While shopping for school supplies this year, I broke my own rule. I brought my kids along. I don't know if I'm a slow learner (I am) or an easy mark for kiddie convincing, but I hauled Poppy and London to a big box store to tackle the 87 items on their yellow school supply grid. Now that London's entering kindergarten, I have two valid reasons to
shop solo but, as the saying goes, fools (like me) rush in.
When we first entered the store, things seemed fine. Poppy and London happily received consumer communion in the form of a happy face sticker slapped on them by a benign greeter in an ill-fitting blue vest. I try to shop before the tax-free weekend, not because I can't use the savings but because I've been through that frenzied hellfest,
and let me tell you, it's not worth the 15 bucks. It's hard enough reading that
dizzying provision chart alone while you simultaneously guard your kids against abduction. Since London is at the beginning of the board game we call elementary school and Poppy is nearing the end, their items were listed on opposite sides of the sheet. I felt like Marty Feldman with my eyes swimming around in my skull as if I'd purchased them in a novelty shop. And that was well before I snagged my first dozen bar erasers or a six-pack of antibacterial wipes.
Maybe we've allowed Poppy to watch too many Olsen twins' movies, but she was hell-bent on bankrupting her old man. While I studied the roster and scanned the aisles for the right supplies at the right price, Poppy honed in on the items that, if my dad were with us, we would be warned, "Now, that's where they getcha." While I didn't want to be a cheapskate and buy discount crayons that contained virtually no pigment, I guessed London could survive without a palette of 64 Crayolas, especially since he could barely write his full name.
"Look at this binder, Dad." Poppy held up a deluxe glossy collator with puppies rollicking all over it. "It's sooo cute." She even had the nerve to hug the damn thing right there on the linoleum. Forget Joe Camel, the government should be looking into stationery suppliers for unethically targeting kids.
"I need a grinder," London whined, feeling left out of the conspicuous consumption class that Poppy was acing already.
London's list was thankfully far more abbreviated than Poppy's, but that made him feel even more inadequate as I dumped four dozen number-two pencils into the cart. I'm no mathematician but that means Poppy will need a new pencil (and a hand massage) every 2.5 days.
"I need pencils too," London said but, sadly, no one listened.
Even with the lack of tax-free junkies, I still felt woozy attempting to multitask in the name of education. Poppy would scamper off searching for a Lisa Frank folder with prongs-London in tow-while my eyes scanned the hundreds of products jumbled on the shelves as if an earthquake just hit the garden department next door.
After we spent a
Dangerous Minds
episode in a section that would be dismantled after Labor Day, I realized that some of the items we needed were only available or were cheaper in other parts of this airplane hangar. Even though I hated being there, I knew leaving this area was a bad idea. The devil you know, you know?
"Dad, let me go check on the Bratz," Poppy said, pulling the cart toward the doll division.
"Mom said I could get some more superheroes," London added. "You know, like Aquaman? I'll get one for Poppy too." He shot me a sleazy wink.
"Guys, we're here for one thing only." I gazed at my overabounding cart. "Well, more than one thing, but just stuff for school. Get it?"
Poppy nodded solemnly.
London shrugged. "Balance makes perfect," he said, catching a ride on the side of the cart.
Robert Wilder's recently published first book is
Daddy Needs A Drink
,
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