Grocery Store Trip

I never knew how exhausting having kids could be, just trying to get the simple things done takes twice as long and is never calm.  I see people with three or more kids and marvel at their ability to run things smoothly.

Today was rainy and by the afternoon, raining steadily.  After work, I got Vivian and then picked Sam up at school and needed to stop for a few groceries on the way home.  We get to the store and I really had to pee.  I didn't have time after the students left my classroom, without risking being late to get both the kids.  So we start with the bathroom, but first I had to get a cart because they no longer house them in the store.  I'm holding Vivian and finally locate a dry cart under the shelter and Sam insists on pulling it out.  This takes way longer then necessary.  We get the cart into the store and park it next to the bathrooms and a put a few things in it so it doesn't get taken.  I have to talk Sam out of leaving a note on it with our name (where does he get these things from?).  So we go to the bathroom.  Now I have to untuck my shirt, undo my belt, and pants with one hand and pee holding Vivian, since there is no where to put her.  For some reason Sam decides to crawl on the floor.  I can't yank him up because I'm trying to pee.  I convince him that it's disgusting.  He starts to get up as I am trying to rip a piece of toilet paper off the giant roll that is inconveniently not in a dispenser.  The roll immediately flies off of  the handicap railing and bounces off Sam who is half up from crawling on the floor.  He wails and yells that he was "getting off the floor and why did you throw toilet paper at me?"  Obviously someone chooses that moment to enter the bathroom.  Then we get to open the stall door to greet the person who now thinks I whip industrial size toilet paper rolls at my three year old.  We wash our hands, one at a time, since I am still holding Vivian, and Sam has crawled across the floor.

Now we get to grocery shop.  Sam wants to push the cart that Vivian is in (which was still there despite us not leaving our names on it).  So he pushes, but I have to steer.  People think this is adorable and have to stop and tell us several times, which reinforces in Sam's mind that he needs to push the cart.  It takes about three times as long as it should to get the few items we need, plus the obvious discussion we have to have every time Sam spots something that he thinks is delicious, punctuated by Vivian's shrieks.
"No.  We have mac n' cheese."
"No, we don't need pomegranate juice for $7.99." (for what appears to be about 12 oz)
"No, we are not getting cherries for $8.99 a pound (really??? How many cherries would I actually get for $9.00?"
"You're right, we haven't had those cookies in a very, very, very long time.  And we're still not going to get them."
"Oh yes.  I do see that very delicious looking chocolate cake.  Yes, for your birthday."
"We don't need two loaves of bread."
"Or the same exact bagels that you didn't eat last time I bought them."
"Or the same exact yogurt that you don't actually like, it just has good pictures on the package."
"We have popcorn at home."
"You had veggie chips for snack, we are not buying more."
"Yes, we can get apples."

We pick up samples of bread slices.  Vivian tosses her bread on the floor then shrieks for it.  I get her another one.  Then Sam is doing the pee-pee dance and we are in the produce section, which is on the exact opposite side of the store from the bathroom.  The child who I finally toilet trained.  He checks his leg to make sure he hasn't peed.  We rush back to the bathroom area and have the same conversation about not labeling our cart with our names because it was there last time, whip Viv out of the cart, and run back into the bathroom.  Now I am tugging his pants down with one hand, but we make it on time.  Vivian drops her bread and starts to cry.  And somehow we're back where we started, in the bathroom with a crying kid.  Sam finishes, picks up Vivian's bread and tries to throw it away in the sanitary bin depository.  "No!" I yell.
"Why not?"
"Just no- the trash by the sink."
"But..."

We return to the produce section, with the cart that was there again with no names on it.  It now appears that we have  been in the store (that is thankfully a very small grocery store), for forty-five minutes.  We have about 8 things in the cart.  We get Vivian another bread sample and this time I rip it in half and put half in my pocket for when she drops it again.
"Mom."
"Yes?"
"I think Vivian pooped."
I close my eyes and think about where the diaper bag is and about going back to the bathroom.  I sniff around suspiciously.  I decide it's the brussel sprouts and we leave it at that.

We make it to the door of the store, I have remembered none of my reusable bags (there are about ten in car but virtually impossible to get them), so everything is in paper bags, and it is pouring out. Twenty pound Vivian is no longer in the cart having reached her maximum and she is not a quiet kid when she's mad, so I'm holding her, steering the cart that I have negotiated with Sam for, with one hand.  I don't even know who or what to put in the car first.  Finally we run across the parking lot and I open the hatchback and park the cart and Sam under it, while I load a screaming Vivian into the car.  Luckily we are parked over a drain, so Sam is mesmerized by the flowing water and doesn't move.

By the time we get home and I unload the soggy bags (none ripped thank goodness), it is quarter to five.  I again get to choose who and what to bring in the house first, second, and third, because this trip involves all of our lunch stuff from the day, the two outfits Vivian has been through, my work stuff, purse, and Sam's school stuff.  This gives me a fifteen minute window to put away the groceries and get dinner together before Vivian needs to be picked up or she will scream bloody murder.  During which time, obviously, the children have to play directly under my feet.  Because it's really lucky that we switched bedrooms around again this weekend so that their playroom can be off the kitchen within eyesight.

How did my mother have three children?  And I'll obviously find that half piece of sample bread in my pocket months from now...