This weekend I get the pleasure of finishing up the kid’s school clothes shopping. When you have multiple children, school clothes shopping can really suck. I believe that with every additional child, an extra 25 points gets thrown onto the thisfreakingsucks meter.
It always starts out…. OK. You pile all the kids in the car. Everyone is clean and happy… and all that other good shit. You actually feel calm and are disillusioned enough to believe that this might actually be a pleasant trip. A bonding experience for you and your precious children. But, does life ever really work out the way we want it to? Usually not, life usually seems to work out the way the neighbor (who can’t stand you) wants it to….and they REALLY don’t like you.
First year shopping? Was the previous year shopping that rough to where your brain felt the need to block it out? Kind of like child-birth… where the pain must be forgotten and buried, in order to ensure that the human race continues to reproduce. The agony surrounding school clothes shopping must also be covered up, to ensure that the kids don’t go to school, year after year… in the same rags from the previous 5 years. Highwaters or Capris? Your guess is as good as mine.
What’s that, child-less person reading this? It couldn’t possibly be that bad? There goes Kim… exaggerating shit again…
Really? Come walk with me… allow me to share with you some tales….
This is the first year that I am not attempting to take all 3 boys, at once… to knock the entirety of the shopping out in one long exhaustive day. I used to believe that taking all the kids, together, was the most efficient way to approach this hell-trip…. and I was usually right, until the very second that our feet touched the asphalt upon arrival at our first destination. While I’m trying to convince the youngest that holding my hand is the cool thing to do… the middle child is absently wandering into the path of an oncoming SUV. I can’t immediately get his attention because it takes 4 different tries, before I finally land on the correct name. I’m instantly on his shit-list for the rest of the day, because I had the audacity to call him The Beast’s name… during my attempt.
Let the Shopping Commence…
The thrill of new clothes is completely lost on my little group of 3. They grow tired of looking at boring ass shirts and pants within the first half hour. Every single item they pull from the racks, for my approval, is ridiculous looking. Every single item that I pull from the racks is over-priced and not even a little bit on sale. When I do finally see the muchly coveted sales and clearance racks, I will quickly discover that not a single item of clothing is within my boy’s size range. If there is a shirt, within size… it usually has a sleeve ripped off, or something.
There’s usually at least one awkwardly sized kid. Two of my children practically don’t even need to try on their clothes. A 12 is a 12 is a 12. Throw a belt on that bitch and we’re good… My awkwardly sized child’s main issue is pants. I can honestly feel my pulse quickening, just thinking about trying to find pants. He has busted out of the kids sizes… but his tiny Troll doll legs won’t allow for mens sizes. I know, I know… I could take them to a tailor. But, do I really seem like the kind of girl who would do that? That’s not really the way I roll… at all. I’ll just tell shorty to tuck that shit into his socks… 80′s style! …or there’s always duct tape!
So, tomorrow is the day. I’ve already done some of the shopping (a backpack and a box of crayons) but, there’s still a crap-ton left to do. I figure the teenager will get the morning round… The child who is not named after The Beast will get the afternoon round and Dickie… well, he gets Saturday.
He gets Saturday all to himself because he’s an asshole. An asshole who likes to wear his awkward sized brother’s huge underwear, when we go school clothes shopping… For reals, this is the second year in a row that he’s don’t this to me. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to accurately determine if the jeans fit… when your child’s waistline is swimming in underwear material?
Baby Jesus, help me…