Or: Why it takes all day to buy groceries
Make list.
Get bags.
Ask older child to use toilet.
Put on younger child’s shoes.
Ask older child to put on shoes.
Spend ten minutes looking for older child’s shoes; finally find them in the toybox.
Get both children out to car and into car seats.
Go back for bags.
Go back for list.
Go back for wallet.
Start car.
Older child has to poop.
Turn off car, unstrap both children and go back inside.
Wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally get both children back into car seats, turn on car.
Turn off car, go back to lock front door.
Drive to grocery store.
Miraculously find prime parking spot that is close to both store and cart return.
Someone has left a cart in it.
Find sub-par parking spot at back of lot and far away from cart return.
Unload both children and trek to store.
Go back for bags.
Once back in store, explain to older child that, no, you will not be getting the big, impossible-to-steer racecar cart.
Try to pull cart from row.
Try to pull cart from row.
Move to new row.
Try to pull cart from row.
Sigh, bow to inevitable, and load children into big, impossible-to-steer racecar cart.
Push boat-in-disguise to produce section, knocking over one display and two little old ladies along the way.
Begin putting groceries into cart while tuning out ceaseless chatter of older child. Look down to consult list and realise that younger child has stolen in it during a distracted moment and turned it into a ball of inky pulp.
Wing it.
Respond absently to ceaseless chatter of older child while desperately trying to remember list. Hear child say, “Thanks mommy, I promise I’ll take really good care of it!” Realise you’ve just agreed to buy him a kangaroo.
Notice, too late, that younger child is on side closest to shelves. Remove small mountain of groceries from her seat. Consider taking them back to their proper places; think better of it and guiltily shove them onto an empty shelf.
Say no to chips.
Say no to ice cream.
Say no to toys.
Say no to chips again.
Push boat-in-disguise to checkout. Knock over two more little old ladies.
Stand in line that is longer than most amusement park lines.
Play ‘I Spy’.
Play ‘Simon Says’.
Sing.
Tell a story.
Give keys to younger child in attempt to forestall meltdown.
Finally get to front of line, pay and push boat-in-disguise out of door. Pre-emptively apologise to any little old ladies.
Trek back to car and reach for keys to unlock door.
Look in pocket.
Look in purse.
Look at younger child.
Retrace steps back to store.
Find keys.
Go back to car and load groceries, return cart, and fasten children into car seats.
Younger child begins meltdown.
Drive out of parking lot and head towards home; hear older child say he has to pee.
Drive carefully and safely home with no speeding whatsoever.
Unstrap children with superhuman speed, race to door, fumble with keys, shoo older child inside.
Begin unloading groceries while carrying screaming younger child; discover older child has not made it in time.
Put down enraged younger child, throw frozen food in freezer, get dry clothes for older child, clean up bathroom.
Notice things are now suspiciously quiet.
Find both children ‘helping’ to unload the groceries. Frantically look for the eggs.
Find the remains of the eggs.
Finally put everything away, discover half the things needed have been forgotten, which means you have to go back and do this again tomorrow.
Discover you’ve forgotten to buy anything for dinner, which means you have to go back and do this again today.
Order takeout.