Updated: Aug. 6, 2020
Originally Published: Aug. 8, 2017
You step out of the house brimming with confidence, perhaps a little too much. Your partner raises an eyebrow at your decision to take three children school supply shopping, but you dismiss their concerns with a smirk. You believe it’s essential for the kids to take part in the process: they’ll learn responsibility, understand that everything has a price, and develop a sense of gratitude and accountability.
As you head to the store, a squabble erupts over which child will claim which highlighter for marking their list. A quick reminder that they can choose a treat if they behave puts an end to the chaos. You arrive at the store with purpose. Spotting hand sanitizer on an end cap, you effortlessly grab two bottles with one hand while pushing the cart with the other.
Navigating the school supplies section, you make quick work of crayons, markers, and glue sticks. However, you find yourself double-checking each list since each child has specific requirements for their items. By the time you reach folders and notebooks, your youngest has wandered off, tugging every toy within reach off the shelves. You gently remind him that your mission is school supplies, but after the fifth toy he tries to sneak into the cart, your reminders become less gentle. You can’t help but wonder if the shoppers on the other side of the aisle can hear you.
When you reach the pencils, confusion strikes. What exactly is a Dixon Ticonderoga pencil? Every package you examine has “Ticonderoga” emblazoned on it, but “Dixon” is nowhere to be found. You throw a pack of regular Ticonderoga pencils into the cart, making sure to choose the pre-sharpened ones—after last year’s frantic sharpening session, you’ve learned your lesson.
By the time you get to the dry erase markers, you’ve snatched the first-grader’s list out of his hand, ready to check items off yourself. Frustration mounts as you search in vain for black, fine-point dry erase markers. Hundreds of options are available, yet “fine-point” eludes you. After some internal debate, you grab a pack of regular black dry erase markers, hoping it’s what the list intended.
“1 box pink top erasers”—what does that even mean? You ponder if those are the ones that go on pencils. In your entire life, you can’t recall ever seeing erasers sold in a box. So, you toss a pack of ordinary pink erasers into your cart without a second thought.
Next, it’s time to hunt for tissues, baby wipes, and Ziploc bags, all the way at the other end of the store with the groceries. By now, the kids are fully over the shopping experience—so are you. When they ask why they can’t have a toy, your honest response is, “Because I’m the worst.” You feel unreasonable anger towards the store for not grouping these necessities with the school supplies. After all, tissues, baby wipes, and Ziploc bags have appeared on every school supply list you’ve ever seen. If only the store wanted to make life easier for parents, they would place these items nearby. And let’s not forget—wine should definitely be located right next to the school supplies.
Now juggling all three lists, you scrutinize each item while herding the kids through the aisles like cattle. They’ve wandered over to a display of Doritos, which you refuse to buy because, again, you’re the worst. You suddenly realize you need to backtrack for Band-Aids and contact paper. A kind store employee overhears your musings and points you in the right direction. You think about thanking her profusely, but you settle for a simple “You’re the best,” recognizing that she’s the opposite of you, as you feel like the worst.
You’re irritated that you never bought a Fitbit because you’ve definitely hit your 10,000 steps today. You finally locate what you believe is contact paper, but the package doesn’t explicitly say so. You make a mental note to call your mom about it later and head toward Band-Aids. As you pass the hand sanitizer end cap, the bounce in your step is long gone.
Finally, you reach the checkout line. The kids incessantly plead for this and that, and your patience has evaporated. You declare, “The next person to say ‘Mom’ loses 10 stars!” Shoppers several lines over chuckle, thinking you’re joking, but you’re dead serious, especially with the $200 bill that just appeared on the register.
As you load the kids and supplies into the car, you’re stunned that you’ve been gone nearly two hours—it feels like six. You call your partner, letting them know you’re just wrapping up and contemplating becoming a day-drinker now. But, alas, you forgot to buy wine.
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Summary:
Shopping for school supplies with three kids can be a chaotic experience filled with confusion and frustration. From navigating confusing lists to managing distractions, it’s a test of patience. By the end of the trip, even the most confident parent can feel overwhelmed, especially when the realization hits that they’ve forgotten something crucial, like wine.