shopping around

The other night we went tub shopping. And we went with four boys. And yes, we’re slightly crazy.

We packed into the truck, nearly breaking some capacity laws and definitely violating some personal space rules.

After the inevitable jostles, pokes and tears, we pulled out of the driveway. No seriously, we made it the six miles to the local home improvement center to search for a couple of bathtubs and a lot of PVC.

One child insisted on going round and round the turnstyle at the store’s entrance, much to the amusement of the customer service guy. If there’s a counter attached to that mechanism, it’s going to be way off.

We got the baby into the cart and wheeled to the plumbing department - praying they make a tub deep enough to keep water inside when boys decide to wage war during bathtime. (What we really need is a tub with five-foot sides that will only fill up with five inches of water.)

Do we buy fiberglass or enamel-coated steel? Nonskid marks on the bottom? Biscuit or white? Too many choices for a bathtub that will have brown rings after mud-loving boys bathe.

After eeny, meeny, miney... (cut short because two loose boys were climbing in and out of all the shower stalls) we selected not quite the cheapest tub and then tried to wipe off the face print on one of the glass doors.

We moved on to the aisles filled with PVC parts and one boys got upset because he couldn’t push the cart. Apparently, he didn’t remember that he’d been banned from cart-pushing for life after the last trip to Wal-Mart when he tried to pop wheelies while his brother was inside the cart. He also thought it was great fun to play NASCAR around the endcaps, nearly taking an old lady’s foot off. He humphed that life wasn’t fair and something about giving people another chance, but I chose to ignore it.

I’m not sure what has happened. It never used to be a problem taking our children into a retail establishment. Sometime after 3.5 kids, I lost control of the little critters. Perhaps we finally got outnumbered. Or older. Or more distracted. Or maybe they just got smarter and stronger.

I told hubby that I now know why my Dad kept us all in the van while Mom shopped for groceries BY HERSELF. How he survived with seven kids cooped up for what seemed like hours in a minivan is nothing short of a miracle.

Back to reality in the plumbing department: we now had an entire cart full of wyes, elbows and tees. Eldest son was dispatched to get another cart and the fight was on. Who would get to push the second cart? We’re not as dumb as we may look. Mom got one. Dad took the other. Problem solved.

We took the two heaping carts of plastic plumbing pieces to the front. Checkout took 15 minutes and the receipt was three feet long. The cashier wished us well as we left. I believe his exact words were “Have fun!”

Unfortunately, the trip wasn’t over yet. We crammed in for a 20-minutes trip to Plymouth in search of a whirlpool tub for the master bath. We weren’t smart enough to bring snacks to distract the boys - and they had already lost their DQ privileges for their antics at the last place.

Store #2 wasn’t another adventure. Hubby caved into pushing a car cart that only fit two. And all four wanted in - after all it was a #48 Jimmie Johnson car. Boy #1 was told he couldn’t ride in it wearing a Dale Earnhardt hat. (Don’t even ask me how I know this - NASCAR has taken over our house.)

The other boys switched off, each arguing that the other got to ride longer. Thankfully the search here was quick - we picked the first tub we saw and figured we could live with it if it turned out to be too small, too big or too white.

Evidently boy #2 caught on that Dad was stressed, because back in the truck, he put his arm around Dad’s shoulder, as if to comfort him. Occasionally he would pat his father on the back, smiling the whole while, like this trip was exactly what he would have chosen to do, tight quarters and all.

I wonder sometimes if we’re getting uptight in our old age, letting little things like shopping cart derbies get the best of us. Do we expect too much out of four boys who (from what I can tell) are just being boys? Should we be sitting back, like our seven-year-old, and enjoying the ride wherever it takes us? Not many people can say they’ve traveled in a pickup with five other people, two of whom are a bit smelly. We might be packed in, but we’re usually in good company. Time moves so fast, that soon the ride with these boys will be over.

Lord willing we’ll still get a few more shopping adventures to experience.