So a lot of people have been asking me about my recent trip to the grocery store. What could have possibly made it so challenging—and time consuming? I’d love to say that it was something remarkable. But it wasn’t. It was an ordinary trip to the store. On a sitcom this would play out in a matter of minutes. In my life, it played out over two. very. very. long. hours.
There was a relatively short list on a post-it note. A five-year-old boy who actually enjoys grocery shopping. And an almost-9-month-old baby who doesn’t care where she is, as long as she’s in a Baby Bjorn. We hopped in our chariot for what was sure to be a quick trip.
About a block from the store, Pink started screaming. Being the baby whisperer that I am, I recognized the scream as one of a little girl whose flaming diaper rash has just been, well, reignited. Perhaps it was because I’d changed three dirty diapers the past hour or so, perhaps it was sheer arrogance, but whatever the reason, I didn’t bring the diaper bag.
“Mah-om, Pink’s crying!”
“Do you see any diapers or wipes back there?”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t think so.”
A couple loops around the parking lot confirmed the usual Sunday crowd had multiplied into Thanksgiving-eve proportions. We parked. Big, who insisted on sitting in Little’s car seat, couldn’t get the belt unbuckled. We wrestled it. We got Pink out. We walked into the store. We bought diapers. And wipes. We walked out past a sign notifying patrons that the store had applied for a license to serve alcohol. How strange, I thought. We walked back to the car. I changed Pink. Big complained that it was taking forever. I put Pink in the Bjorn. We walked back to the store. We tried again.
After checking off the majority of our list in the produce section, we fought our way out and on to the next aisle. Big started swaying side to side with his knees knocking together. The sound of swishing track pants had me rolling my eyes long before he said:
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Ok, I don’t have to go.”
“No, no, of course it’s fine. You obviously have to go. Come on.”
We worked our way through the carnivores—who were much more gruff and aggressive than the herbivores—and went to the restroom. I’d love to say we didn’t know where it was, but it’s as familiar to us as the milk section.
There was the requisite fight discussion about why he couldn’t go in the men’s room alone. So we all headed into the ladies’ room where he proceeded to examine each stall before settling on a vacant one. A toilet flushed. And if you’ve been with a baby who’s just decided loud noises are as offensive as a burning rash, you can imagine what our wait was like. In order to distract myself, I looked at my phone. Lenny had texted, “Can you please get celery?” Sure. Sure we can.
We headed back out relieved (meaning Big’s bladder and Pink’s anxiety, of course), and went all the way back to the far end of the produce section to get logs for Lenny’s ants. Then tried again.
Our cart was right where we’d left it and ready to roll (in an awkward, lopsided fashion of course, but it rolled nonetheless). Actually, it would have rolled if every single person in the store didn’t seem to be stopping right where they’d block us from making progress—with bold defiance. It was as if they’d made an announcement that the person who most blatantly got in our way would get their groceries free that day.
Oh, and Big heard that announcement. He wanted in on the competition. I’d zig, he’d zag. I’d beg him to walk in a single file line behind me, he’d step on my heel. I’d get ready to go and he’d suddenly be standing in front of the cart.
Meanwhile, Pink’s confidence was building. About half way through the store, she decided to get in on the fun. Cereal boxes were being knocked off shelves. The grocery list was being chewed on. Drool was making the shiny floors extra slick.
So when we got to the baby food, I knew I’d have to be extra careful. In our world, digging through all that pureed goodness is like mining for gold. You see, the only kinds Pink can eat (thanks to her lovely allergies) are pears and squash. Not the pear/raspberry combination that was in the pear slot. Nope, can’t have that. Somehow, someway we escaped with four measly jars of squash and no broken glass. Phew.
More blocking. An accidental tackling of a two-year-old girl whose mother let her roam free in the cracker aisle. And a final check of the list revealing we only forgot one thing. Cream cheese.
Cream freakin’ cheese.
I don’t know about your store, but at this one, the cheese aisle not only draws the most traffic, it has huge poles throughout it to ensure that there’s no smooth way in or out. And, well, I don’t think I need to spell out how well our final acquisition went.
