Grocery shopping is a nightmare.

I don’t do it often, but on occasional I become so delusional that I believe I can manage grocery shopping with 2 small kids. Grocery shopping with my little heathens is clearly well outside the scope of my parenting abilities. It’s been proven to me every time I attempt it. And for some stupid reason, I keep coming back for more.

My grocery shopping experience has 4 stages:

  • Over-confidence: As we pull up to the store, children smiling, sippy cups in hand, Starbucks in tow, I’m feeling pretty good. This is usually the point where I’m telling myself a number of lies, centered around the fact that past failures were just a fluke. We’re going to be just fine today. -Insert eye roll so heavy I can see my brain- As we enter the store with my list in hand, cart chock-full of small people, and hair quickly reaching homeless-level dishevelment just from the sheer effort of wrestling both kids from a car seat and into a cart, I begin seeing my flaw. This is where step two comes in.
  • Errors have been made: My toddler is tearing up all the things I put in the cart, or handing them up to her baby sister to gnaw violently on, while she lets out her first of many war cries. I soon realize this is not going to work, and that said toddler will need to walk. Remember, it will be FINE. Let’s get her on the floor. “No, wait, don’t slam that man’s cart into his own shin! Please don’t run to the next aisle! Put that back on the shelf! That’s not ours, hand that back to the woman you stole it from, please! Don’t eat that off the floor! Don’t lick the floor, either! You have to go potty again?!” Why didn’t I bring a carrier? Why didn’t I foresee this? How many mistakes must I make? Why does the baby cry at the worst possible time? Great, she pooped her pants.
  • F*!k this: This is about the time that I start making statements likeĀ “If you can’t be nice, we can’t get your chocolate almond milk” or “Fine, then we’re putting it all back and leaving with nothing”. This is literally the most stupid thing I’ve ever said, because anyone who knows me (my own kids included) knows I refuse to leave that store until everything I need is in my cart. I’m just not capable of walking away from work I’ve already done. So they call my bluff. Again and again and again. And I make weak threats that no one gives two sh!ts about. And then I rage-weep, and I walk through the aisles, corralling my monsters and ignoring hateful stares while L piles unnecessary crap into the cart, that I’ll eventually need to re-route to return to it’s home.
  • I’m never, ever doing this again: When we get to the cart, no less than 5 hours from the time we arrived, looking broken, feeling pretty butthurt/murderous, I vow, THIS will be the end. THIS was the last straw. THIS is the lesson I needed. Now I just need to get us home in a route that bypasses anything that MIGHT sell chicken nuggets. As I do so, I convince myself that no matter how hungry we are, it can wait the 8 hours of my husband’s work shift. This IS the last time.

 

I’m not a particularly stupid person, so I rarely take my kids to the store with me if I can avoid it. But I might be a little crazy, because I keep doing the same thing and expecting different results. I’m at the point where I’m unsure if I’ll ever be able to take them into public places before they reach adulthood. It seems unlikely.

I’ve heard it before, and every time it’s been said to me, I laugh hysterically in my head at it, that if you just keep taking them out, they eventually learn to behave in public. Based on my experiences, my children level up in ridiculousness each time we pull into a Kroger parking lot. So, to those of you who look like hot messes in the grocery store… Solidarity. It’s all I have to offer. And those of you who pretend to have your crap together, please don’t judge the rest of us when we look like fools. Best wishes to my fellow parents trying not to fall apart in a Giant Eagle.

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Mornings at our house.

I’ll be the first to say I’m NOT a morning person. Neither is my husband. We’ve clearly passed this down to our kids. Honestly, happy people in the morning make us all a bit stabby.

Mornings are normally kind of frustrating for all of us, because we’re all just kind of passing the pissy mood back & forth. Most mornings, I rush out of bed to get R fed, because she’s always the first to rise. She likes to make sure L wakes up with her, so I have to get some liquid happiness into her before she gets a chance. I’ve gotten this morning exchange kind of down to a science. I change her while she’s eating because I don’t have it in me to wrestle my alligator baby first thing in the morning. But before I even bother, the coffee maker is started. I have priorities, y’all.

Our morning is likely not “typical”, because as well as hating mornings, we also hate breakfast. Unless it’s in liquid, caffeinated form. Lately, once L is awake & I’ve had my first cup of energy, I’ve taken to pulling what I’ve dubbed a “smoothie kit”(which is just frozen fruits and veggies already cut up & frozen together in a bag) out of the freezer in the mornings, whipping up a quick smoothie for us, and then we all sit around, pissy & waiting for daylight to become acceptable to us.

It should be mentioned that we’re LATE risers. Like 10-11am. All of us. It stems from when B used to work nights and we kept really weird hours. Now we just can’t shake it. For the most part, it’s nice. Except that in the “normal” mom world, playdates start at 9am, and we aren’t even cleaned up until after “lunchtime”, which is more like breakfast/smoothie time for us. I really don’t have it in me to adjust our whole life for that, though.

When the girls finally get up the energy/tolerance to play, I hang out on the floor until we’re ready to extend our bubble to the outside world. If we’re doing something, it usually doesn’t happen until 2pm, because I don’t really have my $#!& together the way I should. By the time we’re all clean, dressed, and human, morning has long since passed. Even then, none of us are super dedicated to the idea of being around other people, but we manage enough to be normal citizens for awhile.

Maybe it’s not that we aren’t morning people, but that we aren’t daytime people. I’m beginning to think we did better at this whole thing when we were halfway to nocturnal.