Something Wicked This Way Comes

Back-to-school shopping. Need I say more? Um, I don't think so. It's like a living, breathing horror show. That you've willingly walked in to. It's like having a baby. You forget how bad, how truly terrible it is until you're smack dab in the middle of it. Then your brain finally clicks in and you wonder what the holy heck you're doing.

This year I've tried to stream-line my sanity as much as possible. Here's how that works-- I look my teenagers in the eye. I bend down close and speak real slow. I also hand them my debit card. "You can buy whatever, and I mean whatever you want, as long as I don't have to be involved."

This system worked like a charm with Child #1. She was responsible, bought what she needed, came home and handed me my card back. Child #2 came home with 2 pairs of jeans that didn't fit because she refused to try them on, and some lotion and perfume. Clearly she is confused on what constitutes "school clothes".

So, I threatened, bribed and screamed for #2 and #3 to accompany me to the mall. I bought salads on the way and discovered one was filled with a giant red, leafy twig. Then we had a smack down in the Dillard's shoe department. If I'm spending $85 on one pair of Sperry's, you would think I'd be allowed to suggest she buy something different than the exact same pair I bought her last year. Painful moments, I tell you.

I think all mothers lose some of their soul every year they school shop. For serious. Oh, and the baby child toured through her class schedule at the middle school. She acted irritated beyond measure that I would actually make her find each classroom. All back-to-school activities are bad for your health.

Don't even get me started on school supplies. That's torture at it's finest. I parked my cart at the end of an isle and let them loose. Child #1 knew exactly what she needed, sorted through it all methodically, and placed her items in the cart.

Child #2 picked up a random notebook and threw it in. Then considered herself finished. So, I inquired, "You have 6 classes. Do you need more than 1 notebook?" She got a confused look on her face and asked, "Huh. Well, do you think I need to take notes in English?" The last time I checked, you most certainly do. Obviously all her previous school years and her note taking skills have eluded her. This does not bode well for the future.

Baby Child sent herself into a near tizzy trying to find every. exact. item. listed. She wouldn't listen to reason or explanation from anyone. The school list was her boss. I'm pretty sure at this point I started to wonder if drinking diesel fuel would be more or less painful than this current situation. You with me?

I'm calling a halt right here, right now. No more back-to-school until Monday when their physical bodies physically enter the school building. Good grief, that's 4 days away. Hang on tight.