My Kids Made Me Cry

I'm sitting on the bathroom floor, rocking back & forth with a half-empty wine bottle. Mascara has stained my face, my body is shaking with aftershock sobs, and I get the giggles. My 24-pound 2-year-old has done this to me. It started with yelling and it ended with me in the fetal position on the bathroom floor.

The kids were sick. They were restless. I needed Starbucks in the worst way, and we needed toilet paper. It was a no-brainer. We head to Target and attitudes would adjust just by stepping foot through the automatic doors.


Shit hit the Target fan before we even got out of the car. The boys' arms are now long enough to reach each other across the middle row, making it easy to smack each other and swipe toys. This is what ensued in the parking lot. Number 3 hoards sunglasses and Number 2 occasionally wants sunglasses, so it was a power struggle between brawn and scrap.

After I managed to wrestle the two into a cart, we entered Target and beelined for Starbucks. There was weeping & gnashing of teeth as all 3 practically took out the barista when he slowly pulled out three cake pops. The audacity.

Moments later, Number 1 had an itch on her foot, so SHE LAID HER CAKE POP ON THE GROUND. I screamed. Like, actually screamed, "NO! GROSS!" as she looked at me as if I were a complete asshole, ruining her life.

I did the dumbest thing I could have done: I emptied Number 1's piggy bank in an effort to be mom of the year. "Take this money with you! Get a toy! I'm the best mommy ever!"


Once they were cake-popped, we headed to the toy aisle so that Number 1 could buy a toy. This culminated in walking up & down the aisles four times to be sure she picked out just the right toy. Number 2 & Number 3 were over it. More weeping & gnashing of teeth. "PICK A FECKING TOY OR I WILL TAKE YOUR MONEY." A toy was chosen. She chose every mother's worst nightmare: choking hazards Shopkins.

I needed two things: a 3-hole punch & dishwasher tabs, a quick pop-in shopping experience.


After 30 minutes of yelling and whining, we finally circled our way back to the front of the store to grab the TWO ITEMS I actually needed. This is the moment that, for no particular reason, Number 3 loses his ever-loving shit and tries to hurl himself out of his seat and onto the Target tile where he will inevitably need stitches. Crocodile tears and hysterical screaming ensue. People definitely think I'm kidnapping him.

We finally make it to the checkout where I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. No Target card. FECK.

I have left it at the returns counter. We load back up, race over to the counter where the customer service rep rolls her eyes and hands me my card. "I wondered when you'd realize..."

We head back to lane 5 and throw our shit on the belt. I am now holding Number 3 who is wiping copious amounts of snot on my shirt, and am now trying to finagle Number 1's money out of her purse. She proceeds to get angry that I didn't give the cashier ALL of her money. "I didn't want any leftover." DAFUQ?

We buy her damn toy that she had to have, and it's finally my turn. I have sweat dripping from my pits and my under carriage. I shove the card in the chip reader and ask the cashier why they don't carry wine at this Target location. She chuckles. I whip my cart out of the line and walk as quickly as possible to the car. Number 3 refuses to sit down and stiffens his body. Number 1 is screaming at the top of her lungs about opening her damn toy. And Number 2, in typical middle child fashion, is singing to himself. I shut the doors, lock us in, and the tears well.

It's white noise and yelling and crying until we pull into the garage. Number 3 refuses to get out of the car and closes himself in. I carry Number 2 inside, Number 1 beelines for her room, and finally, Number 3 realizes he's scared of the dark garage.

Cartoon on. Wine bottle in hand. Head for the bathroom for a good cry.

An hour.

Please send wine. I'm running low.

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