Little Shop of Horrors

Today my family and I went to the grocery store. We like to make an event out of shopping—or shopping makes an event out of us. I’m not sure. Whatever the case, we enjoy going together. My husband and I stick the girls in the race car cart, sip on Starbucks and pick out meals for the week.

But this morning Kid #2 decided she didn’t want to ride in the cart; she wanted to drive the fluorescent-green mini shopping buggy. I shook my head, but daddy couldn’t resist the cheesy smile kid #2 flashed him . . . and so we were off: Kid #3 in the race car cart, Kid #2 pushing the mini-buggy, and Kid #1 bored out of his mind trailing behind.

Everything was fantastic. Kid #2 helped me bag apples and load them in her cart while a few older couples smiled and told me how adorable she was. Who could resist a four-year old in a Hello Kitty snow hat?

I sipped on my caramel macchiato and moved on to the meat section. But Kid #2’s cart was full, and she was getting bored. She jumped in the race car, exciting her one-year old sister so much she bounced up and down. The metal of our cart echoed throughout the store.

“Clarissa! Stop.”

Kid #3 peeked through the “rear window” and showed me every tooth in her mouth.

My heart melted.

A young couple passed by, glaring at my lovely kids. I remember being that young, thinking of the future and what I would not be like as a parent. I probably would have glared at my kids, too. I smiled at the obviously child-free couple and kept moving.

My husband had to detour to the bathroom, leaving me alone with all three monsters . . . er, I mean sweethearts.

Kid #3 finished damaging everyone’s eardrums with her buggy bouncing technique, and Kid #2 was following close behind. Too close. She ran over my ankle.

“Ow!”

Kid #2 put down her hot chocolate. “Sorry, Mommy.”

“It’s okay. Stay behind me, there are lots of people here,” I said, maneuvering around three women shoppers—all giving me the you’re brave look. Yeah, don’t worry, my husband’s here . . . somewhere.

Doubling-back to the meat section, I grabbed another pack of chicken.

Kid #2 ran over my ankle again.

“Abby!”

She looked at me with her hot chocolate mustache. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, but you need to be more careful. Where’s your father?” I glanced all around, wondering where the heck he’d gotten off to. “Ethan, watch your sister. Make sure she doesn’t run into me again.”

We returned to walking up and down the aisles, browsing for items on our list. Kid #1 took the “watch your sister” comment to the extreme and the two began fighting.

I met eyes with another woman my age, she shook her head.

“Guys, stop it!”

Kid #2 lost her balance; she and the cart tipped over.

“Where is Daddy???” I stamped my foot, acting similar to my three children.

Truthfully he’d only been gone a couple minutes, but hell broke loose in those two minutes. Kid #2 picked up the contents of her buggy, Kid #3 bounced up and down again, and Kid #1 maintained a smug I hate my life kind of look.

If he only knew, this would be his life one day.

When Daddy finally graced the aisle with his presence, I sighed. The remainder of our trip was uneventful aside from an occasional comment about how beautiful our children are by passerby’s.

On our way out of the store I made a decision: I was never going shopping alone with my kids. I love them dearly, but boy do they know how to push my buttons.