This may come as a shock to many of you, but patience isn’t something that comes naturally to me. Or unnaturally, most of the time. But I kept my cool. I joked. Told Big we’d better check the lost and found to see if someone had come across my mind. He joked back. Saying that I was off-the-charts crazy. But could we buy some gum? No. No gum.
Together we emptied the cart. I glanced at my phone. Another text, “Where are you? Is everything alright?” Big wiggled his way to the end of the checkout line and started packing up the bags (because of course I chose the line with no bagger). He did a great job—and was so proud that he was being helpful when I was feeling so frustrated. And I couldn’t help but feel the same way. A shining moment.
I handed over a ridiculous amount of money and realized that they didn’t ask for my ID. Not because I didn’t look 40 (obviously people around our parts have had serious work done if that’s the criteria for carding), but because I didn’t buy any wine. Right.
We loaded up the car and finally headed home. As soon as we walked in, Lenny, who had been relaxing on the couch with a sleepy Little said, “You should have had me go. I like grocery shopping.”
End scene.
Do tell, what was your most memorable shopping trip? (Please tell me I’m not alone!)
You. Are. Not. Alone. One of my girls’ favorite grocery store activities used to be to stand at opposite ends of the freezer aisle (running there, of course, though I’ve said several times NOT to run because it makes mommy envision bleeding heads and crying kids), and one by one opening the doors to look at each other from inside the freezer, then running to the next one until they are right by one another, laughing hysterically. Sort of cute, if the store is devoid of shoppers actually trying to gather frozen foods. And if I can get the vision of our impending trip to the ER out of my pounding, aching head.
Also, they like to take turns (fight over) who gets to push the cart. Into my achilles tendons.
See? Not alone.
Thank God the Whole Foods in our town rocks the 80s hits for all us Moms. They are smart enough to conjure up the memories of when we were young and carefree so we linger (and spend).
xoxo
The freezer thing does sound pretty cute. As long as it’s YOUR kids doing it. Not mine.
Oh, and the cart pushing thing? Yeah. We have that issue too. (Also with the stroller…every day.) And when your kids aren’t close to being able to see over the handles, that’s an added bonus on the fun meter.
Thank goodness it’s not just me. But I’m sorry it’s you. xoxo
I haven’t taken my son grocery shopping since he reached behind him and flipped over a carton of 18 eggs while in the check out line. Using a combination of baby wipes and produce bags I cleaned up what I could, but probably should have counted them as I cleaned up. The next day I found 2 practically scrambled stowaways in my diaper bag.
That’s awesome. So why haven’t you taken him back? 😉
going to the grocery store near a Leisure World is a nightmare in my book… both driving there, going through the parking lot, and maneuvering through the store – be ready for slow, s.l.o.w, s….l…o…w……
I’m not trying to be ageist… I’m just trying to get my ice cream home BEFORE it melts.
Sounds like you should just eat your ice cream in the store. Bet that would help pass the time!
It was Christmas 2011. My husband is out of town and we are hosting Christmas dinner. We have not done any food shopping. E is home sick and has been for 3 days. R is just home because daycare is at my work and I’m just tired of driving all over. So with 2 kids in tow we head to WF at 4pm–Mistake #1. Since I need to get everything, including the turkey, I can’t fit both kids (3 & 1) in the cart. R gets his stroller and E gets the top basket of the cart (he’s 3 1/2 yrs and 2 lbs over the max weight limit–tight squeeze). We proceed through the “stinky store”. I’m pushing the stroller and pulling the cart backwards. Yes, backwards. We wait for our number to be called at the meat counter to get our bird…finally. Then E tells me he has to go potty. Sweet…a cart, a stroller and a bird all trek back across the market. E does his business. We continue shopping as I pray they don’t knock anything over. With a FULL cart of food, E tells me he is going to barf! Yikes…zig zagging through the store again. By the time we get to the bathroom, he feels better. I be line it straight to the checkout. We get in the car, i load up all the groceries and head for home. Half way, in the dark, i hear E from the back…”Mommy, I have to barf!”. Screeching tires we pull over, I jump out and put E on the curb. Again, false alarm. Pack everyone back in the car and drive home to then deal with unloading the groceries…Dinner was delicious and all was well in the end. Merry Christmas!
