Power Shopping

When I announced to my friend I was taking my three children shopping she looked at me like I needed my head read.

I’ve written about clothes shopping with babies and grocery shopping with kids. I wouldn’t recommend it but, this time, we were on holiday and I had no choice.

After-all, what’s a trip to the Mount without beaching, climbing the Mount itself, an after-hours drink at the Astrolabe for old time’s sake and visiting BayFair?

What I hadn’t counted on was the fact it was a public holiday and the shopping centre didn’t open until 1pm. We got there at 12.20.

Time is precious whilst shopping with kids but, no worries, the food hall was open so we sat down and shared a plate of sushi. That killed ten minutes so I followed up with a piece of caramel slice. We still had twenty minutes till the grand opening so I paid for a ride on a carousel which they were really far too big for.

Twelve forty-five and we were camped outside my favourite shop – Valley Girl.

“Now guys, just remember you’ve had your treats so now you’ve got to be good,” I warned, fully aware I’d done things in the wrong order.

The doors finally opened and we charged in. I say charged because it really was a case of power-shopping. I wasn’t sure how long we were all going to last.

But my kids surprised me. They embraced the whole shopping thing with gusto (or perhaps it was the sugar rush) and it wasn’t long before I was being plied with garments.

“Mum, what about this?” shouted Master Four from across the other side of the shop pulling out a leopard-print one-piece.

“Ah no, Mummy’s not really into leopard print.”

“Mum what about this?” Miss Four produced a hot-pink frilly number and looked crest-fallen when I pulled a face.

I added it to my pile anyway and we headed for the changing room. I hate trying on clothes at the best of times and these fitting rooms were tiny. I allowed Miss Four to come in with me and ushered the boys to one across from us.

What is it with kids having to peer under partitions? As well as my suspicions of this occurring – the stifled giggles a dead-giveaway - it didn’t take long before the toilet humour started up.

Please don’t, I silently pleaded, frantically flinging clothes around the dressing room in an attempt to speed things up. And then they had to go and take it a step further:

“Who farted?!” yelled Master Four in his over-loud voice.

The whole changing rooms, which were bustling a minute ago, fell silent, before a bunch of teenage girls began snickering.

“We have got to get out of here,” I said to Miss Four, giving up and getting dressed. I entertained the idea of disowning and leaving them behind but then remembered we were in a different town where no one knew us. Taking a deep breath, I emerged to a combination of bemused stares and ill-suppressed smirks from the fellow shoppers in a queue, who’d, most likely, just stepped out for some quiet retail therapy. I rounded up my boys who surfaced wearing silly grins and we headed to K Mart instead. Here they submerged themselves in the toy section while I wandered off and loaded up my basket with clothes I could no longer be bothered trying on.

Leaving the store we were greeted by a marching band playing the bag pipes in tribute to Anzac Day. While Master Four broke into dance, grinning from ear to ear, the other two recoiled in horror, pinning their hands to their ears.

“That sounds terrible mum,” shouted Master Seven overtop the music. 

“Yeah mum, that’s terrible,” parroted Miss Four.

“But I love the bag pipes. In fact, we’re going to listen to them again,” I said gleefully leading them across to the other side of the mall to await the band’s circuit.

Once again, Master Four danced while the other two covered their ears. 

“But mum, why do you like that?” Master Seven asked as the resonating sounds died away. “They were terrible – they hadn’t even practiced!” claimed my bag pipe connoisseur for all and sundry to hear.

On that note, and with several purchases of which I had no idea if they fit, I decided to call it quits, probably much to the entire Bayfair’s relief.