Julie Jay: I have taken my kids to the supermarket and lived to tell the tale

Every time I head to the supermarket with my children I arm myself with a list and bags for life and convince myself this time it will be different. Spoiler alert: it never is

Having to bring your kids with you on any shopping expedition is the stuff of parental nightmares. Picture: iStock

Though I have never caught a wave in my life, this week I had to carry my two-and-a-half-year-old out of a local SuperValu store surfboard style, so one could say I am technically a surfer now.

Aside from being mistaken for a professional sports person, I have also been doing a considerable amount of reading up on Tom Crean and his Antarctic explorations. I have decided that, though his escapades were no doubt impressive, they have nothing on my own personal heroic struggles. If courage is feeling the fear and doing it anyway, somebody had better hand me the non-problematic/Irish equivalent of a British Empire Medal.

Have I traversed a forgotten continent? No, I have done better: I have taken my kids to the supermarket and lived to tell the tale.

It is not for the faint-hearted. I don’t know at what point I will be able to bring my kids on supermarket sweeps and not have it as chaotic and over-stimulating as the English TV show of the same name hosted by Rylan Clark, but we’re definitely not there yet.

The bit that gets me is that every time I venture into a shop with more than one aisle, my two kids in tow, I am hopeful — even optimistic. This time will be different, I tell myself. Today is the day we go in and stick to the list. Yes, people say I’m a natural pessimist, but I go into shops armed with lists and convince myself I won’t deviate. Optimism is most definitely my biggest character flaw.

Letting your kids run wild like organic free-range chickens is hardly an option, but then the trolley is equally a disaster.

Getting Number Two positioned into the trolley is like trying to get an octopus into a Pringles tin. When we finally have him reasonably secured, Number One will insist on driving the trolley, despite having all the spatial awareness of an octopus in a Pringles tin. 

If any octopus is reading this, I apologise for any offence — I recently discovered that you are, in fact, highly intelligent beings, so the odds of you navigating your way out of a Pringles tin and reading this column are high.

The main tip I would give when shopping with your children is to avoid eye contact with other people at all times. Bystanders will pretend not to hear your five-year-old denounce this as “the worst day of his life” because you have decided to forgo the industrial-sized Nutella for a friendlier family-sized jar that can actually fit in our kitchen without calling the builders in.

Generally speaking, I avoid bringing my kids to the supermarket like a plague. But this week, I got caught short for nappies and had to suck it up and bring the two small people with me, mentally writing off the tenner I would have to spend on chocolate croissants just to keep operations running smoothly.

The breakable section

Having to bring your kids with you on any shopping expedition is the stuff of parental nightmares, because the shop is designed in such a way to facilitate a ‘grab and run’ approach — the favoured shopping style of toddlers everywhere. On this latest manic visit to the nappy aisle, we had to detour via the condiment section, or as I like to call it, the inevitable breakable section.

The two of them started filling up my trolley with an array of items they would not eat for all the chicken nuggets in Supermac’s: pickled red cabbage, jalapenos, sauerkraut, beetroot, to name a few. 

My toddler insisted I put these products into the trolley, forcing me to discreetly get rid of this extra weight along the way.

If you work in this supermarket and recently retrieved a jar of kimchi from the nappy section and had to return it to its rightful place among other condiments that scream “I’ve travelled!”, I’m so sorry. Having spent a considerable amount of my youth cursing parents who scattered items in such a way around the shop as if we were all in some kind of perverse treasure hunt, I can now say I get it completely.

When faced with the choice between a toddler about to kick off and doing the right thing as a customer, it is a no-brainer. I will avoid anything to avert a kicking off, even if it means dumping tinned artichokes in the freezer section.

By the time we reach the till, I am Tom Crean, returning to his home village in West Kerry after his Antarctic capers. Nobody can understand my struggle; I have seen things no human should see; I have looked disaster in the eye and lived to tell the tale.

Getting the items packed is a struggle, mostly because one child is requesting an Easter egg — in January — and the other has thrown himself on the floor like a Victorian orphan.

When we get home, I realise my toddler is eating an apple I definitely didn’t pay for, but I don’t even consider returning to the shop to do the right thing. Frankly, I’d rather risk a shoplifting conviction than go through all of that again. Besides, at this point, the supermarket would probably pay me to stay at home, especially when they find out I am the person who dumped the sauerkraut by the greeting cards and fled.