I am the proud parent of three energetic boys, one of whom is no longer so small. At 9 years old, he’s tall and slender, and I can even slip my feet into his flip-flops to grab the mail. Clearly, he’s growing up fast.
You might think that his age would deter the chaotic behavior at Target, but all three of my sons seem to see that iconic sign and think, “Let’s see how we can drive Mom to the brink of insanity while we’re here.” Spoiler alert: They’re winning.
Today, I took them on an “I-can’t-avoid-this-any-longer” shopping trip to Target after school. My mission? To find Christmas shirts for the eldest and the middle child, along with some essential household items: toilet paper, paper towels, and hand soap. Simple, right?
Wrong. We ended up wandering around for over an hour and 20 minutes. By the time we left, the middle child was proudly sporting a Santa hat I had apparently purchased, and my youngest was sprawled on the bottom of the shopping cart, dragging his hands through the air as I awkwardly maneuvered through the automatic doors.
Our adventure started with me trying to find shirts in the boys’ section. Let’s be honest: it began with me chasing my toddler down the aisle, desperately hissing “Get back here!” as he zoomed away. And why was he running? Because his middle brother decided it was the perfect time for a galloping race.
What kind of mother allows her toddler to escape the cart? Apparently, I’m the kind who has had enough of the whining. He wanted out, and I caved. I did, however, threaten his iPad, his free cookie (curse upon the Target bakery for that), and even his very existence if he didn’t behave. Spoiler alert: he didn’t.
Yes, he’s still alive, but am I? I feel like I’m navigating a bizarre reality, one hand clutching a wine glass while the other struggles to keep my kids dressed and out of trouble.
My eldest, in an attempt to help, reprimanded the younger two, but it was more humorous than effective. There’s something awkward about a fourth-grader yelling, “You two are going to be stolen and sold into slavery!” across a crowded store. I’ve warned him about the dangers before, but that kind of language doesn’t help and might just prompt other parents to call Child Protective Services.
Things escalated from there. My toddler snagged a bottle of Febreze, insisting it was necessary for our shopping trip, and tossed it into the cart whenever I turned my back. Meanwhile, the other two were engaged in a fierce battle over who got to load our items onto the conveyor belt, making me consider extreme measures like tying them up and stashing them with the frozen organic vegetables.
This trip reminded me of a time I witnessed a mother orangutan nursing her baby at the zoo while keeping a watchful eye on her other offspring, who were busy tossing a head of romaine lettuce around. She backhanded one of them, sending him tumbling down a hill. After today, I can completely relate.
I suspect the cough syrup is to blame for the madness. My middle child had been under the influence for two days, and I’m pretty sure the eldest was indulging as well. I get it—when you finally clear your sinuses after an extended illness, it feels magical. Lesson learned.
However, shopping must happen, and I can’t leave my children in hot cars. Sure, I could switch to online shopping, but let’s face it, that requires actual planning. So, I’m stuck for now. Maybe next time I’ll wean them off the cough syrup before we go—or perhaps I’ll just join them in their little party.
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In summary, navigating a shopping trip with children can feel like a wild adventure that tests every ounce of your patience and sanity, reminding you how closely we resemble our primate ancestors in our chaotic behavior.