Help...Make Them Stop Helping Me

Yesterday, the grocery sacker offered to help me put the bags in the car. How nice, I thought. He noticed that I have two wild little boys and a baby buckled into the cart and wants to ease my back pain.

Once we got out there, the sacker said, "I'll watch the kid. You put the groceries in the car."

Who did he think he was? My husband?

People can't stop helping me.

I thanked the sacker and watched as he babysat an empty cart. I always put the boys in their carseats before loading the bags so that they don't help me.

They help enough inside the store.

This time, Johnny and Richie helped me understand why they were crawling through the store on all fours. It wasn't to pick up unthinkable germs but to look like wild boars. However, they didn't need to crawl to get that point across. Their behavior spoke for itself.

They helpfully told me whose fault it was that they were squeezing loaves of bread, body blocking each other into canned goods, tearing open the plastic on raw beef, and running in front of a cart pushed by a crazed lunatic (me.) It was all Richie's fault, Johnny said.

Richie helpfully agreed. Then he gave me that giggling look that said: "What are you going to do about it? Spank me?" He even turned around and helpfully stuck out his bottom and shook it back and forth so I could see it better.

My kids can't stop helping me.

Johnny helps clean up around the house by handing me things and saying, "Put that away."

He gives helpful advice about safely handling the items.

Giving me a box of thumbtacks, he says, "Don't let the baby play with these."

Handing me a sheet of shamrock stickers, he says, "Don't eat them."

"They think I'm an idiot," I complained to Justin.

He laughed, obviously agreeing with them.

We were having a family party yesterday and Justin got home from work early.

Before the trip from hell to the store, he helpfully offered to clean up the backyard if I took all the kids with me. This meant that while I was saying things like, "Well, this is the most ridiculous display of behavior I've ever seen. You have truly outdone yourselves this time, gentlemen. I have half a mind to sit here with you all night while you think about who will get stuck eating that smashed bread and torn up meat. That means you would miss the party. How does that sound, boars?" my husband was leasurely wiping off the table and putting away toys, enjoying the balmy backyard breeze.

He probably paused to talk to the young neighbors who don't have children. He knows these neighbors. He jokes with them. He knows their friends. They drink beer together. He tells me funny anecdotes about the great times they have together.

To me, the couple is the blur I see when I wrestle our dog off the neighbor's cat or run bandaids out to whichever kid has bleeding knees.

When we got home from the grocery store, my husband helped me remember that we were out of charcoal. No problem. He went back to the store for me. Alone.

Really guys, you have to stop helping me. I can take it from here.