I AM in control of my own destiny

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Seeing how it’s unofficially National Dictionary Day (since Noah Webster was born October 16, 1758), let me give you the Merriam-Webster definition of “destiny,”:


noun \ˈdes-tə-nē\

: what happens in the future : the things that someone or something will experience in the future

: a power that is believed to control what happens in the future

Oh crap, did I say destiny? I meant destination, since that seems to be the only thing I can control since I’m the one driving the car. My destiny is at the mercy of two volatile, mood-swingy, bipolar-ish boys in the backseat who in the same breath can be both jovial and devilish.

For those of you who are all prophetic in your “you create your own destiny” mindset and “you could create a better destiny if you taught your children to behave blah blah blah,” you may or may not be a parents, so let me reiterate: my destiny (at least while they’re young) is controlled by two boys in the backseat who are about as unpredictable as the numbers in the nightly lotto drawings.

Take our excursion to Snip-Its and Target this morning. I explained that we were going to get him (Unit) a haircut and then Target. He disagreed with the notion of going to the latter so vehemently that he removed his Crocs (it’s 75° and pouring rain) and dropped them on the floor of the car. I know, what a maniac. “I’m NOT going to Target, I don’t LIKE it there!” I reminded him that I was driving and that’s what we were doing, and nicely asked him to behave. “I’m gonna apologize,” he almost inaudibly spoke (that’s how he says he’s sorry, by telling you he’s going to apologize).

Unit needed a haircut in the worst way so why not take him to the place that claims “a haircut at” their establishment “is truly an adventure!” I am not disputing their statement at all, every single time we go there (thrice a year), Unit loves it.

Here’s our Snip-Its experience in a nutshell:

We walked in, gave them the last four of my phone number (since we’ve been there before), ask the child’s name, proceed to give your kid a special credit card that is later inserted into the front of the desk disguised as a special toy-making-type machine. He got up in the chair, held onto the card as tight as possible, and proceeded to respond to everything the woman asked him in his whisper voice, a voice so low it’s barely a tick up from it being considered lip-synching. Hey, at least he was answering her. After the cut was over, he politely asked for a lollipop (pats self on back) and hops down. He put the card in faux-toy-making-machine and out popped … wait for it … a sticky hand thingy. Ugh. I paid, got a coupon for $3 off the next cut, and we left.

We’ll be back before the new year to take advantage of the $3 off coupon, believe that!

Well that went rather swimmingly.

As soon as we step foot outside, he tells me he likes his haircut and wants to go to Target. Yes, the place just 30 minutes prior he thought was the worst place on Earth. Like I stated earlier, “volatile, mood-swingy, bipolar-ish.”

I get the two loaded up in the car, G-Unit screeching like a pterodactyl as we get pelted by the pouring rain, and we head to our final destination, Target. After we arrived, the de-boarding began and while I was getting them out of the car, I used an umbrella to keep from getting soaked by the teeming rain. Unit had a breakdown, looked away and began crying because he didn’t want to use the umbrella but also didn’t want to get soaked. I waited outside the car, cuffs of my pants dripping water, wearing G-Unit underneath the umbrella. After two minutes, Unit came to his senses and stepped out of the car.

Everyone knows what a black-hole Target is for your wallet though they do have the best prices on cereal, which was on my list of things to procure along with milk, bread, and a few packs of $1.50 foam brushes. Today I kept it in check, spending just $30 instead of the anticipated $14, so that was a small victory. I wound up getting two boxes of cereal, bread, milk, the foam brushes, two bags of Rold Gold pretzels (sourdough and sticks), and a box of apricot fruit leathers. I think that was all.

The entire time inside, Unit rode in the large basket of the shopping cart (I know they’re not supposed to sit in there) as he pretended he was actually controlling where we went all the while singing in a high-pitched voice that everyone in the store assuredly thought was awesome. He was having a good ol’ time, he must’ve forgot he removed and dropped his Crocs earlier on because I mentioned the store’s name. “Volatile, mood-swingy, bipolar-ish.”

The root of the story: you control your destination, your destiny, or what happens in your future, is heavily dependent on the maniacs in the back seat.

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