Grocery shopping is always an adventure during the Summer. My husband works two jobs and usually doesn’t get home until 8 or 9 o’clock at night, which means that my options are limited to: a) go grocery shopping late at night, by myself, or b) take all FIVE children shopping during the day and drastically reduce my chances of being robbed. (This is Houston, we live in a nice area, and our shopping centers seem to be prime targets for sinister endeavors at night; purse-snatchers preying on night-owl soccer moms.)
None of my children play soccer, by the way, but bad guys don’t usually stop to ask if you precisely fit their criteria.
This morning’s shopping trip started off with the usual 53,000 requests, pleas, bribes, and finally threats to get all five children dressed, shoe-d, and into the van. But we made it! The only real difference today is that I’m just getting over what I’m assuming was the flu; body aches, fever, and murmuring in my sleep, oh my! Given this, I woke up with my patience tank only about 15% full. Children beware!
By the grace of God–and I mean that with all sincerity–we made it to the store. This, after we made a pit stop a few blocks from the house when I realized I’d forgotten to buckle my 2yo niece into her seat. Oops.
Of course, my 4y0 demanded that obnoxious cart with the extra attachment that seats two children, and is difficult as Hades to steer down narrow aisles. Now… the fun part. And I can’t decide which of these two moments struck me the most: the woman who heard me mutter “Dear God, please help me” out loud, and stopped to offer that age-old wisdom of, “it’ll get better, honey”, tag-lined by the bless-your-heart look so prevalent here in the South. OR… OR the good ole’ country boy checking me out as I struggled to steer my five little Vikings down the dairy aisle.
I MEAN, REALLY! Is this sexy to you?? I’m sweaty, dressed in clothes that have been sitting in the dryer for three days, doped up on heavy flu medication, and I’m gritting my teeth against telling you where to go and how you can get there. And you wanna throw me some puppy-dog-wanna-ride-in-my-pickup-truck eyes?! And you didn’t. Even. Stop. To help me load my groceries. You could have at least loaded some fruit snacks and Go-Gurt into my van before undressing me with your eyeballs.
On a good note, we have food for another week. I have pudding cups with which to bribe my children into the bathtub or off Minecraft! Silver linings, see? Now if y’all will excuse me, I’m going to go vegetate on the couch, binge watch some Lee Pace, and work on my examination of conscience.