The thing about having a family is that they seem to need to eat OFTEN. I’m not kidding - it seems like every time I turn around, I’ve run out of one thing or another. We have a larger size family (right now we are holding steady with six kids, and no further plans on the horizon), so that computes to a gallon of milk a day, 2 loaves of bread, a dozen eggs and 3 boxes of cereal in a week. Not to mention my daily need for lots and lots of coffee. All of this food - not to mention the paper products and the personal stuff - means that I find myself in the grocery more than once a week. Part of that is my own disorganization, and part is that we just run out of food at an alarming rate. Teenagers will do that to a fridge.

I have been a mother long enough to know that I don’t do well with a baby, toddler or preschooler at the store. The crying, the fussing, the tantrums - and that’s just me. No, I leave the littles at home, and rarely take the others, preferring to enjoy my kid free time. You know, if you wear an iPod and bring a coffee, restocking the shelves can be almost enjoyable. But my oldest, my teenage boy, really wanted to shop with me and so I brought him.

Arming him with his own cart was my first mistake. Instead of walking sedately behind me, he ran ahead, popping wheelies on the cart and careening down the frozen food aisle around the little old ladies. He tossed in freezer pops, sugary cereals and chips, claiming that he’s been waiting all his life to have this type of shopping experience. Well, yeah, I’d love to shop on someone else’s dollar for junk food! He teased me with rude comments, unrolled the foil, bumped me with his cart, and generally made a nuisance of himself. He argued in favor of Pop-Tarts and against whole wheat pasta. Much like a preschooler.

No, the kicker occurred at the checkout. I placed a bag of chips on the conveyor belt - open and half eaten. Same with the loaf of French bread, the cheese sticks and the granola bars. When he handed the tortillas to the cashier, he asked if she’d give them right back, so he could eat them on the way home. With raised eyebrows, she asked, “How much of this food will make it home?” Not much, my friend.

You know I’ll be back next week, but I’ll be going alone next time - not sure my pocketbook nor my sanity can handle the hit.