Balls Are Cool.

I love my kids. Really. They are so freaking awesome.

Sometimes, though, they are not. And one of those times is when we are grocery shopping.

I once mentioned the frustration I feel when I’m trying to shop with four kids who are tired, ornery, and ready to be out of the store. This friend has a kid, so I was kinda surprised when he acted like it was not as big of a deal as I was making it.

I wanted to punch him in the mouth.

First off, as anyone with children knows, kids lose interest in things quite quickly. They think the idea of going to the store sounds fun, till they realize we’re not buying them treats. (This used to be a semi-regular occurrence, but we’re trying to help them develop healthy eating habits.) And after the first few minutes, they’ve lost interest in the toys we’ve brought them and have either started to pick on each other, or started to cry (depending on the age).

Second off, there is the sheer volume of food required to feed such a group. We’ve been fortunate in that I have a skill set that is somewhat in demand at the moment, and as such I’ve been able to make a living. And thank God, because my grocery bill keeps going through the damn roof! The other downside to this, aside from the cash, is the fact that we can’t get through a week’s worth of shopping without using two carts.

I’m sure that I am part of the problem. I have little patience when it comes to going to the store. I want to go in, get what I need, and get the hell out. My wife, on the other hand, regularly adds things to the list (usually things she’s forgotten), or wants to look at other non-food items (such as clothes for the kids). Usually this results in an angry “lets-get-the-fuck-going-now-because-I-can’t-take-this” statement, to which she usually replies “All right, all right” and gives me a  (well-deserved) dirty look.

The other people at the store frustrate me, too. I mean… sweet Jesus, you are NOT the only person at the damn store! Move your cart out of the middle of the aisle, please. And what’s with the dirty look you give me when I ask you to move it? It’s not like I said “Get the fuck outta the way asshole!” If you recall, I said “Excuse me, please.” How can you take offense at that??

But worst of all is the feeling I get when I bring it all in the house. “$250 bucks and this is all I got?”

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