A Trip to Costco

I hate Thursdays.

Without the structure of Cole’s preschool in the morning, Thursdays just seem to go on for-ev-er.  Plus having Cole home all morning means Lulu doesn’t really get to nap, and by mid-afternoon no one is in a great mood.  So yesterday, I looked over the toy carnage on our living room floor, tried to calm a fussy, cranky Lulu, realized that bedtime was still hours away, and thought

I hate Thursdays.

And then I realized.

Oh my God.  It’s only Tuesday.

Clearly we needed to get out of the house.  Not only were the kids climbing the walls, but we were totally out of milk, which gave us an excuse to go to one of Cole’s favorite destinations: Costco.

It took quite a while to get both kids wrestled into their coats (Will this winter never END?), and buckled into their car seats, but we were lucky enough to get a relatively close parking space and into the warehouse we went.

Apparently, we went at the wrong time, because Cole’s favorite thing about Costco is the free samples and there were none in sight.  I felt the beginnings of a tension headache as we passed aisle after aisle with no small tables of nibbles in paper cups in sight.  Cole’s incessant refrain of “where are the free samples, Mommy?” just didn’t help, but we made it through, picked up the few items we came for, and checked out succesfully.

An important part of our Costco tradition is frozen yogurt at the food court, so I steered our double wide stroller into the line and contemplated getting a hot dog since I had planned to get a drink anyway and it’s about $0.50 to add the hot dog and make it a meal – and I hadn’t eaten all day.

“Cole, do you want a hot dog?”

“No, Mommy, just ice cream. I want vanilla ice cream with strawberries on it.”

There was a minor scuffle when the people behind us in line got indignant on our behalf when someone cut in front of us, but we made it to the counter and I placed our order.

“A hot dog meal and a berry sundae, please.”

The employee informed me that they are out of strawberries.

Crap.

I took a deep breath.

“Cole. They do not have any strawberries; do you want just vanilla ice cream or do you want vanilla and chocolate twisted up?”

“I want berries, Mommy.”

“I know, but Cole, the man just said there aren’t any more berries.”

“Why, Mommy? Who ate all the berries?”

“I don’t know, Cole.  Someone ate all of them. {deep breath} Do you want vanilla or vanilla and chocolate?”

We established that Cole would like a twist, and that he would share with his sister, but only if she had her own spoon because “I don’t like baby slobber,” and I collected my hot dog, sauerkraut container, Cole’s yogurt, 2 spoons, and my soda cup.  I steered the cart to an empty table with one hand and an elbow, and got Cole set up in a seat.  I got my soda and snagged a handful of napkins, and tightened Lulu’s seatbelt in the cart so she couldn’t achieve her goal of climbing out.

“Cole, do you want any of my hot dog? I’m going to put mustard on it, so tell me if you want some and I’ll leave it off that part.”

“No.”

I turned and took two steps toward the condiment station, untwisting the foil from my hot dog. A small voice from behind me:

“Mommy, I have to go pee pee.”

Crap.

Cole hopped from foot to foot while I rewrapped my food, placed it in the cart, and elbow steered to the restrooms at the other end of the warehouse.

“No, Cole, you can’t go into that bathroom. That is for daddies and Daddy is not with us.”

We made it into the bathroom – thank goodness the sink area is large enough to accommodate our cart – and I helped Cole with his jeans one-handed, while juggling the frozen yogurt and my drink.  I was sweating in my light fleece jacket by the time we got back to our table and started our snack.

I unwrapped my hot dog, and Lulu dropped spoon #1. I ran to get her another one. Turn around to see Cole feeding her off his spoon and chocolate yogurt dripping onto her coat. One spoonful and she was already a sticky mess, and

How does Cole have ice cream in his hair?!

I handed Lulu her spoon, reminded Cole {again} to put his tushie on his seat and stand to get my mustard.  Two steps away from the table and there is a small voice behind me:

“Mommy, I want a hot dog!”

Are you kidding me?

Deep breath.

“Cole, I am not getting you a hot dog. You can have some of mine if you want.”

Miraculously, this solution was agreeable to his majesty, and he scarfed the half I gave him, carefully peeling away the bun and handing it to Lulu, who was still waving spoonfuls full of yogurt and getting it everywhere but in her mouth.

I finished my hot dog, pried the sticky spoon from Lulu’s fist {against her very loud protestations}, and fed her a few more bites.

“Cole, put your tushie in your seat.”

“Mommy, I am just jumping.”

“Cole, we do not jump off the seats. Please put your tushie in your seat – Lulu is eating all your ice cream.”

Lulu succesfully wrangled back her spoon, and I turned to find a wipe in the diaper bag.  The older couple next to me caught my eye and smiled.

“They are adorable. Look how sweet he is with her.”

I glanced back: Cole was back to feeding Lulu, while explaining to her that she shouldn’t get his spoon “yucky with baby slobber.” Lulu happily rubbed her spoon into his hair.

“Thank you.”

Some days they are lucky they are cute.