I spent the morning out and about with my two boys and had to break my cardinal rule: NO SHOPPING WITH CHILDREN! Sigh…
It reminded me of this post that I wrote several months ago on my other blog (before my cardinal rule was in place), and I thought I’d share it here. I’m guessing some of you can relate?
I told Wes last night that my children may need to go through therapy one day because of me. They suffer a certain trauma almost weekly that may leave a lasting impression on them.
It’s called shopping. With one child, the horrors were manageable. As long as his chubby little legs still fit through those leg holes, we were fine (which is until about age 12 in my book). But two children is a whole new world. I mean, what will his therapist think when my older son shares his haunting memories of being trapped in a steel cage for endless hours?
Grocery shopping is among the worst of the offenders. Two children + a pile of food = a lot of smooshed bread. But OH THE JOY the day that I discovered the car cart. Never mind that maneuvering it through the store requires brute strength and an aircraft navigational system…I’ll take that over being one of ‘those moms’ with the screaming children any day.
However, since CVS is my drug of choice…I mean drug store of choice…it means squeezing two of them into a cart the size of my kitchen sink. And then finding room for all of my loot. And keeping Griffin bribed…I mean occupied. Fruit snacks are a blessing.
And why is it that the need to go potty always presents itself at the most inopportune moments? I think Griffin is a fan of the drug store bathrooms that are somewhere in the deep recesses of the stock room and require the help of a sales associate to find.
And then there is the check-out line. I am always so relieved when I find an employee who doesn’t mind their credit card machine being attacked by sticky little fruit snack-covered fingers. And since my cvs shopping requires multiple transactions involving higher math and about 12 coupons each, heaven only knows how many packs of lifesavers have been swiped by my little one from those perfectly-eye-level candy shelves. But hey–I probably had a coupon for them anyway.
How about you? Do you have any horror stories? What’s your secret to the art of shopping with children? Tell all and help save on my therapy bill when my children finally escape their steel cage.