Target excursions have a predictable rhythm, regardless of the time of year, the items on my shopping list, or the number of children accompanying me. My strategy always involves parking close to the cart return, allowing me to quickly confine my little ones. My youngest, a toddler, immediately climbs into the cart’s basket, while my other two—ages 5 and 6—cling to the sides. I navigate through the parking lot, hoping to avoid any potential chaos.
First on the agenda: Starbucks.
I flatly refuse, earning me the title of “history’s greatest monster.” My children launch into a dramatic display of tears and longing glances toward the barista, lamenting their deprivation of soy milk steamers. I hustle them forward, determined to keep the pace.
Next, they cry for a trip to the Dollar Spot.
We always make a beeline for this section, which usually results in a “buy me toys now” debacle. I pick up a pair of Ninja Turtle socks, as one sock is always mysteriously missing. Soon, they are fighting over light-up skulls, sticker books, and other shiny distractions. I hold my ground against their pleas, but the toddler’s insistence on stickers, which cost just a dollar, leads to everyone suddenly needing battery-operated fans or other items that seem to take an eternity to choose. The Dollar Spot? I absolutely detest it.
In a desperate attempt at “me time,” I venture into the women’s clothing section.
The toddler begs to get down, and before I know it, he’s off running, with his older siblings in hot pursuit. I try to focus on the clothes, but the disapproving stares from elderly shoppers and Target staff force me to return the toddler to the cart, where he promptly screams. Who knew being a parent would make me feel like a character in a sitcom?
Meanwhile, my oldest child has taken to lying beneath the cart while it’s in motion.
I have to intervene to prevent a potential injury, much to his annoyance. It’s only a matter of time before he attempts to crawl back under again.
Then we arrive in the makeup aisle.
My sons enthusiastically offer their opinions on eyeshadow and beg for sparkly nail polish. When I decline, they insist on cotton balls for “crafts,” but I know they plan to throw them at each other, which leads to another round of refusal. The Q-Tips come up as a mysterious backup request.
As we pass by the gummy aisle, they suddenly declare a need for more vitamins.
I remind them they already have plenty, but my toddler starts a full-blown scream-fest. This only ceases when we arrive at the juice aisle, where I hand him a juice box to quiet him. Naturally, this means I have to get two more for his brothers. My credit card better work on this trip.
Then we hit the seasonal section.
This stop is mandatory unless it’s filled with the uninspiring cheap items between major holidays. Here, I find garden gnomes, Halloween costumes, and more holiday-themed merchandise that they will beg for, only to leave with disappointed faces when they can’t have any. Occasionally, I relent and let them buy ornaments, a compromise to maintain some semblance of peace.
Next, we find ourselves in the toy aisle, specifically the Lego section.
My kids begin citing good deeds as justification for acquiring a Matchbox car, while they beg for Dinotrux toys. As I chant, “You’re not getting anything!” in a bizarre anti-capitalist mantra, I eventually relent and check my phone while they spend an eternity browsing various Lego sets. I don’t even look up, simply telling them to add it to their Christmas wish lists from the comfort of my social media feed, all while keeping track of their locations. I park in the aisle with the best Wi-Fi.
Then, we swing by the children’s clearance section.
They whine to look at $5 junk toys just across the aisle while I sift through discounted clothing. After a few minutes of whining, I give in, and we engage in yet another debate about how no one will be getting anything. This inevitably leads to tears, affecting not just the toddler. Target’s layout can be particularly frustrating for parents.
Finally, I have to escape this retail labyrinth.
Miraculously, amidst all the chaos, I’ve managed to gather what I intended to buy (or was coerced into purchasing). We make our way down the center aisle, the cries from the toy section fading into sniffles. I opt for the fastest checkout line, which is always the one with the oldest cashier who has seen it all. She knows the unspoken rule: I need to get through the line quickly, or there will be consequences.
Of course, it’s during checkout that the toddler finally has a complete meltdown.
He could be yelling because the cashier is scanning his toy, or perhaps because his brother merely breathed too close to him. I have no idea. Meanwhile, my oldest child is lying under the cart again, this time dangerously balanced on top of a bag of dog food. A bystander feels the need to point this out, highlighting my perceived inadequacies as a mother. I finally manage to get my credit card into the chip reader just in time for it to work—thank goodness. We rush out of the store as if we are in a race.
And just like that, they start clamoring for Starbucks again.
This time, I firmly say no again, and the tears commence once more. The toddler never ceased his sobbing anyway. I strap them all into the car, enduring their cries for their Matchbox cars and dollar items until I unwrap everything. I swear to myself that I’ll never return to Target again, only to find myself back there two days later.
Because I need it. Because Target is my haven.
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Summary:
This article provides an honest and humorous recounting of the typical challenges faced during trips to Target with children. From navigating their demands for snacks and toys to managing meltdowns at checkout, it captures the chaotic yet relatable experience of shopping as a parent. Despite the trials, there’s an underlying affection for the store as a sanctuary for parents.
Keyphrase: Target shopping trips with kids
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