Why I don't get out more

It should have been nice, fun even. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I didn't think it would be that bad. Still, I should have known better...

I took my children to Target.

I know, I know, what was I thinking? I was thinking, "I only need a couple of things, so we should be in and out". Yeah, right.

I should have seen the signs as soon as we got out of the car. Those horrible, big, concrete ball-things at the front? Covered in white 'stuff' (I choose to believe it's salt...)? My kids think they're tasty. The words "Don't touch anything without asking and please don't ask for tons of stuff"? My kids missed the "don't" part. Those shopping carts with the 2 extra seats? My kids like to fight over them and push each other out of a moving cart.

Then, it's the bathroom debacle. Abi has to go. So we all go. Abi and Noah run in while Anna is trying to extricate herself from the manical safety harness, I'm trying to hustle her along while keeping an eye on the other 2, until finally a kind and highly-pierced stranger helps her out (probably all the while wondering what my problem is). Have mere seconds to enjoy bumping into the lovely Beth before returning to my whirling dervish routine. On the way out, Noah falls down in the doorway as the door proceeds to shut on him. Abigail gives me grief for not telling her my debit PIN so she can enter it for me (as if). And finally, the big girls run right out of the store ahead of me and into the parking lot. Eleanor helps the outing by pulling my hair throughout. I think there was more trauma, but it seems I've mercifully blocked it.

And that is why, boys and girls, I don't get out more.