'Twas the night before Mother's Day . . .
And I realized that I'd need laundry detergent to make it through the next 24 hours of my existence as haus frau extraordinaire . . . so off to Target I drag my children, at 9:30 at night.
You see, we'd just spent the latter portion of the day travelling around the countryside with my mother and brother, visiting my grandma in the hospital and eating entirely too much delicious, msg-encrusted Chinese food.
I didn't remember that I was almost out of laundry soap until I'd dropped off my mom so I turned to my children, looked them square in the eye and said, "I need laundry soap, do you guys think you can keep it together for the 5 minutes it will take to run into to Target and pick some up?"
"Yeah mom," they promised me.
I should know by now that despite my valiant efforts, going into Target for just one thing is next to impossible.
Oh, we are out of orange juice - I grabbed a carton from the refrigerator section.
Oh, the kids want to make me breakfast in the morning and I don't want them to cook - I grabbed a box of waffles with Barbie's face plastered all over them, causing my over-tired daughter to squeal with delight.
Oh, we need vitamins - into the cart went an over-priced bottle of Flintstones Gummies.
I narrowly avoided the book aisle. Whew! That was close.
Upon reaching my only intended destination, that being the laundry soap aisle, I determined that along with the laundry soap, I also needed a box of Borax. I scanned the rows of shelving, looking up, looking down. I turned down another aisle. No Borax. I checked the end caps and ordered my kids to look for the box that says, in big bold letters, "BORAX." We were on a mission.
Target doesn't sell Borax.
Okay, alrighty then, since the person talking from the overhead speakers kept telling us that the store is closing in 15 minutes and would you please take your final purchases to the registers, I decided that it was time to get out of this labyrinth.
Of course, between us and the registers lies the little girls' clothing section. Of course.
While I was scouring the stacks of neatly folded 5T little girl shorts, my kids decided enough is enough. Apparently all reason and sanity was lost back on the laundry soap aisle while we were looking for the Borax and they now decided that the little girls clothing section was the perfect place to have a quick game of tag - all three of them.
It had been a long day, and I whispershouted that they needed to calm down and have they lost their minds, we don't run in stores.
The store was nearly empty at this point, and I got distracted by yet another brightly colored display of little girls clothing and began to investigate its contents - while my kids ran loose like a pack of wild dogs.
(I can see you shaking your head now)
Out of nowhere, a store employee appeared, in her khaki pants and token red t-shirt emblazoned with my favorite symbol, the Target bulls eye.
"Kids, stop running!" she shouted.
I immediately snapped out of my stupor and apologized to the employee . . . dragging my red-faced and out of breath children over to apologize to her as well. I explained that we will NEVER run in her store ever again and we were very, very sorry that we lost our minds (all of us). We were so embarrassed.
She calmed down, looked me in the eye and said, "Alright."
After she was out of earshot I looked at the kids - my kids who had endured more than 2 hours in the car, had to sit still and quiet in a restaurant, and use their best hospital manners - and I apologized to them.
A little later, after we'd paid for our purchases and were on our way home (finally) I said to them, "If you ever get me kicked out of Target, I will never forgive you."
Now I know why lions eat their young.