I have three little boys. Well, one of them is not so little anymore; he’s 9, as skinny as a cornstalk, and almost as tall as I am. I can easily slip my feet into his flip-flops to grab the mail. Cornstalk is definitely growing up.
You’d think that would deter the primate-like antics at Target, but all three of my sons see that bright red sign and think, “Let’s see how we can make Mom’s head explode while ricocheting around the clearance section.” Spoiler alert: they’re winning.
Today, I took the trio to Target after school for a shopping trip I could no longer postpone. I needed Christmas shirts for Cornstalk and my second-grader, plus some toilet paper, a roll of paper towels, and hand soap. Just a few items, right?
How long do you think this trip took? Thirty minutes, tops? Wrong! One hour and 20 minutes later, we exited, with the middle child sporting a Santa hat I had apparently purchased, while my 3-year-old lay belly down on the bottom rack of the shopping cart, dragging his hands between my legs as I made my way through the automatic doors.
We started our shopping by supposedly browsing the boys’ section for shirts. Let me clarify: I began by chasing the toddler down the aisle while hissing, “Get back here! GET BACK HERE!” Why was he running, you ask? Naturally, he was chasing his middle brother, who thought it was the perfect time to gallop through Target.
And what kind of mother allows her toddler to escape the cart? The type that is fed up with the whining, that’s who. He wanted out (I swear I had him in there!), and I caved. I did manage to threaten his iPad, his free cookie (curse you, Target bakery!), and his very existence if he didn’t walk nicely beside me during our shopping adventure.
Did he walk nicely? Of course not. Yes, he’s alive, but am I? That’s still up for debate. I feel like I’m stumbling through a half-awake, semi-reality where one hand clutches a wine glass while the other desperately tries to keep my kids clothed so they don’t dash naked into the streets like the little animals they are.
Meanwhile, Cornstalk decided to take it upon himself to scold the younger two for their wild antics. While I appreciated the effort, it wasn’t effective. There’s something awkward about a fourth-grader yelling, “You’re both going to be stolen and sold into slavery!” across the aisles of startled shoppers. Yes, I’ve warned him about such dangers, and yes, they were far away, but that language isn’t helpful and could lead some concerned moms to call Child Protective Services.
Things only got worse from there. My toddler grabbed a bottle of Febreze off a shelf, insisting he needed it, and tossed it in the cart every time I turned around. Meanwhile, the older two got into a fierce argument over who would load our items onto the conveyor belt at checkout, making me seriously consider tying them up and shoving them in a freezer with the organic string beans.
This whole experience reminded me of a time I saw a mother orangutan calmly nursing her baby while keeping an eye on her other child, who was shredding a head of romaine lettuce and tossing it in the air. She casually backhanded him, sending him cartwheeling down an embankment. After today, I can completely relate.
Honestly, I blame the cough syrup. My middle child had been on it for two days before this shopping adventure, and I suspect Cornstalk had a taste as well. I understand—it tastes decent, and there’s something magical about being able to breathe after weeks of coughing up phlegm like a lifelong smoker. Lesson learned.
But what can you do? Shopping is a necessity, and children can’t be left in hot cars. I could consider buying everything online, but who am I kidding? That would require actual planning. So, I guess I’m stuck. Maybe next time, I’ll wean them off the Robitussin before we head out. Or, perhaps I should just start drinking it myself and join the zoo.
For those interested in exploring more about home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. Also, if you’re looking for fertility solutions, visit this authority on the topic.
In summary, taking my boys to Target highlighted just how primal our family adventures can be, leaving me feeling like a mother orangutan trying to maintain control in a chaotic environment.