Suffering from a completely fried brain due to the eighth straight week of 98º+ temperatures, I took my children to Target this evening. Not all of them. Just five. (York is on a scout campout with Mister.) But five is easier than six, right? If the one missing is a toddler, most definitely. But York is supremely helpful and obedient, so I was certainly missing him during our shopping trip. I had to pick up a prescription for India’s ear drops ($125 without insurance!!! I will be voting for anyone this fall who proposes national health care. Fortunately I have insurance so it was only $35, but still . . . ). I thought it would be nice to take everyone along since they all have money burning holes in their pockets. Normally I don’t take all of them to the store. I pretty much would go shopping at 3 am rather than take them all with me. But I thought, foolishly, “I’m sure it will be better now that they’re older.”
India is at that awkward age between child and teenager. She wandered around the toy department and told me she didn’t want to buy anything. But yet there was nothing else that she did want to buy. I suggested a video game or a shirt. Both apparently the lamest suggestions ever.
Arabella took ten years picking something out from the dollar section of the store but Finn found nothing appealing. His main joy in life is candy, so we had to sit in the candy aisle for another decade while he debated the merits of Whoppers vs. Hot Tamales. I was sick of repeating, “you don’t have enough money for that” in all it’s variations by the time we hit the check-out.
That’s where things swiftly fell apart. Of course we had the “Target Limousine” (AKA the shopping cart for two little kids. Don’t you hate when someone with one child takes the last one, so you’ve got to put your two kids in a regular cart?). Jasper had completely wiggled his way out of that thing fifteen times, so I put him in the seat up top. Naturally he was standing up and leaning over precariously while I unloaded all our stuff. India normally is in charge of that kind of thing, but she was too busy squabbling with Finn over a quarter they found on the floor. A lovely Target employee swooped in, trying to get Jasper to sit down while cooing to him, but he was disinterested in her opinions. In other words, he flipped out. (Shrieking, back arching. The usual.) All the while the check-out girl was watching me, a thought bubble forming over her head, “I will never have children.”
I was sweaty and short-tempered by the time we finished paying. I ran, and I do mean ran, out of there to our car. I scolded the children for being so difficult and slow-pokey, and comforted myself with the Ritter Sport cornflake bar I bought despite my conscience telling me I’m big enough as it is.
Now I’m home. I’m still feeling ill-tempered. I fed everyone a minimal dinner, hoping all their Warheads and Mike & Ike’s will have filled them up. I plan on ignoring them for at least another hour then it’s bedtime with no stories. I’m a paragon of motherhood, you might say.
Aren’t I making you feel better about you parenting skills about now? I thought so.