Your first order of business should be to dress your baby in a black novelty onesie and your 4T wearing son in a 2T girl's sweatshirt with an embroidered heart and puffy sleeves because that's all you have handy. And a newsie cap that is too big. Do not, under any circumstances, remember an umbrella. In fact, don't even own an umbrella, that's too easy. Once you and both children "run" through the parking lot, (an act you've told them no fewer than 9,000 times is strictly forbidden and "safety second") stopping, of course, to pick up dropped toys, tie shoes, pull off the hat, pull up a hood and look at a red truck, be sure to loose track of the toddler as you stop to wipe off your glasses inside. Don't worry, the staff at the grocery store know him by now and will just point him in your direction eventually.
Once you decide that pizza is a good idea, grab a cup with no lid and some juice. Struggle to keep the infant in your lap as you cut the pizza into triangles (not squares!) for your toddler. Pretend to smile and listen to the teeny tiny old lady next to you as she tells you how cute your son is (she's referring, of course, to your daughter, but who has the energy to correct her? Maybe parents are naming their sons Vivian these days, I don't fucking know. Luckily, she doesn't either). As the baby enjoys a fistful of your hair, finish packing up the lunch mess, including the napkins from spill #1. Cue spill #2, this one resulting in "down the wrong pipe" choking, tears, and requiring a shirt change. Change your son's cool cool robot shirt in the packed cafe at Wegman's and just leave the heart sweatshirt on, zipped, with his belly button hanging out. Ignore the kind young police officer's offer of assistance. I don't know why. Because you couldn't possibly know where to begin? Because he probably can't breastfeed Viv? And because, generally, fuck the police? Poor guy, he's probably going to turn all Training Day now that he's seen what people are really like.
Ready to get groceries? Great. Don't bother getting out your list, your hands are full enough already. One hand from trying to keep the baby in the carrier as she tries to climb out and nourish herself on your chin, with a side of more hair (sorry, I forgot to remind you to forget your hair-tie. Having damp, stringy hair in your face/daughters sticky, vice-grip hands and mouth through this whole ordeal is a key element). The other hand is occupied trying to keep Isaac from whacking people with his new Cool Cool Umbrella that we had to buy upon entry to the store. Besides, who needs a list? Just go from memory. You remember what you need, right? Coffee filters, crayons, bread, oh shit, dinner, something else you can't quite remember-- was it cheese? Surely it wasn't cheese. Oh well, let's say it was bananas. There. Finished. Check out, run outside in the rain, watch the umbrella blow away, chase it though the parking lot, get home, unload the kids, don't even give one flying fuck that the shirtless toddler wants to play umbrella inside and watch Dora Saves Santa for the 8th time in two days just leave me alone and let me make dinner! Start dinner. Remember that it was milk you needed. Milk. The only thing you ever need, ever, on every list, for every trip out of the house. Just get milk.
Ignore the children, plan the milk run to include a stop to get wine. The end.
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| The Offenders. Her shirt says "Don't look at me, that smell is comin' from my dad". Stay classy, kids. |
