I do like the fact that I do not get evil glares and hits put out on me simply because I do not have reusable bags with me. The concept is smart, cool, and I'm totally game. But I usually have one child wriggling (like a Slinky) stuffed under one pit and a toddler playing chicken with the oncoming traffic in the parking lot. Don't forget the diaper bag that could actually be a sling for Xander it's so big, my keys in my mouth, and a sanitary wipe to make sure the cart handles/seat get a good disinfecting. However, some of the other grocers in Des Moines make you feel like you aren't welcome without your green bags and that you are as close to gassing down a gaggle of ducklings as you are to being Enemy #1 with our Earth, walking in without reusable bags. The nerve!
Anyways, I've learned quickly to let them pick out ANY treat in the store - anything as soon as we walk in. Then they can hold it, squish it, play with it, or dream about it becoming theirs the entire trip through the aisles and I get an extra 15 minutes to shop without constant, I am so so sorry's!
Zo grabbed a Dove chocolate bar (that's my girl) and Xander wanted to play with the rake we picked up. More power to them. We went into the Garden Center and I was congratulating myself on making it through the first ten minutes without a single tantrum or threat. We went around a corner and all hell broke lose.
But not from our cart.
A father had one little girl sitting in the basket on top of a jumbo pack of Charmin eating a XXL sucker and one older child going having what appeared to be a psychotic breakdown. She was throwing anything she could get her hands on, pounding the cart, and projectile vomiting while her head spun. Well, not really, but it was likely they'd be calling the family priest to get exorcism rates if she did this for longer than a quick spell. Of course, this psychotic scene was causing quite the traffic jam with the elderly and toothless alike, and our cart was smack dab in the center ring of this miserable circus. There wasn't anything I could do but try to get my kids interested in the roach and termite pesticide display.
They weren't about to tear their eyes away from this drama unfolding at their feet. They were soaking up every fist pump, scream, and projectile as if this was Dora and Diego live and in concert. So, I leaned back, knocked over a few pesticides, and took a breather. Hell, this was the first time in a long time I wasn't the mom getting the stink eye from other shoppers for my kid's behaviors. Soak it up, people, soak it up!
"That hmpfhskljdf!" said Zo.
"What? I can't hear you!" I replied above the roar of the Exorcist and her furious father.
"That girl is jkahsjkhgfdbg!" she said, significantly louder.
"Say it one more time, ok?" I whispered, close to her ear.
The good news? Some threat Daddy made worked because there was silence and in that split second, "THAT GIRL IS A TRAIN WRECK!" came out of my daughter's mouth.
As fire came from Daddy's nostrils and Exorcist threw a can of tomatoes at our cart, one of the elderly or toothless (or, really, both) applauded and everyone went on their way.
Yet another great observation, Zoe.
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