A Shopping Gripe

Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook have already heard my gripe for the day, so sorry if you hear it again here.

I hate those days that I desperately need to get to the store on my "day off" also known as my day home with the kids, also known as my not-so-day-off. I need to make a few stops today and I'm trying to decide if I'm feeling brave enough; one to Sam's or Costco, another to the regular grocery store, and another to our local Target. I really would love to get this done during the day while Kevin's at work, but as those of you with two or more small children know, easier said than done.

I've got a three year old that has two options: (1) walk or (2) sit in the big, basket portion of the shopping cart and be surrounded and squished by shampoo and tampons. Inevitably, if he's actually chosen to sit in the basket, he gets maniacal and has the increased urge to stand up in the cart while it's moving, risking a nice goose egg for him and onslaughts of starring from strangers for mommy.

If he chooses to walk it's pretty much guaranteed that he'll make a mad dash to the toy aisles leaving mommy behind in between the toilet paper and Lysol sprays with two screaming babies. I've yet to totally lose him in a store, but I honestly feel like that luck is rapidly approaching an unsafe danger zone. I'm just waiting for the day to hear a page over the intercom system stating that somewhere in the store a failure for a mother is missing her firstborn son.

This is all assuming I've been fortunate enough to score a cart that miraculously seats both of my one year olds in the first place. The Target we frequent hasn't jumped on my list of "stores I adore because they cater to moms with more than one small child" - no double carts (that aren't broken, anyway). So B & C usually end up with one leg bent and smashing their little manly bits into their intestines while the other leg dangles freely through one of the leg hole openings. At least half of their bodies are comfortable. :insert sarcastic eyeroll here:

As you can imagine, this arrangement interferes with the personal bubbles of even the smallest of mankind. A few minutes into our trip to hell elapse and I have reached my threshold for screaming and whining. Then the true madness starts - the biting. Oh, the biting! They both lean into the other and chomp down on anything they can get a hold of; a shoulder, some fingers, even a cheek or nose - no discriminating for the Wibb boys, they take whatever they can get, so long as it ends in tears. (The suffering of blood relatives apparently makes them their happiest.)

Usually by this time I am doing my best at giving evil glances back to the slew of onlookers we've developed as we try to race about the store in a last-ditch effort to grab everything on the list before someone reports me to CPS. There are always those few "helpful" people that like to joke and make comments like, "Wow! You've really got your hands full, don't you?" and delay your trip to the checkout counter by a couple of seconds more.

And most likely, an astounding 99% of the time we end up forgetting the number one reason we went into the store in the first place, whether it be diapers, milk, or maybe even Advil for the kid-induced headaches that are a daily occurrence. I know, you're jealous!