A Holiday to Tesco

Going out without the babies.
Well, I shouldn’t call the babies as they aren’t really, but they are my babies, so I’ll call them that as long as I can.
So, on the rare occasion that I go out without them, it’s a strange experience.
Maybe it’s to the supermarket or even, when I’m feeling super fancy, I get my hair cut. That occasion includes reading trashy magazines and drinking HOT coffee whilst chatting about immaterial things.

On this occasion, it’s the supermarket. So, I’m getting ready to go. I’ve got a tiny handbag and not the huge mom-bag crammed full of juice and snacks I normally carry.
I’m ready, I have my 407 bags for life, trolley token and shopping list that I plan to stick to, but in reality, I like to Ad-lib from. (What a rebel!)
I drive without hindrance to the shop with the radio on or something I can sing too loudly to. I get to that car park and don’t need to find a huge parent and child space, I don’t have to park near the door, hell, I don’t even need to remember where I park!
Off I Trot to get my trolley. Not a twin trolley, just any one and invariably, one with wonky wheels. But who cares, I’m out…alone!
I glance at the shopping list (which I have written in shop-order) and enter my own little world in my head.
Maybe there is elevator music playing in my head. Maybe I’m thinking what I’ll make for tea on Thursday, oh no wait, I’m working Thursday. Maybe I’ll make that on Tuesday.
So I’m wondering around the supermarket, there is nobody asking me 27 questions about what I’m putting in the trolley, or who that lady is or can we have this that or the other. There’s no refereeing the miniature wrestling match in the trolley or whispering threats of no treats in their little baby ears. No,
there’s just me and a plan of what to eat and drink for the next week. The nutritional value of this, can I warrant giving them that? I hear the voice of Jamie Oliver or atleast his face in my minds eye while I pick up some chicken nuggets.
I quickly tell him to shush, unless he is coming to cook the dinner?!

It’s a mundane chore, but done alone, with my own thoughts it’s like a little trip out.
I buy treats for everyone because I love them all because they’re not there to harass me and ask me quizzical questions on why oranges are different sizes or lick the trolley or shout inappropriate things.
I could be walking round duty free at the airport or doing the weekly shop, the location wouldn’t really matter. Obviously one is more luxurious, but they’d both give me an hour to myself.
I’ve filled the trolley with everything on my list and somethings that are not on the list too. Oops!
I load up the conveyor belt. I chat to the shop assistant. There is no bribing a small child who would now have an uncanny resemblance to chuckie, with a biscuit or banana.
I pack the bags in order and category of purchase (fresh veg with fresh fruit, frozen with frozen)
Making it easier for putting away.

I look for my car, wherever it is. Pack the bags in.
I take my trolley back at a leisurely pace and even offer to take others back for them.
I know, I know, I’m too kind!
I sit in the car and have whatever treat I’ve bought myself. In peace. Just me and the radio or me and the silence for one minute more while I savour the taste of the well-purchased treat.

My mind heads back into reality and back to my babies.
And what to do for tea tonight…

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