A few months ago, I packed up my two little boys and went to Costco for milk, etc. As we walked through the parking lot, Charlie was like a pinball slamming this way and that at high speeds. He asked, shouting, if we could buy chocolate raisins. I assured him that if he could be a) quiet, and b) good that we would indeed buy the large container of chocolate raisins.
But I should’ve realized that Charlie had already launched through the stratosphere and was now orbiting the earth. When we walked through those big open doors and he caught a panoramic view of the entire warehouse, Charlie wigged, hard core. Shrieking and writhing, he was desperate to leave.
So we left.
No biggie. I’m accustomed to Costco patrons staring when one of us loses control. Once when I was extremely pregnant with Littlest, Charlie flipped out in the shopping cart and stepped on my slice of combo pizza. Large, frustrated, pregnant, and perpetually hungry me looked at Charlie and my smashed, ruined pizza. Then I swore. Audibly. A swath of patrons in the food court line looked at me in slack-jawed shock. Apparently, nobody swears at Costco. Except for the giant woman with a giant belly and swollen ankles, pushing a giant cart piled with groceries and a screaming preschooler.
I’m down with people at Costco thinking we are nuts.
Anyhoo, I recount this story because today I packed up my two little boys and decided the time had come to put Charlie back on the Costco pony, figuratively speaking. We needed to return a sweater. Easy, fast, simple.
As we walked through the parking lot, Charlie asked me repeatedly if Costco has doors. He was fretting, but functional. We went inside, waited in line, and made our return. Charlie asked if we could get pizza.
Two quiet boys chowed on pizza and drinks and suckers from the bank all the way home.