The Aisle of No Return

The commissary (grocery store for service members) was PACKED today.

Just packed.

And not only had I forgotten my grocery list, but I'd also forgotten my Ergo baby carrier for Noah. (this is what happens when you sign your kids up for early morning swim lessons and then try to multitask by running errands afterwards).


Which means that instead of having all three boys contained while we shop (two in the "car" cart, and one in the carrier), I now had one son on the loose.

So Isaiah was on the loose today and was a great helper for me. He picked things up. He helped bag fruit. He ogled and goggled (and handled) in the candy row.


He also helped clear traffic.


We had just turned down the all-important-aisle-filled-with-everything-we need (or at least things I thought we needed. No list, remember?) when I realized the row looked like Seattle during rush hour. Major traffic jam. Not only were there multiple carts being pushed by their owners, but there were store employees stocking shelves, and old friends catching up.

Yep. It was the row of dread. The row of frustration. The row of "excuse me" and "no problem, I'll wait, while you load your cart with 84 cans of tomato paste." Yep, the row we all want to avoid after we've already expended all our energy keeping three boys from drowning at swim lessons.  (Okay, so I only kept the youngest one from drowning, the other two were under the swim teacher's charge).

I sighed, took a deep breath and just as I was about to begin making my way down the row, my 4 year old Isaiah exclaims bluntly (and in a LOUD voice):

"MOM?? All these people are BLOCKING the way!!!!"

And they were!! And he was right!! But I was still very close to being embarrassed at his comment-- especially when everyone stopped and looked at me with my three little ones and my extra long "car" cart.

But then... when half the crowd in the aisle started laughing and kindly stepped aside for us to pass, my embarrassment faded.

And I thought...

Honesty really is the best policy.