The Weekly Shop

I used to love food shopping – just because I get to spend money. With two children in tow times have changed... it’s now the ultimate test in planning, patience and selective hearing.  It’s the Total Wipeout of the domestic world...how quickly can we get around? How fast can we do the trolley dodge without sending the slow movers flying down the pasta aisle? How many things have been sneaked in the trolley by little hands when the four extra pairs of eyes I've developed are not watching? And how many of our kids did we lose along the way?

Usually Dad and I double team when we do the food shop – one can push the trolley containing a bored, screeching Ava who chomps her way through the produce before its touched the conveyor belt, and the other can rugby tackle Owen when he tries to climb in the freezers. But one week, when Ave was ten months old, I attempted it alone...or with my mother (aka English Granny)...which is practically doing it alone because she’s out of practice.

So it all began in the car on the way to Asda when English Granny decided to give Ava an entire apple to eat...and she began to choke...and then threw up all over herself and the car...and I didn’t have a spare change of clothes. We headed straight to the upstairs cafe where I wiped the puke from Ava and removed a layer of clothes and ordered the Gremlins some top nosh – chicken nuggets and chips for Owen (sorry Jamie Oliver) and potatoes and beans for Ava. But Ava didn’t want potatoes and beans...she wanted Owen’s chips...so she helped herself to a chip...and because she couldn’t chew chips properly she threw up all over herself again. It was at this point that the mother of a work colleague approached us cheerfully for a chat...but after she clocked the stench of Ava (who then growled at her) and Owen began to chant “bum bum bum” she sharp ran off.

The next hour was spent running after Owen, who hid in the clothes four times. I didn’t mind this. I was relieved that he wasn’t trying on the women’s shoes like he usually does. This running around was done to the beat of Ava screaming and me shoving food in her mouth to plug up the noise.  Then as I perused the baby aisle looking for conditioner for Ava’s rat tails, Owen and I had our typical Asda interaction:

(Owen holding up a jar of baby food) Mam do you want this one?

No

(Holding up a different one) Mam do you want this one?

No

Mam do you want this one?

No

This one?

No

What about this one?

No

This one?

NO!

Can I have a Milky Way?

No

Please can I have a Milky Way?

No

But I want a Milky Way (cue crying)

 

I told him he could have a Milky Way if he was good and helped me with the shopping. I asked him to put a loaf of bread in the trolley for me. He decided to sink his teeth in it. Of course I put it back on the shelf and picked up a different one. Bloated  and overfed, Ava stopped screaming and fell asleep as soon as I approached the tills and Owen ran off again and hid in the photo booth.

When the shopping was over we headed back to the car. English Granny climbed in the passenger seat and put her seat belt on.... “It’s alright Mam I can manage!” I said, observing my sleeping baby covered in puke, my four year old trying to play chicken with passing cars and the trolley full of shopping.

So “Asda” is now an offensive word to me. If you see me there curled up in a ball sobbing, pat my head, tell me it’s going to be okay, feed Ava and find Owen. Your help is always appreciated.