how (not) to grocery shop with young children

Concede to pushing a huge racecar-cart. [Have you ever tried to navigate one of those suckers? I always feel like there really ought to be blinking lights and beeping noises to warn the general public that we are coming.] Break out the snacks. Give each kid their own bag of goldfish because heaven forbid you make them share out of the same bag. Have a small heart attack when you realize that they have polished off their respective bags of cheddar baked goodness in approximately 97 seconds. Kids start growing more agitated by the nanosecond. Bribe 3 year old with a piece of sugarless gum and 1 year old with her paci. Because sugarless gum is good for oral hygiene, right? And 9/10 dentists recommend chewing gum to… umm… prevent rotting teeth. Meanwhile, completely ignore the fact that your daughter’s teeth will probably be forever jacked up from her pacifier. Because you plan to let her use that thing until she’s, like, eleven because it’s just so effective in, well, muting her loudness. Then realize that you resort way too often to bribery as a parenting technique. Really, self, you should get back to reading some Dobson. Or is he too retro for 2011? Convince yourself that you suck as a parent. Then, reprimand yourself for using the word “suck” because good Christians don’t use the word “suck” and your mom really hates it and so did your AP U.S. History teacher. But then remember that there is no condemnation for those who are in…. shoot! I don’t have time to get theological here! I really need to grab those bananas and that overpriced gallon of milk and jet. “No, Carson, you cannot have another pair of Transformers pajamas. No really. Sit down. Oneee…. Twooooo…….. thhhh…” Continue onward, relieved that you didn’t have to figure out what was going to come after “three”. Nearly knock over an elderly couple grabbing one too many free meatballs at the freebie station while attempting to maneuver said racecar-cart. Inform kids that next time, we will be riding in a real cart. Make three year old cry. Make one year old cry because three year old is crying. Whip out another piece of gum and pick up paci that had fallen to racecar-cart’s floor when toddler began to wail. Wipe off paci with your t-shirt and stick it back in daughter’s mouth. Five second rule, right? Feel guilty that one year old is probably sucking on MRSA and rotavirus. Make mental note to squirt some extra Purel on children’s hands once you reach the car. Wonder if it would be safe to Purel a pacifier. Wonder how you ever graduated from nursing school. Finally grab bananas and milk. One year old peaces out of racecar-cart while in self checkout line. The faster you come after her, the faster she runs. Three year old has hearty laugh over these antics. Strap one year old in blasted racecar-cart. Tight. Turn on the “I’m a self-checkout loser and need help finishing this transaction” light. [Have I mentioned how much I loathe self-checkout lines?] Three year old and one year old begin to roll on top of each other in racecar-cart. “You better stop it, Carson! You’re going to break Mary Grace’s legs!” “Mom, can you tell me all the bones in the body again?” “No, buddy, we’re trying to check out. We’ll talk about your bones later.” Three year old cries. Again. People look (again). And probably wonder what kind of kid demands to learn human anatomy. Pray that Carson doesn’t grow up to be a surgeon. Shudder at the thought of Carson performing surgery. Buckle one kid in car. Then hold one year old down while she writhes and squirms and arches her back to avoid the carseat buckle. Look at the clock. Wonder how it took that long to pick up bananas and milk. Go home. PB&J, chocolate milk, diapers, stories, NAP! The end.