Walking Birth Control

We got "boo-ed" by one of our neighbors with a surprise bag of Halloween goodies on our doorstep yesterday, and it was our turn to pay it forward.  Since Nick is flying the next two nights, and I wouldn't be able to sneak out after hours, I figured today was as good as any to take the whole crew on our collective maiden voyage to Target.  Between the feedings, pumpings, diaper changes, wardrobe negotiations/changes, and my partial bathing, we didn't actually leave the driveway until 11:00.  I knew better, it was dangerously close to lunch time and then naptime.  If I missed this window, though, I would be out of luck until the next day (I encourage Hannah to nap as long as humanly possible which usually leaves us a short window before dinner prep, dinner, bath and bedtime...)  Our routine makes the difference between enjoying the kids' pleasing personalities and their head-spinning, possessed, she-devil crazies.  Case and point:

Once we arrived, I luckily found a parking spot near to the shopping cart drop-off and pulled two carts over to the car.  Calm, cool and collected, I loaded the babies, side-by-side, into the back of one cart, and Sissy and Emmy in the second cart; and then pushed and pulled them both towards the store front.  I was off to a solid start.

I didn't realize that the slope up the curb before the front door would be so tricky to clear.  Lucky for me, there were several people entering and exiting the store at the time, and they all ran over to help me maneuver my two carts.  I was grateful for the help, but simultaneously beginning to realize that there was no chance that we would blend in with the other shoppers.   We stood out like a sore thumb, and thanks to Hannah, not only was it sore, but grossly infected, perhaps even gangrenous...

We had barely arrived at the dollar bins (the very first display in our Target store) before Hannah has set her sights on something shiny and decided to scream for it.  In the months that have passed since I last shopped with my big kids, I had forgotten that Target is Hannah's kryptonite.

It became very clear that every time Hannah got over screaming for one attractive piece of merchandise, we would come upon something new that would also catch her fancy.  She never stopped screaming.

I needed three things: diapers, shaving cream, and treats for two "Boo" bags for our neighbors.  Instead of making the arduous task of turning my caravan around and heading back to the car, I decided that I would attempt to break all records for quick shopping trips.  This all would have been fine and good, except I was handicapped by pushing and pulling two baskets, both of which were nearly impossible to maneuver into crowded aisles.

Sweating profusely, I would park the carts at the end of an aisle and take off running to grab what I needed, while also retrieving the snack and sippies that Hannah was now chucking from her seat.

I get sweet looks and comments when I'm out running errands with just the twins, but, today, there were looks of pity.  "You poor thing" and "I get stressed shopping with one kid," "the lady who lived in a shoe!" (very clever and very true,) uncomfortable smiles, or just dumbfounded stares thrown my way as I took the ultimate walk of shame through my favorite store.

I busy my thoughts with an impromptu action plan for making supplemental income as walking birth control.  Unleash me and my four children (particularly Hannah) on a high school campus and I'd have a 100% success rate in the crusade against teenage pregnancy.

I finally get us to the checkout.  While the teenage boy who was ringing me up just stared blankly at me, a neighboring cashier tries to help by offering Hannah a sticker.  She refuses, vehemently.  I grab my bags and receipt and run for the door (as best I can with the two carts filled with my precious cargo.)

After I got everyone secured in the car, I rummage feverishly through my Target bag, thanking my lucky stars that Halloween candy was on my shopping list.  I worked through the stress with a healthy dose of chocolate therapy.  We'd barely cleared the parking lot before my over-tired Hannah Banana was sound asleep.  Better luck next time; whenever that may be.