Summer is over. I know this because I have just been tortured
beyond measure.
Summer is over. I know this because I have just been tortured beyond measure. I have taken my son back-to-school shopping.
Look, I am the Queen of Shopping. Give me a mall and a credit card with room to charge and I am a happy camper. I can shop for hours. Once, I was at my favorite mall and it had a sidewalk sale and I forgot to eat. And let me tell you, I don’t EVER forget to eat. That’s how much I love to shop.
But I hate back-to-school shopping. First of all, I have a boy. And shopping with boys – at least with my boy – is pure insanity. Junior sees a mall and he runs the opposite direction. I’ve tried everything to make him mall-friendly. I’ve bribed him (“there’s a Game Boy store inside”). I’ve made wild claims (“really, Spiderman is at Target, it’s where all super heroes shop”). I’ve even made stupid threats (“if you don’t shop with me today, you’ll be LIVING in the timeout chair”).
Nothing has made Junior like to shop.
Oh sure, I have tricks I use to get Junior to a mall. My favorite is not to tell Junior about the shopping trip until that morning – he eats breakfast, lies about brushing his teeth and changing his underwear, all the while blissfully unaware that a shopping expedition looms.
And then, just when he’s dressed and about to run out the door, I break the news. That’s when the whining begins. Usually, it’s a long, loud whine that starts with “Why? Why? Why?” This year, he even called Harry to complain, “But Dad, she’s gonna make me go with her ALL day!”
Once I’ve gotten him into the car, Junior starts to negotiate terms. First, he wants his Game Boy. And he wants to play said Game Boy in every store we visit. Once that brilliant idea is shot down, Junior tries to get chocolate privileges. He wants candy after every store. I don’t think so. The last thing I need is a whiny, sugared-up kid trying on clothes. We’re talking major meltdown before lunch.
So he whines all the way to the outlets. And I pop the first aspirin of the day.
In the first store, Junior’s suffering begins. He has to try on clothes. Now, I’m not doing this because I’m mean. I’m doing this because clothes for kids never, ever come in sizes that actually fit children. You can walk into any store and pick up three pairs of pants that are identical in size, color, everything. Each pair will fit your child differently. I’m certain that clothing manufacturers are getting back at mothers for their own horrifying back-to-school shopping experiences.
By the time I get done dressing and undressing Junior in three different stores, the day is half gone. Junior is tired and cranky and starting to negotiate the terms of my surrender. I’ve exceeded the recommended daily dose of aspirin and my head is still pounding.
And we haven’t bought anything yet.
All I really want to do is prop my feet up, sip a mojito and watch the grass grow. And all Junior really wants is to play with his friends one last day before summer ends. So, I guess he’ll be wearing last year’s shorts to school the first day. They don’t fit – but neither did anything else he tried on. Instead, we’ll enjoy the last carefree day of summer.
And maybe next weekend, we’ll go to the mall. I think I have a vat of aspirin hidden in a cupboard somewhere.
