The twins are too heavy for me to carry them at the same time upstairs anymore, so I take them one at a time up to their cribs for
naptime. Seth was first today. I tucked him in and returned to grab Logan. This is where I found him. Now granted, the stove wasn't ON, however this still looks bad.
I know, "Bad Melanie," but alas -- it gets worse.
After everyone gets up from their naps, Kate is invited over to play at a friend's house and I realize there is just dust left in the bottom of the formula cans. So, let's make a trip to
Wal-Mart and grab a few things! Now our
Wal-Mart doesn't have carts with spots for two children, so I've created a way for both twins to fit in the top of the cart. They each get one leg hole; their other leg is kind of wedged sideways. It's very comfortable, I'm sure.
I park close to an abandoned cart, load up the twins, and we're off across the parking lot. The wind blowing our hair, the twins giggling, I'm revelling in the cleverness of my motherhood. Now I've learned a few shopping tips as a mother of four. Chances are I won't make it through my entire list, so I get the MOST important stuff first. That way I can abandon my mission at any time. I head to the back of the store first, for formula. As I'm loading can after can into my cart, the twins realize what I'm doing, and they start to
beller. I calmly explain to them that formula does not taste good dry, but they don't care, and they start to arch their backs and thrown little tantrums.
Not a problem, I say. I'll just grab a few more items on my way to check out. See, I'm so clever that I already got what I came for -- I can leave at any time. The deli is on the way. I just need a pound of turkey -- and there's no line. I can stand a little more noise. I place my order and realize the screaming is escalating on the left side of my cart.
"Logan, what's the matter honey," I start to say when I notice he has somehow wedged his foot (the one without a dedicated leg hole) through the tiniest of slats in the cart. I do not exaggerate when I say the slats are a mere inch and a half wide. I try to move the foot, but his pudgy ankle doesn't even budge and he screams louder. Now we start drawing attention. Deli workers, other customers, and eventually
Wal-Mart management begin to converge as I continue to work on the now-swelling body part. I mumble about needing lotion, as I overhear someone say they're going to get something to cut the bars with. That seems extreme, I think, but what else am I going to do? I'm beginning to panic when an angel in a
Wal-Mart shirt runs up with her hands cupped. "Try this," she says. LIQUID SOAP from behind the deli counter -- brilliant!
I rub it on Logan's leg and -- POP -- the foot slips out. So the worse is over for Logan, but the panic is rising on the faces of management around me. Do they really think I'm going to blame them for this? Okay, carts with slots for two kids would be nice, but this little predicament was all me. Don't worry, folks. No lawsuits here. Just get me to checkout!
Of course, I have to carry the still-sobbing Logan and push the cart with Seth (who now gets two leg holes, but would rather be carried too). We pay for the groceries and make it to the car without further incident. As I'm driving home, I look in the mirror to see the twins making spitting noises and laughing at each other. What little sweeties. And I think to myself, why don't I order my groceries online?
