"Oh, great selection and rock-bottom prices. But where is the love?"
I went grocery shopping yesterday. During the afternoon. With the kids. With no adult assistance.
I’m slowly getting my independence back. I lost all ability to leave the house when Abbie was born. I felt the need to stay home for Abbie’s sake to keep her as close to her routine as possible, and for the world’s sake to keep her from inflicting her fury on everyone else. Around four months, I realized my sanity was suffering, and I needed to leave the house to interact with humans besides the guy screening calls on that radio show I listen to. Eventually I reached the point where I could take Abbie on errands throughout the city, keep her close to her nap schedule, and be fairly confident that, even if she did melt down, I wouldn’t care how many people nearby she ticked off with her screaming because I deserve to leave the house too.
Sometime around 19 months, the twins came home and I stopped leaving the house during the day. I had no chance to safely transport three young children within the two-hour window I had between feedings. Slowly the feedings spread out, the children became more self-sufficient, and I realized the need to leave the house during the day. This time it wasn’t to save my sanity, though; sleep deprivation and extended screaming fits stole that from me long ago. Now I need to frequently leave the house to replenish our Vital Supplies, and I can’t always wait until Ellie is around to help. Three children use a lot of stuff, and the sheer number of trash bags we use to dispose of it requires weekly trips to the store.
At least I would need to run to the store weekly for trash bags if I didn’t buy them in ridiculously large quantities at the warehouse club store. Before kids, I was ambivalent about these stores. Sure, their muffins are tasty, their atmosphere is an enjoyable brand of existentialistic isolation, and buying cookies by the half-stone is always exciting, but I wasn’t saving enough money to cover the cost of membership. Even with Abbie, we were only close to breaking even.
With three kids, though, I was suddenly eager to pay for the privilege of roaming dark, concrete-floored, employee-free aisles. The diaper savings more than paid for the membership, and they offered more for children and the parents who care for them between narcoleptic episodes. They have cheap milk, acceptable produce, and boxes of Goldfish with three bags so that even after the child rips the bag and spills Goldfish all over the floor for the dog to eat she still has two bags to enjoy.
Best of all, the warehouse club has extra large carts that seat two babies in the basket. I can strap them into a cart with plenty of room for 8-pound bags of dog treats, and easily supervise them while keeping them entertained by talking to them and encouraging them to poke each other. The two-seater gives me the freedom to leave the house, and wander the aisles trying to find Abbie, who is also wandering the aisle without the encumbrance of a gigantic cart weighted down with almost 50 pounds of baby and four pounds of raisins. The cart seats two, forcing Abbie to fend for herself. Sometimes she elects to walk. Sometimes she elects to ride in the main basket. Sometimes she elects to hop on the side while I push her and hope I don’t sideswipe a display 300-ounce laundry detergent.
Yesterday she elected to rapidly switch between all three modes. She walked near my side until she realized that she was walking like a chump while her brothers rode. Then she rode in the main basket until she realized that I would only move when she was fully seated. Then she hung onto the cart’s edge until something caught her eye, like a giant box of Goldfish or another gigantic cart approaching at dangerous speeds from the opposite direction, at which point she’d hop down and walk again.
Abbie continued her cycle while I picked up groceries. Once I filled the cart with milk, Goldfish, and other things for her to rip into, that’s when she decided she wanted to stay in the cart. I moved quickly to the checkout lanes, found a cashier moving quickly in spite of the store’s soul-sucking nature, and proceeded out the store before anyone melted down. My sanity was just starting to return, and I didn’t want a screaming fit or three to scare it away again.
I’m slowly getting my independence back. I lost all ability to leave the house when Abbie was born. I felt the need to stay home for Abbie’s sake to keep her as close to her routine as possible, and for the world’s sake to keep her from inflicting her fury on everyone else. Around four months, I realized my sanity was suffering, and I needed to leave the house to interact with humans besides the guy screening calls on that radio show I listen to. Eventually I reached the point where I could take Abbie on errands throughout the city, keep her close to her nap schedule, and be fairly confident that, even if she did melt down, I wouldn’t care how many people nearby she ticked off with her screaming because I deserve to leave the house too.
Sometime around 19 months, the twins came home and I stopped leaving the house during the day. I had no chance to safely transport three young children within the two-hour window I had between feedings. Slowly the feedings spread out, the children became more self-sufficient, and I realized the need to leave the house during the day. This time it wasn’t to save my sanity, though; sleep deprivation and extended screaming fits stole that from me long ago. Now I need to frequently leave the house to replenish our Vital Supplies, and I can’t always wait until Ellie is around to help. Three children use a lot of stuff, and the sheer number of trash bags we use to dispose of it requires weekly trips to the store.
At least I would need to run to the store weekly for trash bags if I didn’t buy them in ridiculously large quantities at the warehouse club store. Before kids, I was ambivalent about these stores. Sure, their muffins are tasty, their atmosphere is an enjoyable brand of existentialistic isolation, and buying cookies by the half-stone is always exciting, but I wasn’t saving enough money to cover the cost of membership. Even with Abbie, we were only close to breaking even.
With three kids, though, I was suddenly eager to pay for the privilege of roaming dark, concrete-floored, employee-free aisles. The diaper savings more than paid for the membership, and they offered more for children and the parents who care for them between narcoleptic episodes. They have cheap milk, acceptable produce, and boxes of Goldfish with three bags so that even after the child rips the bag and spills Goldfish all over the floor for the dog to eat she still has two bags to enjoy.
Best of all, the warehouse club has extra large carts that seat two babies in the basket. I can strap them into a cart with plenty of room for 8-pound bags of dog treats, and easily supervise them while keeping them entertained by talking to them and encouraging them to poke each other. The two-seater gives me the freedom to leave the house, and wander the aisles trying to find Abbie, who is also wandering the aisle without the encumbrance of a gigantic cart weighted down with almost 50 pounds of baby and four pounds of raisins. The cart seats two, forcing Abbie to fend for herself. Sometimes she elects to walk. Sometimes she elects to ride in the main basket. Sometimes she elects to hop on the side while I push her and hope I don’t sideswipe a display 300-ounce laundry detergent.
Yesterday she elected to rapidly switch between all three modes. She walked near my side until she realized that she was walking like a chump while her brothers rode. Then she rode in the main basket until she realized that I would only move when she was fully seated. Then she hung onto the cart’s edge until something caught her eye, like a giant box of Goldfish or another gigantic cart approaching at dangerous speeds from the opposite direction, at which point she’d hop down and walk again.
Abbie continued her cycle while I picked up groceries. Once I filled the cart with milk, Goldfish, and other things for her to rip into, that’s when she decided she wanted to stay in the cart. I moved quickly to the checkout lanes, found a cashier moving quickly in spite of the store’s soul-sucking nature, and proceeded out the store before anyone melted down. My sanity was just starting to return, and I didn’t want a screaming fit or three to scare it away again.
posted by Matt at
11:03 PM
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