Rachel Rossano

I never knew how simple I had it before children. The convenience of stopping by the grocery store after work, hopping out of the car, grabbing my purse and organized coupons, and walking into the store seems like a luxury these days. Why? I have three children under three.

I wasn’t tossed into this life. I wanted it. It sort of crept up on me, but I wouldn’t trade my life with anyone for anything.

Hubby and I wanted kids. So, long story short, we managed to have one. He was a delightful baby, beautiful, sweet-tempered, and a joy to be around. We were so infatuated with our wee lad, we decided we wanted another. Same long story later, we were blessed again. However instead of one little babe,we had two, a lass and a lad. We went from a trio to a quintet in a day.

Our twins are very like their older brother, delightful and sweet tempered (usually), but there is one thing I have learned with absolute certainty: three children are a ton more work than one.

I am a stay-at-home mother (who stays in the house very little). My hubby works full-time and takes masters classes. So, if I don’t do the shopping with kids, it doesn’t get done.

A typical trip to the grocery store begins with a list.Without it, I would forget half the things I wanted to purchase and spend the following days making do without as a result.

Next, I prep everyone for the outing. A potty trip, two freshly changed diapers, shoes times four sets of feet, bibs for two, milk cup, purse, keys, cell phone, diaper bag, list, and, of course, wallet are all essential. If I manage to check my clothes and hair for neatness before getting out the door, it is a good day.

I load it in the car in three to five trips depending on how ambitious I feel that day. On one occasion, I went back to the house six times. I kept forgetting something.

The drive to the store is usually short, ten minutes or less. The unloading is another matter. The milk cup and diaper bag stay in the car. Don’t need anything extra to keep track of while in the store. Besides, the milk is usually gone by now. My firstborn drinks milk so fast he sloshes when he jumps around.

Then, pulling the cart (toddler secured in the seat) and pushing the double stroller, we enter the store and begin selecting our groceries.

Since becoming a mother of twins I have discovered that almost everyone is a twin, knows a twin, had twins, or is somehow related to twins. It would be an interesting study to see what percentage of the population falls into each of those categories. But I digress.

Our caravan creates a sensation no matter who we run into. From old to young, almost everyone wants to smile and wave at the babies. Among the oohs and ahs, I frequently get questions.

“Are they twins?”

On the twins support website the suggested witty responses to this one are plenteous, but I try to avoid being clever. My daughter is currently four pounds lighter than her younger brother and almost an inch shorter. So, it could be a reasonable question.

The next words out of the spectator’s mouth are usually the first indicator of how the conversation is going to proceed.

If they ask, “Are they identical?” I know for certain I am dealing with someone not closely related to a twin. (For the non-twin-savvy, identical twins have to be the same gender.) I try to tastefully explain why they are not.

If the next words are “You have your hands full,” I usually reply “Yup, it is a lot of work, but a lot of fun too.” We then exchange reassurances that this precious time of life will pass too quickly.

The most encouraging spectators, though, are the ones who have been in my shoes. It is nice to see experienced mothers and fathers of twins who tell me their two are in college or doing such and such. I especially enjoy the ones who tell me about their two with a wide smile on their face. They frequently assure me it gets easier. However, there was one mother who told me it would get harder as they grew. I am an optimist. I choose to believe the ones who say it will get easier.

As I negotiate the aisles, I attempt not to knock over the end displays. Since the babies have grown I now have to keep an eye out for the four hands that randomly reach, fingers splayed like a starfish, to grab anything in range. I also spend a great deal of my brain power keeping up with my firstborn’s chatter.

“Look, Mommy, a fish! What kind is it?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe a tuna?”

“I want to see the big M&M!”

“We passed it already.”

“What is that?” He points off in the general direction of a third of the store while I am trying to find the cheapest bagged salad.

“What is what?”

“That!”

Four repetitions of this exchange and I figure out he isreferring to the lobster tank. As we move away from the tank, I am desperatelytrying to come up with a reasonable, honest explanation to his question of “Whyare they there?” without traumatizing him.

When we finally manage to reach the other end of the store, I check my list for the fourth time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. On a good trip, I only make one journey back across the store for an item I missed on the first pass. Then we finally head for the check out.

I gave up on coupons. Superwoman, I am not. The limits of my abilities demand that I cannot do it all and coupons were the first casualty. The second was bottle returns. About ten dollars of five cent bottles lurk in my basement waiting for a kid-free grocery trip.

Checking out involves quite a process. Stack the groceries on the belt. I then field a request for candy from child number one while digging out the store card and credit card from bottom of my purse. I push the cart through so the bagger can load it for me. (Have I mentioned that I love baggers?) The delicate task of pushing the stroller through without smashing fingers takes a bit more time. Then I pay. Finally we are on our way back to the car.

I am a lot less energetic than when we started, but we have the food we need to keep everyone healthy and happy for another week. As much as I am longing for the coming naptime when I can get back to my computer and my latest novel, I am also smiling about another successful trip almost finished. No tears, usually, and everyone is still safe and relatively happy.

Motherhood has taught me that each day is an adventure. A simple trip to the grocery store can be the highlight of my children’s day and mine. I have learned to approach these outings with patience. I cherish the little things like discussing lobsters with my son, explaining what goes into chicken pot pie, and figuring out together what a new fruit is called. What really delights me is when my children brighten up someone else’s day too. They are a blessing and I am thankful I can share just a bit of the joy they have brought me with others.

Disclaimer: Now, just so you don’t think all of my shopping trips are idyllic like the one described above. My children have had their share of tantrums, attacks of the give-mes, disobedience, arguments, and boo-boos. I have even managed to break my toe in the parking lot on the way back to the car. Once I walked off without signing the credit card receipt. Now that was embarrassing!

What is an adventure without a bit of difficulty? Dull.

My life is never dull.

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