Shopping with children. Those three little words are far more weighty than their syllable count might pretend. The daunting task, a miniature exercise in self-torture, is actually one of the toughest things I tackle. As I told an old friend in the store, “I still go to work some for a break.”
Although the job of purchasing edibles is a tough acquisition in itself, the preparation for the trip is just as fraught with obstacles.
Factor in the frigid weather that is without a doubt colder than a witch’s mammary tissue and you have the added bonus of wrapping said children with more padding than allows for natural movement. You end up with tiny Eskimos running into the furniture because they can’t see over their scarves while you risk life and frost-bit limbs to crank your vehicle.
One, I really miss having a heated garage.
Two, where do baby hands go when you put them in a puffy coat? Seriously. It’s like I almost want to enlist the help of Dora, Boots, and Map to try and find those tiny fingers lost inside the sleeve of the coat I just put on my baby. So then I have a tiny Eskimo with no hands. It’s kind of creepy looking.
Anyway, we do eventually arrive at the grocery store, despite the Olympic sport I performed of buckling a tiny Eskimo and a little Stay Puft Marshmallow child into their car seats. I was disappointed, but today, despite my rigorous training and dedication, I only earned The Bronze.
Once inside the store, after masterfully locating an open parking spot nearer the door, I chose my shopping cart. I went with the deluxe model that offers child seating for three and a stow-away cabin for my purse, our diaper bag, and other Arctic gear we brought inside. The payments of this model are higher, but it has a five-star safety rating, and when faced with that how could I say no.
The only tiny, no huge, really huge, problem with the deluxe shopping cart is its length and related difficulty in maneuvering through tight aisles. Thankfully the store provides drivers to lead and follow my cargo in their cute little pick-up trucks complete with flashing lights and “caution, wide load” signs.
I was brilliant and forward-thinking enough to pack a weeks worth of water, milk, and juice cups. I naturally also included a month’s supply of toddler snacks for our journey. I was very proud of myself. I was also not surprised in the least when these items were not in demand and instead requests for items out of the grocery cart were wanted for consumption.
As any mother faced with 16 more aisles to tackle I quickly and without shame opened packages of string cheese and Gold Fish crackers for the tiny horde. I looked to see if I remembered to wear my ” I Swear I Feed My Children” T-shirt, but quickly realized I had gone with the booger and dried food cardigan instead.
Aside from filling my shopping cart with empty wrappers, my three year took frequent breaks to climb down from our deluxe RV buggy and run across the store.
Look how fast I am Mom. I’m super fast. Look mom. Look!
A large number of little old ladies smiled at my children, and a sizable number came up and spoke with them. My three year old is always good to tell strangers all of our full names and pertinent information like, “This morning my mom forgot to flush her doodoo.”
It’s good though. All the smiling. I can typically tell what kind of shopping trip I’ve had in relation to the number of strangers that shake their head at me, or even more enjoyably, offer me unsolicited advice on keeping control of my children.
Both of my children are equipped with an internal alarm that sounds when it is time for a shopping journey to reach its end.
The baby’s alarm starts as a low whine, but if you hit snooze then the next time it goes off it will be at full-volume cry. And you really don’t want to push it until it reaches the screaming part of the alarm. It’s best to cut it off before that happens.
The three year old’s alarm is a bit different. It also starts with a small whine, but quickly escalates to dramatic monologues of “I’m sleeeeeeeepy” complete with impressive swan dives here and there. This is usually the perfect time to try the “you are not getting the ______ if you don’t straighten up!” The entire purpose of allowing them that item at the beginning of the trip is to be able to use it for behavioral control at moments like this. Don’t judge. You know you’ve done it too.
It was a good day as defined by these alarms going off at the check-out rather than the coffee aisle. All the planning and hard work of scheduling naps prior to the voyage, and no doubt the schematics I drew-up of the local Walmart to ease my descent through the aisles had all worked together to bring a mild form of success out of the misadventure.
I’m not saying it wasn’t “pull-out-your-hair insane” or anything like that. The lines were very long when we arrived. This is the nature of the beast when four checkers must man 30 check-out stations. I saddled up behind a half-mile long trail of shoppers who had come before me and decided to wait it out on trusty Number 9.
At this point, while the baby practiced self-contortion to escape the seatbelt that confined her to the metal basket prison, the three year old dropped the very large and still full bag of Goldfish crackers. All of them. On the floor.
I will admit that I desired to completely flip out at this moment, but somehow surprised myself with the ability for rational thought.
I was able to remember that the pile on the grocery store floor was simply a snack shaped like a fish and not a body of a loved one. I hugged my ashamed child and felt a small stab of joy for getting something right that day.
Our journey at the check-out ended with me loading plastic grocery sacks one handed with a contented baby on my hip while pretending Princess and narrating our tale for my three year old to distract her from the near-destructive fall she took dancing around the bag carousel.
I’m sure the story could be made into a top-selling movie by Disney. It detailed our fight to escape the evil Queen Walmartia and find refuge in Napville.
As I gathered our winter coats from the under-carriage a stranger approached me and whispered into my ear.
She stated, “I’ve never seen someone handle a situation with such grace. I just wanted you to know that.”
I smiled like an idiot all the way to the van, frigid air and all.
The icing on the cake came in the form of big sister finding a dumdum sucker, but deciding to give it to her little sis unprompted by me. Despite my thoughts running rampant of sticky sucker residue stuck on a puffy Eskimo suit, I smiled anew and thought, “now that’s grace.”
carolyn says
I laughed, I cried, I sympathized! What a whirlwind life with little one’s is!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thanks for understanding and commenting so 🙂
April Hodges says
Do you ever get people that say, “It gets better, I promise” and wonder WHEN?!? We did the car shopping version on Saturday… at first I wouldn’t let them in the show cars, but at the end I was letting them in any car that had dark upholstery, lol!!! I feel you 🙂
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Haha! Thanks for understanding. I still enjoy ever chaotic, wincing moment. Most of the time. Lol.