"Julie Kenner - Carpe Demon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner Julie)

remaining stacks greedily. I inched the cart farther away from the shelves.

"Allie, do you mind? I need to go change him."

She gave me one of those put-upon looks that are genetically coded to appear as soon as a girl hits her
teens.
"Take your pick," I said, using my most reasonable mother voice. "Clean up the cat food, or clean up
your brother."

"I'll pick up the cans," she said, in a tone that perfectly matched her expression.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that she was fourteen. Raging hormones. Those difficult
adolescent years. More difficult, I imagined, for me than for her. "Why don't I meet you in the music aisle.
Pick out a new CD and we'll add it to the pile."

Her face lit up. "Really?"

"Sure. Why not?" Yes, yes, don't even say it. I know "why not." Setting a bad precedent, not defining
limits, blah, blah, blah. Throw all that psycho mumbo jumbo at me when you're wandering Wal-Mart
with two kids and a list of errands as long as your arm. If I can buy a day's worth of cooperation for
$14.99, then that's a deal I'm jumping all over. I'll worry about the consequences in therapy, thank you
very much.

I caught another whiff of nastiness right before we hit the restrooms. Out of habit, I looked around. A
feeble old man squinted at me from over the Wal-Mart Sunday insert, but other than him, there was
nobody around but me and Timmy.

"P.U.," Timmy said, then flashed a toothy grin.

I smiled as I parked the shopping cart outside of the ladies' room. "P.U." was his newest favorite word,
followed in close second by "Oh, man!" The "Oh, man!" I can blame on Nickelodeon and Dora the
Explorer. For the other, I lay exclusive blame on my husband, who has never been keen on changing
dirty diapers and has managed, I'm convinced, over the short term of Timmy's life, to give the kid a
complete and utter complex about bowel movements.

"You're P.U.," I said, hoisting him onto the little drop-down changing table. "But not for long. We'll clean
you up, powder that bottom, and slap on a new diaper. You're gonna come out smelling like a rose, kid."

"Like a rose!" he mimicked, reaching for my earrings while I held him down and stripped him.

After a million wipes and one fresh diaper, Timmy was back in the shopping cart. We fetched Allie away
from a display of newly released CDs, and she came more or less willingly, a Natalie Imbruglia CD
clutched in her hand.

Ten minutes and eighty-seven dollars later I was strapping Timmy into his car seat while Allie loaded our
bags into the minivan. As I was maneuvering through the parking lot, I caught one more glimpse of the
old man I'd seen earlier. He was standing at the front of the store, between the Coke machines and the
plastic kiddie pools, just staring out toward me. I pulled over. My plan was to pop out, say a word or
two to him, take a good long whiff of his breath, and then be on my way.