Shop til you Drop

I've been trying to be more budget conscious lately, and in doing so have decided not to go food shopping, unless I really have to. This morning when my daughter asked for her usual cereal, and I had to use coffee creamer instead of milk, I knew it was time to head to the store.

Just the thought of loading all three of my children into the van, was a scary one. You see, my kids together in the car, are kind of like those boxed chemistry sets you used to have as a child. You take a dash of one chemical, a pinch of another, put them in a beaker, put the stopper on top, shake it up a bit and just pray there is no explosion. Unfortunately, this morning, I sat the wrong two "chemicals" next to each other and within the first three minutes of the trip, I began to see smoke.

The trouble started when my daughter decided to serenade us with her rendition of "Frosty the Snowman." (Always a crowd pleaser in the dead of summer.) All was fine until my son decided to join in.
"Mama, he's messing up the song."
She turned to her brother, "You only sing the first part, not the last part, no, not that part...WAAAHHH!"
I yelled from the front, "Don't be bossy, he can sing too, it's nice when you both sing."
She yelled back, "he doesn't sing the right words."
My son began to bawl, "she says I don't know the words..."

I contemplate turning the car around and borrowing a cup of milk from each of my neighbors. I decide to press on.
"If you guys want fruit snacks at the store, then you need to behave," I say.
Fruit snacks are like gold at my house. I can virtually get my children to do anything, by promising a reward of fruit snacks. (If only they were really fruit.)

I get to the store and take my usual route around the parking lot, searching for the race car cart. Ah, the race car cart. Such a wonderful invention for the mom shopper who totes her kids around. And yet, such a massive failure, because when they produced them, they only made enough for one race car cart per store. Can you imagine? I once drove around the parking lot for an hour, staking out shoppers for their race car cart.

The race car is taken so I persuade my brood to ride in the not quite so popular cart with the big red seats. I tie my children into the seats with my best knot, as the seat buckles on those things are almost always broken. We begin our trek through the store and before we can hit the spinach leaves, the interrogating begins.
"Mama, what's that?"
"Mama, why is that apple yellow?"
"Mama, what are those green things for?" That last question, sparked a conversation that would last for fifteen minutes, as I had no idea what my son was pointing at. I finally figured out what he was talking about--the little green twist ties they give you so your fruit doesn't fall out of the bag. How am I supposed to keep track of my spending again? I can barely navigate this Cadillac-of-a-cart through the aisles, let alone keep a running tab in my head. I decide to forgo the budget this time and just start throwing things into the cart, in hopes of making a quick, clean getaway.

I hit the international foods aisle and make my way towards the taco kits. As I reach down to grab some salsa, my daughter jumps out of her belt, to grab one of those electronic coupons. This is by the way, a great game to keep the kids busy.(Thank you supermarkets everywhere.) Soon to follow is my three year old son. He wriggles out of his belt and follows right behind his sister, jumping at each machine. As I bump the cart into the heel of the man in front of me, I realize that I no longer need this monstrosity of a cart, and could very well just have used the regular carts, had I known everyone would be evacuating. "Only a few more aisles," I think to myself.

As I make my way round the bread aisle, my toddler catches me off guard as he grabs onto a package of hamburger rolls. He digs his little fingers into the rolls as I try to grab his hands. When I grab one hand, he grabs another pack with his other hand. I look around for cameras, as I'm convinced I must be on Punk'd or something. I muster up one last burst of energy and maneuver the cart as fast as I can past the rest of the breads. I make a bee-line for the registers, while looking over my shoulder to make sure my troop is trailing behind. As the last item crosses the register belt, I sigh a huge sigh of relief. I made it, or so I think.

I head to the parking lot, where I have one last close call, when someone nearly backs up into me as I am loading up my trunk with groceries. The man comes close enough that I have to literally hit his car with my hand, to keep him from running me down. My body has a fight or flight response, and I feel a surge of adrenaline rush through my veins. It turns out okay though, because it was just the right boost I needed to survive the ride home.