Updated: Aug. 6, 2020
Originally Published: Aug. 8, 2017
You step out of your house with a sense of determination, maybe even a bit of bravado. Your partner raises an eyebrow, questioning your sanity at the thought of taking three children on a school-supply shopping trip. You retort confidently that involving them in the process will teach them about responsibility, accountability, and the value of money. They need to learn that their choices have consequences — and maybe, just maybe, it’ll make them appreciate what they have.
As you make your way to the store, of course, chaos ensues: the kids squabble over who gets to choose the highlighter color for their lists. A quick reminder that they can earn a treat for good behavior calms the storm, at least temporarily. You roll into the store with purpose, spotting hand sanitizer on an end cap, and manage to grab two bottles with one hand without breaking your stride.
Navigating the school supplies section is going decently well — you breeze through crayons, markers, and glue sticks, although you keep a close eye on each list, since every child has a specific quantity to pick up. But as you reach the folders and notebooks, your youngest has wandered off, determined to explore every toy within reach. You gently remind him that you’re there for school supplies, but as he tries to sneak another toy into the cart, your patience wears thin and your whispers become more like hisses.
Now you’re confronted with choosing pencils. What in the world is a “Dixon Ticonderoga” pencil? You feel like you’re on a scavenger hunt, as every package says “Ticonderoga,” but the elusive “Dixon” remains a mystery. With a shrug, you toss a pack of regular Ticonderoga pencils into your cart, making sure to grab pre-sharpened ones — you vividly remember the last-minute panic of sharpening 48 pencils before the first day of school.
By the time you reach the dry erase markers, you’ve taken the first-grader’s list to check off items yourself. Your patience is dwindling, and let’s be honest, he can only read half the words anyway. You search high and low for black, fine-point dry erase markers, but they appear to be extinct. After much deliberation, you settle for regular black markers, hoping they’ll suffice.
“1 box of pink top erasers?” you mumble to yourself, bewildered. Are those the ones that go on the end of pencils? You could swear you’ve never seen such a thing sold in a box. Shrugging, you toss some standard pink erasers into the cart without a second thought.
Next stop: tissues, baby wipes, and Ziploc bags located at the opposite end of the store. By now, the kids are utterly done with this shopping ordeal — and so are you. They insist on a toy, and your honest response of “Because I’m the worst” feels a bit too real. You silently curse the store layout for not grouping these essentials together. Tissues, baby wipes, and Ziploc bags should obviously be right next to the school supplies. And let’s not forget the wine aisle — that would be a lifesaver.
At this point, you’re juggling all three lists, scrutinizing every item while the kids have wandered off to drool over the Doritos. You realize you need to double back for Band-Aids and contact paper. Herding them through the store feels like an act of cattle wrangling, and you can’t even remember if contact paper still exists. Thankfully, a kind store employee overhears your plight and points you in the right direction — you’re tempted to kiss her, but settle for telling her she’s the best.
You’ve definitely hit your 10,000 steps by now, and while you think you’ve found contact paper, you can’t help but wonder if you even know what it is anymore. You vow to call your mom later for clarity and head toward the Band-Aids. You pass the hand sanitizer again and realize your earlier confidence has completely evaporated.
Finally, you reach the checkout. The kids bombard you with requests for this and that, and your patience has officially run out. You declare, “The next person to say ‘Mom’ loses 10 stars!” A few amused customers chuckle from a distance, but you’re dead serious as you watch the register tally up a whopping $200.
Loaded into the car with all the supplies, you can’t believe it’s been almost two hours — it feels more like six. You call your partner, explaining that you’re finally wrapping up, and seriously consider day-drinking now. But alas, you forgot to grab the wine.
In summary, a routine school supply shopping trip with three kids can quickly spiral into a chaotic adventure filled with fighting, confusion, and a desperate search for elusive items. Despite your best intentions to teach them about responsibility and accountability, the process often leaves parents questioning their sanity.