There is an unwritten law somewhere that states that something will go wrong every time I go to Walmart. Every time. But I keep going back. Why? WHY? I don't know. I suppose it's the same reason I had three kids and opted to stay home with them. I'm a glutton for punishment. I like pain. I'm making up for wrongs done in past lives. I'm completely insane.
I don't have any other explanation for it.
Last time, both Delaney and Nick were in school and it was just Sam and I. I figured, "Hey! This will be easy! Just the baby and me!" Yeah. Well. He screamed from the moment I walked in the door to the moment we walked out. I forgot half the items on my list because I was in such a hurry to get out of there. Then, before that, there was this time. And I'm sure there were times before that and before that, but my mind's defensive mechanisms have blocked them from memory.
Which brings us to today. It was going so smoothly. Sam was in the cart, not screaming, Delaney was in the basket, not crying or whining and Nick was walking along side the cart, not acting like a monkey. It was amazing. I was lingering over items, comparing prices, checking my coupons. All in all, a very successful shopping trip. Things started to fall apart at the check out, but still, nothing a candy bribe can't solve. I even remembered my canvas bags. Then we're walking through the parking lot, a kid on each side of the cart and one in the basket, contentedly eating their candy. The bags are arranged just so in the cart; heavy things on the bottom, soft, crushable things on the top.
At the car, I park the cart halfway in the grass to prevent it rolling away while I unload. But first, I get the kids in the car. As I'm pulling Sam out of the cart, his leg gets stuck and we struggle a bit. Not much, but just enough to jostle the cart towards the grassy side.
And then over.
Onto its side.
ONTO ITS SIDE.
All my carefully arranged bags are now spread out all over the ground, the cart laying on it's side. The hamburger buns were securely wedged beneath the orange juice. The milk did a fine job of bruising the apples. I hate loading my groceries onto the conveyor belt in the store. But I hate picking my groceries up off the ground in the parking lot even more. Now, I wish I would have taken a picture. It really was a sight to behold.
A nice couple witnessed my ordeal and came to my rescue. But come on! Really? I was almost free. I almost made it. I was so close...