Target trips are a familiar saga in my life. Regardless of the time of year, the items on my list, or how many kids I’ve wrangled along—whether they’re friends, family, or neighbors—the routine remains the same. I always park near the cart return, allowing me to confine the kids swiftly. The youngest, a spirited toddler, dives into the cart’s basket instead of the seat, while my other two, ages 5 and 6, cling desperately to the edges. And so begins my trek through the parking lot, trying not to lose anyone.
First stop? Starbucks.
Naturally, the kids wail for their favorite drinks. I firmly decline, embracing my role as the ultimate villain. Their moans about the absence of soy milk steamers fill the air, and they dramatically gesture toward the barista, but I keep moving.
Next up is the Dollar Spot.
It’s a must-visit, even though I rarely find anything I want. Instead, it becomes a negotiation for toys. I grab some Ninja Turtle socks for my toddler—because let’s face it, one always goes missing. The kids go wild over light-up skulls, sticker books, and excavation kits. I stand firm with a resolute “no.” They plead, I refuse again, and soon the toddler’s insistence on stickers leads to a ten-minute debate over items that cost a dollar. The chaos of the Dollar Spot is something I could do without.
In a misguided attempt to sneak in “me time,” I wander into the women’s clothing section.
The toddler, however, has other plans and escapes from the cart. His siblings chase after him, and I attempt to browse clothes while old ladies and Target staff shoot me disapproving looks. Back in the cart goes the toddler, where he promptly screams. Thanks for that, Judgmental Judy.
My oldest tries to crawl under the moving cart. I stop him, concerned about potential injuries, but he’s persistent. He’ll find a way to squeeze back under at the earliest chance.
Next, we head to the makeup aisle.
I always need makeup, right? My sons start suggesting eyeshadow shades and begging for sparkly nail polish. When that fails, they suddenly need cotton balls for “crafts,” which translates to a snowball fight between them. Q-Tips become a second choice.
Then we cruise past the gummy aisle.
They insist they need more gummy vitamins. But they already have plenty! The toddler, however, starts screaming for them, and this continues until we finally reach the juice aisle. A juice box is opened to quiet him, which leads to two more being opened for his brothers. My credit card better work for this escapade.
Now it’s time to wander through the seasonal section!
This is a must-stop unless it’s one of those in-between holiday periods with cheap junk. We might find garden gnomes, Halloween costumes, or holiday decorations! The kids eagerly explore, only to sulk when their desires aren’t met. Sometimes I cave in and let them buy an ornament just to maintain peace.
After seasonal, it’s on to the toy aisle, specifically the Lego section.
They come up with reasons to justify a new Matchbox car or a Dinotrux. I chant my “you’re not getting anything” mantra, but eventually, I give in and sit on my phone while they explore the Lego kits. I keep an eye on them, knowing my Wi-Fi is my sanctuary.
Then, it’s time for the children’s clearance area.
They whine about wanting to check out the $5 junk toys across the aisle while I sift through discounted clothes. After a few minutes of whining, I relent, only to face another round of “no one’s getting anything.” This leads to tears, and not just from the toddler. Seriously, Target’s layout is a nightmare.
Finally, it’s time to escape.
Somehow, amidst all this chaos, I’ve gathered what I intended to buy. As we make our way down the center aisle, the whines turn into sniffles. I pick the quickest checkout line, usually the one with the most seasoned cashier. She understands the urgency—if I don’t get through quickly, chaos will reign.
Of course, the toddler saves his loudest meltdown for the checkout line. It could be that the cashier is scanning his toy, or maybe he’s just overwhelmed. I’m left juggling my purse and trying to get my card in the chip reader. It works, thank goodness. We dash out like we’re in a race.
And then, they start pleading for Starbucks. Again.
I say no, again. The tears flow once more, and the toddler doesn’t even stop crying. I buckle them into the car, where they continue to cry about their Matchbox cars or the dollar items. As I unwrap everything, I swear to myself that I’ll never set foot in Target again. Yet, I know—I’ll be back in two days. I need it. Target is my haven.
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Summary
In this playful and relatable recounting of Target trips, the author captures the chaos of shopping with kids, the endless requests for toys and snacks, and the emotional rollercoasters of parenting. Despite the challenges, the love for Target shines through as both a necessity and a comforting refuge for parents.