Dear Fry’s Checker

This week’s blog is just to let those checkers at the grocery store know I’m really not as stressed out as they think I am. It’s just that Jane’s attention span is not as long as my grocery list. This week’s trip to the store was pretty representative of my usual experience, so I thought I'd share. Here goes:

We get to the store and have to park a mile away from the doors. I throw the diaper bag over my shoulder, carry Audrey’s giant carseat in one hand, and try to coax Jane into holding my other hand without making a fuss, because she wants to walk “Jane’s self” even though we’re in the parking lot and she’s not allowed to walk in a parking lot without holding a hand. Then her shoe falls off and even though we’re only like twenty feet from the cart, her sock is black before we get there. The carts at Fry’s are a blessing and a burden, because they have little cars in the front for the kiddos to sit in and pretend to drive, but that makes them 10 feet long – wider than the aisles and therefore impossible to turn around. So once Jane has chosen the exact color of car that she wants and I figure out how to fit Audrey’s carseat into the basket (because of course it doesn’t fit where it’s supposed to hook on), I turn to find that Jane has fallen out onto the ground and the nice old man who was trying to help her up has scared her and is feeling bad about making her cry.

 

Now that we’ve been at the store for 5 minutes, we are finally all loaded up and ready to begin shopping, with Jane excited to drive but asking for her shoe back on. I will skip a recount of trying to maneuver through the produce section with the giant cart, because, honestly, who wants to relive that? We get everything on the list (and I don’t have to turn around this time to get something I passed by or forgot like I usually do). Jane’s fairly content until we get to the cheese section, at which point she gets out of her car while I’m too busy agonizing over whether to get mild or medium cheddar to notice. Then I have to carry her or let her walk, because she’s determined, “Jane walk!”

Okay, so now here’s the fun part – the checkout line. I’ve convinced Jane to get back into the car for just a few more minutes, and I’m frantically trying to load groceries onto the conveyor belt. It’s kind of difficult because I’ve cleverly stashed all the food around Audrey to get it to fit in the cart, but now that I’m in the line, I can’t walk around the cart to reach all the goods anymore because the aisle is too narrow. I warn the checker that I’ve got five WIC checks to use (glad to have them but hate to use them). Jane has decided she’s done with the car and wants to go pull candy off the rack while I run back and forth between signing WIC checks and loading more food onto the belt before the person behind me starts loading their food on. And of course the person behind me is that nice lady who made a comment about how cute my kids were when I saw her earlier in the trip, and I have to debate whether it’s too late to warn her to get in a different line because it’s going to take about 15 minutes for me to check out since I have to make six transactions (of course I don’t tell her – she’s already loading her food onto the conveyor). The bagger is asking me where I want her to put the groceries, because of course they don’t fit in the cart once they’re bagged – Audrey’s in there.

By the fourth check, Audrey has decided that something is upsetting her and is intermittently crying, Jane is determined to get the pen away from me every time I try to sign a check because she wants to color, and I avoid looking at the lady behind me because if she’s starting to hate my guts, I’d rather be oblivious.

I gather all my receipts, lists, folder, wallet, etc. and I’m headed out the door, carrying Jane with one arm and pushing the 10-foot cart with the other. I take a deep breath and think to myself, “Good thing this trip went smoothly!”

P.S. – If you made it to the end, congrats! That was a lot longer than I thought it would be!