5 reasons I hate shopping with my kids

Getting there. Do you have kids who are automatically lulled to sleep by the motions of a moving vehicle? Wait, no. Don’t tell me. If the answer’s yes I’ll have to hate you. My son, Max, would sleep peacefully in the truck until he was four months old. That was in 2002. Going anywhere has been a screaming nightmare ever since. We were hoping our second child, Sarah, would be the opposite. We’d paid our dues with the first one, right? Ha, ha! I laugh cynically at our naïve optimism! On the bright side, I’m now completely adept at driving while doing things like a) passing back snacks, b) retrieving sippy cups and c) refereeing arguments. All while listening to Elmo’s rendition of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt for the 327th time.

Comments on fellow shoppers. Once at the mall, my kids never fail to notice the people around them and produce distinguishing commentary. Like when Sarah indicates the scary looking bald man and proclaims, “Mommy, that man have no hair!” Or when Max, pointing, wide-eyed and perfectly genuine asks, “Mom, is that person a man or a lady?”

The food court. We just sit down with a tray full of food when Max announces, “Mom, I have to go pee.” Option 1: Send Max into restroom on his own where possible child molester awaits. Um, no. Option 2: Take Sarah and Max and go into restroom, leaving untouched food on table to be either thrown away by food court employee believing it to be abandoned or poisoned by evil mall dweller. Also not appealing. Option 3: Continue mulling over options and Max pees his pants. Hm. Option 2 it is!

The change room. First, I have to find one that fits a stroller, an adult and two kids. Not so common in the smaller boutique stores, but almost always available at Old Navy. Hence my wardrobe. I go in the wheelchair change room to start trying something on when Max says something really loud (Everything he says is really loud. There is no other volume. There is either really loud or sleeping) and embarrassing. The other day he said, “Look Mom, this balloon is long just like your boobies!” Ah. They do say the benefits of breastfeeding last a lifetime.

The disappearing act. Picture this: I’m at the food court Tim Hortons getting my bagels, juice and coffee. I’m juggling the stroller, my purse, wallet and Sarah, who’s decided she doesn’t want to sit in the stroller anymore. I’m trying to push my tray along (difficult with the aforementioned juggling act) and then pay. Max is earnestly explaining to me why he prefers Batman to Sponge Bob. (“Batman is a hero guy, Mom. Sponge Bob is a silly guy. I like hero guys.”) I take my eye off him for a second to give the lady my money and when I turn around… he’s gone. “Max?” I frantically look around for him while trying to gather my things so the long line of people, now all staring at me, can progress with their orders. He was just here. Where could he have gone in two seconds? No longer caring about people staring, I’m yelling “Max! Max!” My voice is on the edge of panic. Finally, a group of older ladies, seeing my distress, point out that he’s seated at a table – behind a pole. “I found us a seat, Mom!”

I remember when the mall was relaxing. Sigh. So much for retail therapy.