I planned a curriculum shopping trip today to pick up some odds and ends we need. My older kids had music lessons this afternoon, so the plan was to take the younger ones with me to a local homeschool supply company with a large warehouse and play area. After dropping off the older kids and starting on our way, Chloe tells me that she forgot her shoes. At the end of my huge spiel on never leaving home without them, Clayton admits he doesn’t have any, either. Home was twenty minutes in the opposite direction, so that wasn’t an option if I hoped to buy the books.
Since it’s already September, I thought maybe it would be a good time to go ahead and buy their fall tennis shoes (that’s sneakers, for you northerners). When we got to Ross, I discovered that Felicity didn’t have any shoes, either! She was asleep when we left the house, but I had been assured that her shoes were with us. It is completely against my my standards of what is socially acceptable to take three (actually four, if you count Lily) barefooted kids to any public place other than the pool. I had hoped to cram all of them into a shopping cart, but Ross’s carts aren’t that big. Instead, two rode in the cart and two walked.
With the absence of a “No shirt, no shoes, no service” sign (do they save those for restaurants?), we entered the store. My goal was to get in and out, with as few people as possible gaping at all those bare feet. The kids asked if they were getting new flip-flops. I told them summer was almost over and we would get new tennis shoes. It was then that they reminded me they already had new ones. Let me interject that I am an incredibly frugal person, the kind who would never buy an unneeded item (like a second pair of tennis shoes) unless it was practically being given away.
At this point, Felicity squealed, “I just farted!” with all the delight of a child who is potty-training and becoming very aware of this sort of thing. This is a word which you will never hear me use; I even had trouble typing it. By then, I was just wishing the floor would open up and swallow me and my barefooted, redneck-acting kids.
We emerged with socks, panties for Felicity (her announcement made me remember she needed more), a much-needed new backpack for Chloe for co-op classes, and a couple of Christmas present ideas; at least the trip wasn’t completely in vain. After we got everyone in the car, I made a call to Bryan and realized the book store closed in ten minutes. I guess this means we get to try it again. Maybe next time they’ll remember their shoes…