As a physician and a parent of three vibrant boys, I often find myself reflecting on the more primal side of parenting. My oldest, who we’ll call Max, is quite tall for his age at 9 years old, often resembling a lanky cornstalk. In fact, I can fit my feet into his flip-flops when I need to step outside for the mail. You’d think that having a child who’s growing up would temper their wild behavior, but alas, every time my boys see that bright red sign of the local store, it’s as if they channel their inner primates and plot to drive me up the wall.
Today, I ventured to the store with all three of them, fully aware of the chaos that awaited. I was on a mission—Christmas shirts for Max and his younger brother, plus some essentials like toilet paper and hand soap. Simple enough, right?
Wrong. One hour and 20 minutes later, I emerged from the store with my middle child sporting a Santa hat that I hadn’t planned on purchasing, while my youngest lay belly-down in the shopping cart, dragging his hands across the floor like a little monkey.
Our adventure began in the boys’ clothing section, or should I say, my attempt to corral a toddler who was sprinting away at full speed while his siblings egged him on. “Get back here!” I hissed, but the thrill of the chase was too enticing for him. As a weary mom, I caved and let him out of the cart, thinking it would quell the whining. Instead, I had to threaten his beloved iPad and his cookie from the bakery—thank you, Target, for that temptation—just to keep him from sprinting off.
Max, in a surprising show of responsibility, tried to rein in his younger siblings. However, hearing a fourth-grader yell, “You’re going to be kidnapped and sold into slavery!” across the store is not a reassuring moment for any parent. Yes, I know the dangers of the world, but his approach wasn’t exactly what I had in mind to instill fear.
The chaos escalated when my youngest grabbed a bottle of Febreze from the shelf and insisted it was essential for our outing. Meanwhile, the other two were in a fierce tug-of-war over who would place items on the checkout conveyor. At that moment, I contemplated whether I should simply contain them in a freezer with some organic green beans until I could safely check out.
This whole scenario reminded me of a trip to the zoo, where I once saw a mother orangutan calmly nursing her baby while her other child wreaked havoc, sending lettuce flying. Watching her effortlessly handle the chaos made me realize how much I could relate to that primate mother.
I suspect the recent cough syrup my middle child had been taking played a role in their hyperactivity, and I can’t help but wonder if Max had snuck a sip as well. It’s a sticky situation, but shopping must be done, and I can’t leave the kids behind. Perhaps online shopping would be simpler, but who am I kidding? That would require planning ahead—something I’m clearly not good at right now. Maybe next time I’ll skip the cough syrup before we go out, or perhaps I’ll just indulge in it myself and join the fun at the zoo.
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In summary, shopping with children often feels like navigating a jungle, and I can’t help but draw parallels between my experiences and the behavior of our primate ancestors.