Grocery Getter

I’m getting braver on my unassisted expeditions. No longer do I huddle inside the house during the day, terrified to run errands for fear the children will begin wildly misbehaving. Now I leave the house expecting the children to wildly misbehave knowing that no one will criticize me since if they’re out during the day, they probably have their own wildly misbehaving children. I just can’t venture far without risk of running into naptime because if that happens, all four of us will be cranky.

Yesterday I needed to run to the grocery store. This wasn’t my main grocery store trip where I need a cartful of food to sustain us for the seven breakfasts, six lunches, and three suppers we eat at home every week. Tackling that chore without adult assistance or at least firmer child restraints than are generally socially acceptable would be suicidal. This was a trip to my nearby grocery store for a handful of things I noticed were on sale in their ad plus a couple things we ran out of after cooking that fourth supper in seven days.

This kind of trip is doable since I can use the stroller to tote the boys and groceries, leaving me a free hand to direct Abbie as she walks at my side, or at least runs around within earshot. Of course, I have to occasionally focus my attention on merchandise, and I pray she doesn’t poke anything too fragile or expensive while my back is turned.

The produce section that begins every grocery store is the scariest part with Abbie. Thin skinned, easily bruised items are everywhere, and Abbie knows that they’re all edible. I snatched many an apple from her clutches a fraction of a second before her teeth pierce the skin.

Fortunately, on this trip I didn’t need any produce, and was able to zoom quickly through the area en route to the things I did need. Abbie barely noticed the bounty of goodies, but she did notice the section adjoining the produce: The floral section. Abbie likes flowers, and will often run up to them regardless of foot or automobile traffic to furiously sign “flower” at me, pointing them out just in case I missed them. The flowers didn’t catch her eye on this trip; the balloons did.

Children love balloons. They combine the fun of a ball, the allure of bright colors, and the magic of a floating device into one neat package that can be used to repeatedly hit a sibling without cause physical harm. Abbie ran up to a collection of balloons hovering from the ceiling, and tried pilfering one. Being a responsible, semi-alert parent, I eventually stopped her and started to drag her away when an employee offered one to her. At this point, I noticed the balloons were emblazoned with the store’s logo, and were meant to be given away to children in hopes that they’d drag their parents back to the store several times a week for more free balloons.

I thanked her, and Abbie hauled it back to the stroller. She spent the rest of the store proudly walking through the store and clutching her balloon. Except for all those times she lost her grip on the ribbon; we had to stop until I pulled it off the ceiling for her.

Toward the end of the store, right after the meat section, the balloon drifted too close to the stroller and Tory grabbed it. I tried to wrestle it away from him, but he wasn’t going to surrender his treasure. Abbie pulled on it for a few seconds, realized Tory had it tightly, and made a decision. Instead of pulling harder or screaming in agony at having lost her balloon, she immediately ran directly back to the floral department to grab a new balloon. The employee recognized us and asked if her first balloon floated away. I said no, her brother stole it. The employee understood the actions of children.