Wow, I hope you grabbed a bottle or two as you sprinted past the wine section (multiple times). Great story–I can totally picture it. Glad it was a happy ending!
Longtime reader, first-time commenter.
My two-year-old daughter particularly enjoys those dirty, disgusting kid-friendly car shopping carts. She stares longingly at them as we pull into the parking lot, then starts wailing if I try to hustle her past them. Once she’s securely buckled in — and I’m pretending not to care that the fabric straps are damp or that she’s probably already picked up rotovirus — she’ll ride through approximately two aisles before yelling “out! out! OUT!”
And you must be talking about the MP Safeway. Is there anything worse than that ridiculous narrow aisle with the big silver poles?! And all the popular items on both sides of the aisles? Wait, maybe the parking lot spaces. They are just terrible. I’ve literally seen a man do a nine-point-turn to get out of his space.
Love your blog. It all sounds so familiar, and I’m glad I’m not the only one livin’ the dream some days. 🙂
Thanks so much for reading AND commenting, Britt! I so appreciate it and it IS nice to know we’re livin’ the dream in the same Safeway aisles. Big’s already asked when we’re going this weekend, so if you see a mom in tears, please stop to say hi!
Loved reading your story and the others! Our best worst grocery store experience, and we’ve had many from which to choose, was when T was still very little. I’m not even sure he could walk, but boy could he move.
So I’m in the Mexican food aisle looking for a certain brand of taco shells or something, which of course I can’t find. T does not want to sit in the cart. He does not want me to hold him like a normal baby. He wants to climb up as high as he can on Mt. Momma and cliff jump off my head.
Where are the cotton-picking taco shells?! Must get out of this store…
T’s gymnastics were commonplace to my husband and I, so without thinking, I hoisted him up over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I held him firmly by his leg as he dangled down my back cooing with glee. Finally, I could study the shelves of processed Tex-Mex in peace. Ah, there were the shells I needed.
Then I felt it. The pressure of the heavy gaze of judgment. I turned to see two older ladies frozen stiff and staring at me in horror. How could I hold my dear, sweet child in such peril?
Without skipping a beat, I pulled T back from the brink of disaster and thrust him out toward the gawkers. “Would you like to hold him?” I said. “Didn’t think so.” We grabbed our shells and away we went.
Oh for the love of taco shells. That’s a fabulous story! Thanks for sharing, Aimee.
Amy, I hadn’t thought about this in years and it’s one of my favorite stories from the early years of motherhood. I couldn’t resist sharing it with my readers. Will do so in a post tomorrow and link back to you. Thanks for the inspiration!
wow, Amy, good for you! i only have one child (he’s almost two) and we are going through this phase where he suddenly abhors sitting in the grocery cart. What used to be a nice excursion is now me holding my breath and pointing out all the colorful distractions in the store to get him to forget that he is in fact, not walking at the moment. I read stories of how people do this with more than one child and think they must have an absurd amount of patience. You definitely deserve a glass of wine after that trip! Or a chocolate bar…(me, I prefer the chocolate!) 🙂
– Sarahlynne of merelymothers
I don’t have much patience, but I do usually have chocolate on hand. Like everything with parenting, shopping with kids goes in waves. This trip just happened to be a hurricane.
Being that I’m not a mom, I have nothing to add to this story except to say that I am always in constant awe and amazement when I do see moms grocery shopping and wondering how they manage to do everything they do in the course of one day. And with that said….why was there was no wine in your cart???!!!!
Grocery shopping notwithstanding, I hope you’re doing great! 🙂
gj
You’d be amazed by the things I *don’t* get done in a day too. Hope you’re great too and look forward to catching up!