middle of the throughway, waiting for a car that was just being loaded so they could have their spot. Two! Two different spots, even. So I went around them and took another lap through the parking lot. As I searched for a spot- any spot, I saw that stupid empty Volunteer of the year parking spot. Like I do, every time I go. I hate seeing that designated parking spot. Especially on days like these. You volunteer, that's great. But you don't deserve your own spot. Seriously.

Do Airmen or Officers of the Year, at any level- squadron, group, wing- get their own spot at the commissary? No.

If one earns an Iraq or Afghanistan campaign medal, does one get their own designated parking spot? No. Unless they've been injured. Then they get to park in the handicapped spot. That doesn't count.

Will a noble-prize winning vet retired in Tucson, get his own spot? No.

Does the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES get his own parking spot at the commissary (I know, he has no reason to be at the commissary. Especially this one, but I'm trying to make a point here, people-). No.

No. No. No. No. No.

People who put their lives on the line to serve in the military and excel at their jobs do not get their own spaces. So why should a volunteer? Someone who likely (no offense to the wonderful women who give of their time) is not working and has school age children and therefore needs something to do with her time, so may as well make it philanthropic, get her own parking spot? Seriously. Volunteering is fine. It's great! I've done it. Dh has done it. We have friends that have done and still do it. And we'll likely do it again. Maybe in the near future, even. BUT even if we put in the most volunteer hours out of anyone in the world, we still should not get our very own designated parking spot. At the commissary or anywhere! Not even at their apartment complex parking garages. But there it is, every time. That empty spot, laughing at me as I drive by, increasing the irritation that is bubbling over as I maneuver the, uh, others, who have come out to buy food.

I want to park there one day. Will the sp's come by and tow my car? Will I get a ticket? How will they know I'm not the volunteer of the year? Maybe I am and my 3 year old ate my parking pass and the new one's in the mail. How will they know all that (unless they read my blog. Fat chance, besides, they wouldn't know what my color, make and model my car is. It's not like, "volunteer-space-stealer" will be on my license plate!). Maybe I'll put a row of power-wheels borrowed from the neighborhood kids in it some day. Or maybe 5 rows, 3 power wheels deep. Or, I'll just drag one my neglectful neighbor's trash cans and put that in their space. Then I'd be fighting this war on two fronts! You don't put your trash can away Tuesday night, it ends up in the empty volunteer spot on base.

TAKE THAT you non-deserving space getter! And non-trash-can-putter-away-er!

That being said, the point of this post was actually to say this:

4-year olds have no inner editor. At all. Or if they do, they don't care that an adult is telling them to be quiet!

You see, there weren't just a lot of people on the commissary today. There were a lot of grey-haired people. Which A. found just fascinating. So fastinating, that I could not do anything about her verbal diarrhea. Because at least once, in every single aisle, she pointed out (in a not-so-quiet voice), "mama, that person is so old!" or "how did they get so old?" or "why are all the old people here?"

Every. Single. Aisle.

I tried to get her to be quiet. I did. But her inner editor would not be strapped down, and therefore the words just fell off of A.'s lips, completely unhindered.

As we were walking to the car with the bagger, A. says, again, "mama, how did that lady get so old?"

I'm tired of answering-ignoring-answering this question. So I finally answered:

"Because her kids wouldn't listen to her."

A.: "Because her kids wouldn't behave?"

Me: "Exactly."

A.: "Mama, will you get old?"

Me: "I'll get old really quick if you don't start being good."

Later, on the ride home, after much reflection:

A. "Mama, I don't want you to get old."

Me: "Well then. I guess you'd better start listening to me, huh?"

A.: "Yeah."

Could it really be that easy to get them to start respecting my authori-ty? Fear of making me old? God, one can only hope!