I don't know why we do it, take all our kids to the store
with us. I'm not sure if it's truly family time, or if we just enjoy torturing
our children—and ourselves. But, nonetheless, we all pile into the car and hit
the grocery aisles together.
Sometimes having five people works to our advantage. We find
items on our list quicker when the twelve-year-old searches with us. We
remember to buy things we otherwise would have forgotten when the six-year-old
is with us (I still can't believe she's SIX!).
But there are other days when a singular thought SCREAMS
through my head, "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???"
Yesterday was one of those days. This is how our trip went.
Kid #1 to Kid #2: Would you stop looking at me?
Me: Enough. I know you're mad at me because I won't let you
read that book, but stop taking it out on everyone else. Seriously, your sister
is looking at you. Get over it.
Kid #1 huffed and lagged behind.
Kid #2 pushed away Kid #3: Stop, stop, stop. Mommy, she's
trying to lick me.
Me: Gross, Rissa. *Sticks arm between them and pushes them
away from each other* (Why do they make carts with dual seats again?)
Kid #3 smiled and stuck out her tongue, and the hubs
wandered off to collect items on our list . . . alone.
Grr.
Kid #2 screamed—in the store!
Me: Abby, shhh.
Kid #2: But she keeps trying to lick me.
Me *Takes kid #2 out of shopping cart*: How about you walk
for a while?
I loaded a few items into the buggy as my husband rounded
the corner—thank God—and added his
loot to the rest of the pile.
Hubs: Was that Abby I heard screaming two aisles over?
Me: *Glares*
Kid #1 ran up the aisle with Kid #2 hot on his trail: Get
away from me.
Hubs: Get over here, both of you!
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching our
horrible parenting skills.
Kid #2 wailed: He hit me!
Me *puts her back in cart with licking sister*: Ethan, why
can't you just get along with her?
Kid #1: She's mean and annoying and—
Me: I get it. It's impossible. When are you going to learn
to be the bigger person?
Kid #1 rolled his eyes.
Hubs wandered off again while the rest of us perused the
produce section. Somewhere near the potatoes, Kid #3 started growling like a
dinosaur, at the top of her lungs. Everyone in the store looked our way.
Me, under my breath: Rissa, stop.
Kid #3 leaned her head back and roaaaaarrreeeed again.
I laughed. What else could I do? She wasn't crying? She was
just being a toddler, a creative, imaginative toddler. While the roaring was
quite loud, my request to make her stop only made her louder.
Kid #1: I'm so embarrassed. What's wrong with her?
Me: Same thing that was wrong with you when you were this
age.
Kid #1 rambled on about something I'm sure meant he was
perfect and we would never have allowed him to get away with anything of the
sort. Maybe he's right. Maybe not. I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter because to
him I'll always be wrong.
Hubs returned with the rest of the items from our list, and
we rushed toward the check out lines. While a few of our fellow shoppers
probably judged us, I was at least satisfied we didn't break anything or have
to remove our children from the store.
Not that we've ever had to do that . . . yet.
