Two-year old Matthew loves grocery shopping. He especially loves the pint-sized grocery carts that our local supplies for active tots. He's great fun to watch, to be honest, and will happily dump anything into his cart and shove it around the store. Especially sponges. Don't know why.
As you can imagine, shopping for groceries takes an age. Hours, as opposed to minutes. In my world, there's no such thing as a "quick stop." It's an event. It takes planning and strategy. It requires snacks.
My husband is presently out of work. Downsized early in the new year, which royally sucks for a number of reasons. But having an extra pair of hands about the house has been great. He's been mumbling about grocery shopping all day, in between video games, of course.
Me: "Are you planning to take Matthew with you?"
Mark: "I wasn't, no. It's faster without him."
Me: "I know it's faster, but he loves it so much."
Two hours later:
Me: "Are you planning to do any groceries today?"
Mark: "When Matthew goes down for a nap."
(Doesn't want to deal with the hysterics and gnashing of teeth which will occur should he don shoes without his son. Matthew knows there's grocery shopping to be done - he spied me writing the list this morning and my kid's nothing if not smart!)
Alas, there were video games to finish before shopping, and Matthew awoke before Mark could steal out the door. (Inside my head: "Hee, hee!")
Just now, pyjama-clad Matthew rushed his trying-to-sneak-out Daddy. It was a glorious sight to behold:
Matthew: "Daddy! Me go 'popping, too! Me go wit you Daddy...me go 'popping with Daaaaadddyyy!!''
For once, I said nothing. Just looked askance at Mark, who simply sighed.
And off they've gone, pyjama-clad, wearing boots backwards and all. Sigh.
My husband might actually get lucky tonight, after all!