Christmas Shopping With Brice

Last night after savoring the victory of my much beloved South Carolina Gamecocks against their arch enemies, the Clemson Tigers, I was revved up for a Christmas shopping trip. Emanuel and Jackson had asked to come along and before I knew it, Brice had overheard and wanted to come too. And so, I found myself in that unenviable position that all moms sometimes do...not really wanting to bring him along, knowing that doing so means more work, more hassle and frequently lots of fretting, yet having no REAL reason to say "no" and realizing that it would break his heart if I made him stay home. And since I'm a sucker...I let him come along. I should have known better. The destination of choice was Wal Mart...isn't it always? And each and every time I bring Brice to Wal Mart, I leave vowing resolutely that I will never, and I mean N-E-V-E-R bring him with me again. It's not just the touching of everything on the shelves (more on that in a moment) that bothers me...it's not just the not listening that drives me insane....but rather, it's the constant feeling of having to be constantly on my toes and focused on him and his circus like insanity that does me in. Here's the thing. I like to shop. And I like to enjoy my shopping, to get lost in the experience of picking stuff out. I'm selfish like that. I don't mind bringing along the low maintenance kids. But Brice doesn't quite meet this criteria.
I gave him "the talk" on the way into the store. In between the first set of electronic doors and the second, in that place where you are supposed to pick up an empty cart. I told him that he needed to walk and not run, remain relatively quiet, not throw things into the cart, not tear open food or candy, not damage any products, refrain from squirting out lotions, shampoos or liquid soaps, avoid throwing or consuming produce items and desist getting dressed up in the clothing hanging on the racks. We discussed that the candy bars on display near the registers are in fact, not free samples. I decided to employ Mckmama's "one finger" approach. She tells her children that they may touch almost anything in the store they would like, as long as it is with just one finger. I decided to give this a go. I reviewed this rule with him as we strolled passed the greeter.
It seemed that he understood all this. He even indicated that he did. Yet, not four minutes into our shopping trip, while perusing the baby aisle, Jackson began tugging at my sleeve imploring in a feverish pitch for me to "look at Brice." As my eyes swung his way, I discovered him dancing and singing, both middle fingers swinging wildly in the air. As he met my gaze, he quickly put his fingers down and asked "Oh, is that my bad fingers?" Yes, Brice. Those are your "bad" fingers and I'd sure appreciate you not flipping the bird at other shoppers as they walked by.
Moving on to the electronics department, Brice stumbled and took a spill near the Barney DVD's. As she slid across the dirty floor, howling loudly and looking pretty much like a bowling ball traveling down its lane, I recalled all the reasons I don't like mixing Wal Mart and Brice. Around this point, Brice remembered the "one finger" rule and set out to explore all the products, previously off limits that were now fair game for him and his finger of choice. Within seconds, I looked up with alarm as I heard familiar sounds of Brice chanting "Ping...Ping...Ping..." It was Brice and his finger. Brice and his index finger were moving along the aisle, past a row of sports balls, and as he passed each ball, he made a jabbing motion, knocking each ball backwards and wreaking havoc on the shelf. But, with only one finger. Okay, so while several of Mckmama's suggestions have proven very successful in our family, the one finger rule is not one of them.
We did a bit of shopping for Daddy. As we picked out one of Daddy's presents Brice expressed his intense desire to tell Daddy what we'd picked out. The sales clerk then proceeded to inform Brice that if he told, Santa might not visit. Brice was horrified.
To round out our trip, Wal mart's police officer on duty had to ask him to walk instead of run when Emanuel helped him to the restroom, and he needed to be reeled in from the arcade twice during check out. We made it home finally, and let me state for all to hear. Brice will not be returning to Wal Mart any time soon. Like I said, I like to shop. Even if its just at Wal Mart. And since I don't desire to wind up on one of those "The People of Wal Mart" videos, starring as the crazy mother who resorts to smacking her kid and yelling loudly in the store, it's in everyone's best interest for Brice to shop with Daddy.