Japanese game show shopping

Shopping with my children is like competing on a Japanese game show.  It can involve wrestling a 90 pound cart of groceries around a tight corner while 60 pounds of kid hang on the side like a counterweight, or a challenge that feels like walking three cats on leashes - controlling the frantic gyrations of one, dragging a reluctant second, tripping over a passive-aggressive third.  My children also like to pepper me with questions and accusations, making me feel like I'm involved in a tag team interrogation while competing in a high stakes scavenger hunt.
"Can we get popsicles?" "You NEVER have any GOOD stuff for snack!" "Why do you have to come here so much?" "You always let HIM pick the cereal!" "My legs hurt and you won't let me ride!" "Why are you looking at chocolate?" "Do we have to wait at the pharmacy again?" "He stomped on my foot!!!"

Why do I take them with me?  Because no one else wants to be responsible for them on short notice.  I've tried the once-a-month grocery stock up, but it always fails.  There will always be two things I forgot, one thing we just ran out of, and special ingredients needed for a project that I didn't know about.  I'm resigned to the fact that I will be picking up items at the store, kids in tow, at least twice a week until they leave for college - or the military - or a group home.  I have decided I will just have to find amusement when I can and go home for a nap when I can't.  For now, a trip down memory lane for a few chuckles at my kids' expense will help me face the next grocery run.

When my oldest son was about four and a half and my daughter was three, I had a need to visit the lingerie section one day.  The little trolls were riding in the shopping cart and chattering together, when my daughter looked up and pointed to the bras and asked, "What's that?"
My savvy little son said, "That's for Mommy's front butt.  Mommies have two butts."
"Ohhh!"  says daughter.
I have no idea how he came to this knowledge about the use of a brassiere, but I assume all cleavage looked like butt to him at that age.  I was a little insulted by the characterization of Mommy anatomy, but it was funny.

And then there was the time that I ran over my daughter at Target.   She was participating in a developmental stage in which she preferred toddling on her own to riding in a cart.   She was also rather reckless and adventurous at that age and was not yet the ultra-sensitive drama queen she is today.   As I moved down each aisle, she literally ran circles around me and the cart.  I gave repeated verbal cues for her to stay out of the way and not run off.   I stopped to search a shelf for a particular item, found it, and then started pushing my cart again, when KA-womp!  I ran over something.   I couldn't imagine what it was.  I hadn't seen anything in the aisle and whatever it was had not impeded the cart much because I rolled over it quite easily.  I casually glanced down and saw two feet sticking out from under the cart.   I gasped and dropped to my hands and knees to peer at my small daughter.  She was simply lying there and grinning. 
"Did you lie down in the floor?"  I asked in high-pitched disbelief.
She nodded as she shimmied out from under the cart.  She appeared to have enjoyed the experience of getting rolled over by a full grocery cart.  As for me, it took a few minutes to get over the fact that I had actually run over my daughter.  - But it's funny now.

And of course, there was that day when all three of them decided to compete in cart surfing.  The main problem was not their extra weight making it difficult for me to push and maneuver the cart.  The main problem was their intense competitiveness, which led to all three trying to surf on the same side of the cart.
I ordered a forfeit in the game and informed them that they would turn the cart over.  They chose to believe, because they had ridden a couple of feet without the cart turning over, that I was a big fat liar or an adult idiot.  At some signal recognized only within their group, they eventually hopped back onto the side of the cart.   The cart leaned and I strained to keep it on four wheels while yelling, "Get off! Get off!"
Alas, it was a lesson learned the hard way for my three kiddies.  The cart went crashing down onto its side, catching three surfers underneath.    An older woman nearby gasped, "Oh poor babies!"
I heartlessly remarked, "Poor babies, nothing! They deserved that."
I righted my cart and picked up rolling grocery items first and then I addressed the surfers. 
"Did anybody hit their head?" I asked without a trace of compassion.
They each shook their hard noggins to indicate that they were intact and unrung.  I then ordered them to sit on the floor against the shelving while I finished shopping that aisle.  They hung their heads like the failed athletes they were, and I walked away so I could laugh quietly.

Yes, savor the memories Mommies, with your front butts and incomplete grocery lists!  They are only young once - for about 18 long years.