Damn it, we’re out of bread. A cursory sweep of the fridge confirms my suspicions... the fridge has been cleared out by a swarm of locusts the size and shape of two small humans. There’s no way around it, I’m going to have to pop to the shops...
Now this is usually a simple process. I’ve got my list, I’ve got my wallet, I’ve meticulously planned exactly which aisles I need to go in, and what route i need to take in order to make it the most efficient trip possible.
There is however, one small problem. It’s my turn to do the school pick up and I don’t have time to go to the shops before this. I’m going to have to take the kids with me... I take a deep breath... I can do this!
I pick the kids up. As we’re walking home from school I mention, as casually as I can, that we’re jumping straight in the car to go to the shops for a few bits and pieces and suddenly, a switch is flipped in their heads. They cease being children and turn into rabid, starving squirrels, off their faces on energy drinks and hell bent on turning Lidl into a scene from a post apocalyptic survival movie.
We get to the car. “does anyone need the toilet?” I ask and an answer returns to the negative. An argument ensues about who is sitting in the front. I helpfully suggest one goes in the front on the way, the other goes in the front on the way back which instantly provokes a squeal from the smallest human that sets off every dog in a five mile radius. Big brother relents just as our ears start to bleed and we get in the car. It’s a short drive to the shops and just as we’re pulling into a parking space the smallest human urgently announces she needs the toilet. Didn’t see that one coming...
Now feeling quite bedraggled and tense, I usher the kids into the shop and start looking for the toilets but it’s too late. The kids have entered a magical wonderland. The aisles are perfectly suited to knee slides and cartwheels. The other customers are obstacles to be narrowly avoided during their whirling dervish and EVERY SINGLE ITEM on the shelves needs to be fondled, picked up, put down, thrown around and possibly licked.
I try to act like I’m in control, holding my phone in one hand and my sanity in the other whilst the kids incessantly ask “can I have this?” and try to surreptitiously slip various items into the basket.
We get to the checkout with a basket full of items we don’t need. The oldest child is stood staring creepily at everyone who walks past and the youngest one breaks into an impromptu interpretive dance for the benefit of the staff.
Back to the car, another argument about the front seat and back home. All I want to do is grab the dog, sit in a dark room and decompress but no. Now it’s time to cook and navigate around the ADHD fuelled hellscape until bed time.
When the kids ask if they can come with me next time I go to the shops I laugh. I laugh like a man teetering on the very edge of sanity... and then I say yes...
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