What's in Store

For some Moms, shopping is their cardio, for others it is the only place they can socialize with humans who won’t wipe snot on their yoga pants. For me, I genuinely have no desire to spend my precious child-free time in a grocery store, unless they are putting on some sort of free cheese sampling; nor do I want to bring them along to watch them meltdown when I say no to buying a "CONGRATULATIONS: IT'S A GIRL" balloon. I believe online shopping was invented for all hardworking parent and until there is a truly convenient store for parents, I will happily partake in Instacart, Blue Apron, DoorDash or any other genius, life-saving app millennials are out there making millions on inspired by our so-called laziness.

What would my ideal grocery store look like? So glad you asked…

Some sort of freshly brewed caffeinated beverage is handed to me upon entering the premises.

The kid’s shopping cart to adult shopping cart ratio is always 1:1 and each aisle is equipped with bumpers like in bowling, because who wants to pay for 42 broken bottles of ketchup?

There is a peaceful napping aisle where children can go and wrap up in bath towels so Mom and Dad can put things like cupcakes in their cart without creating a sugar frenzy.

No shirts, no shoes, no service never applies to my kiddos—in fact, there is a shoe bin next to the door because 20 minutes in, shoes will be flung about anyways.

Comments about how beautiful my children are as well as our impeccable fashion sense, are always appreciated—comments about “having my hands full” will get you this:

It is a judgement free zone, so toddler tantrums result in free ice cream…for their parents.

If and when everything goes to hell, there is a free childcare zone to deposit them, so for once I can actually read all the ingredients on the soup label without my daughter reminding me that she doesn't like soup and won’t eat it.

Lastly, there are no candy, snacks, or rainbow sparkly toys munchkin height, guaranteed to ruin what was a successful shopping trip, upon arriving at the checkout.

Until such a place exists or I've created it and made my millions, I will continue to refer to all grocery shopping experiences with my young children as a trip to the "inconvenience" store.

Asking for a Friend

It’s perfectly normal to question everything as parents. Moms everywhere are having the exact same beginning of conversation that sound like this:

“Hey do your kids ever…?” or “How many times have you _____?”

If our friends pause too long or stare blankly back at you, this is when we are forced to tack on—

“I’m just asking for a friend”.

(As a side note, I strongly suggest changing up your friend-group to a judgement-free zone and hanging with people that will nod along supportively even if they are secretly thinking WTF kind of animal circus are you running?)

Here is a list I’ve complied of the best questions, we parents, have secretly asked:

No shirt, no shoes, no services never applies to children right?

How many times have you eaten dessert in your pantry because you didn't want to share?

You know those signs that say don’t drink from the hose, irrigation water in use—does running through the sprinklers with their mouths open count?

How do I explain why girls need to pee sitting down?

How many lollipop bribes in a day is considered too many?

Are pants in the car really just a formality?

Does it count as sleeping through the night, when I don’t remember if I got up with them?

About what age should I stop listening to music with explicit lyrics in the car?

Does the 10 second rule apply off a public bathroom floor or should it be more like 3 seconds?

What is the difference between yelling and speaking loudly at my kids? 

Do you ever wake up to your children roaming like free-range chickens around your house and wonder what time they started?

Where should I dump the poop when my kids use their little potty on the side of the road?

Obviously none of these are true for my family, I’m just asking for a friend.

A Second Shot at Two

I remember it well: I had 3 minutes to get everyone into the car and so naturally this was the day my youngest decided to first utter the phrase, “I do it myself.” Just like coming into contact with the Death Eaters from Harry Potter, I could feel the life-force being sucked out of me. These particular words (in various forms) exhaust parents everywhere; add 20 minutes of lag time to your exit strategy and an extra shot in your latte. If you aren’t using some sort of under eye night cream, start. Envision the amount of patience you’d need to sit at an NRA sponsored Trump rally (so really just a rally) and then quadrupole it and that should cover you until about 9am on any given Tuesday with a two-year-old. 

Since this is my second shot with a two year old, I have complied a list that can help you through this stage of "I can do it myself" that coincidently coincides with: limited dexterity, pig-headed stubbornness, and world class meltdowns.

1). Find shoes that a blind chimpanzee could put on and buy 4 pairs (for your car, front door, back door, and an emergency pair for when, not if, all those others get lost).

2). Don’t hand them anything that shatters when thrown. Everything they handle should be the consistency of string cheese—for your safety and the safety of your Magnolia Market knick knacks.

3). Avoid purchasing any food that you yourself aren’t able to open blindfolded with your feet.

4). Never and I mean never give them your cellphone. Not only will you have to deal with the judgy-eyed ladies at Target that use expressions like "In my day...", but you will quickly lose social media followers with your posts of: “--vbbnnnmnmmnnmmm    n” followed by angled pictures directly up your kid's nostrils.

5). Never purchase clothes with zippers or buttons unless you enjoy spending the majority of the day standing in your front entry way and never actually leaving the house.

6). If you say “yes” to something once, an unwavering precedent has been set—so think really carefully about telling them they can peal their own hardboiled egg.

I love raising my fierce, independent little women but there is just something about two-year-old’s that makes everything twice as terribly hard.