I’m the proud mom of three energetic boys. The oldest, who I affectionately call Sprout, is now 9 years old, lanky as a reed, and nearly as tall as I am—his flip-flops fit my feet perfectly when I dash outside to grab the mail. Sprout is definitely growing up.
You’d think that having an almost pre-teen would slow down the playful chaos when we hit Target, but all three of my boys see that iconic red sign and decide it’s time to test how far they can push me before my head explodes like confetti in the clearance aisle. Spoiler alert: they’re winning.
Today’s trip was a desperate attempt to check off a few items from my list: Christmas shirts for Sprout and my middle son, along with some essentials like toilet paper and hand soap. Simple, right?
Well, guess again. An hour and 20 minutes later, we finally made our exit. My middle child was proudly sporting a Santa hat I apparently purchased, and my toddler was sprawled out on the bottom rack of the cart, dragging his tiny hands along the ground as I waddled out through the automatic doors.
Our shopping adventure began with a frantic chase down the boys’ clothing aisle as I yelled, “Get back here!” to my youngest, who was off on a wild chase after his brother, who thought it was the perfect time to gallop through the store. And what kind of mother lets her toddler out of the cart? The kind who is utterly exhausted and fed up with the whining. Yes, I had him secured in the shopping cart at first, but I caved when he begged to get out, warning him that if he didn’t behave, his iPad and free cookie (curse you, Target bakery) would be on the line. Guess what? He didn’t walk nicely.
Yes, he’s still breathing, but as for my sanity, that’s another story. I felt like I was navigating through a surreal version of reality, clutching a wine glass in one hand while attempting to keep my children clothed and out of trouble.
Sprout took on the role of the older brother, trying to rein in the chaos, but let’s be honest: having a fourth-grader shout, “You’re both going to be stolen and sold into slavery!” across several aisles is not exactly the best way to diffuse a situation. Sure, I’ve warned him about the dangers of running off, but I’m not sure that kind of language is going to help—especially with concerned parents reaching for their phones to call Child Protective Services.
And it only got crazier from there. The toddler, on a mission, grabbed a bottle of Febreze off a shelf and insisted we needed it, tossing it into the cart every time I turned my back. Meanwhile, the older two got into an intense dispute over who would get to load our items onto the conveyor belt at checkout. At that point, I seriously considered tying them up and putting them in the freezer with some organic string beans.
This whole experience took me back to a time I witnessed a mother orangutan at the zoo, calmly nursing her baby while her other child tossed lettuce around. She backhanded him, sending him tumbling down an embankment. After this trip, I completely understood her plight.
I can’t help but think it was the cough syrup’s fault. My middle child had been on medication for a couple of days, and I’m convinced that Sprout had a taste of it too. I get it—it tastes somewhat decent, and there’s something almost magical about feeling better after being sick for so long.
But what can you do? Shopping is a necessity, and leaving kids in hot cars is a big no-no. I could switch to online shopping, but let’s be real, that would require actual planning. So, I guess I’m stuck. Maybe next time, I’ll wean them off the cough syrup before we go. Or perhaps I’ll just join them in indulging.
If you’re looking for more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out our other blog posts, including this helpful piece on intracervical insemination. And if you need resources on the process, this article offers great information.
In summary, my chaotic shopping trip at Target reminded me of my primal instincts as I wrangled my boys like a mother orangutan, all while hoping to keep my sanity intact. It’s a wild ride, but hey, that’s motherhood for you!