Reason No. 375 To Not Shop At Walmart

I stopped at Walmart on my way home this morning from a playgroup thing the boys and I went to. I needed milk for Evan, one Easter basket and, as is often the case at Walmart, a half-dozen other things I didn’t realize I needed until I started breezing through the aisles.

The boys had wiped themselves out at the playgroup (first time they’d ever experienced the wonders of the parachute) and both were ready for early naps. I thought I could get them home in time for a quick lunch before putting them down, but Kostyn’s eyes began to droop as soon as we started wheeling around the store. He passed out in the basket, his head resting on a bag of M&Ms (for the Easter baskets! Get off my back....).

Unfortunately I had to wake him up when we got to the cash register, to retrieve his “pillow” and pay for it. This he didn’t like. Instantly he began to whine to be picked up, which was impossible at the time since I had Evan grabbing at me from the shopping cart seat and a dozen eggs still needing to be fetched from the bottom of the cart.

So he started to cry. Which made Evan start to whine, wondering what was wrong with Kostyn, whom he couldn’t see behind him.

I knew both boys just needed to go to sleep, and I knew we were 3 minutes from home, but when you’re 2 and you're overtired and you need your bed RIGHT NOW, 3 minutes is a long time to wait. My kids have melted down in stores on occasion, so I just swiped my debit card and said soothing things to them while our items were being bagged.

That’s when the 20 Items Or Less cashier piped up with a few words of her own.

“Awww, you didn’t want to go shopping today, did you?” she “asked” Kostyn, who wasn’t even looking at her.

“It’s just naptime,” I said, feeling the motherly need to explain my children’s behavior. (Must work on that.)

“Oh,” she said, with a raised eyebrow, and trust me when I say that “Oh” was filled with reproach. “Ohhhhhh, so you brought them out shopping when they’re supposed to be napping?”

“We just came from a playdate and they’re both wiped out a little earlier than usual,” I said, irritated.

But she clearly wasn’t convinced. Because when Kostyn kept crying, she kept at me.

“Did they eat anything?” she asked.

It was 11:40 a.m.

“No, they haven’t eaten lunch yet,” I said, thinking If you’d shut the hell up and finish bagging we could be sitting down to PB&J in 3 minutes!

“Well, breakfast? Anything?!” she said, eyeing them with pity as if they were both clutching distended stomachs and wailing.

“Yes I fed them breakfast, Jesus Christ,” I muttered, clearly pissed off.

Seriously? DID I FEED THEM BREAKFAST???

The only thing that kept me from decking her was the fact that it would have proved her assumption that I was a bad parent.