If you’re not being judged by the People of Walmart, you are doing it all wrong.

I had this great motherly idea.  I was going to swing into Walmart real quick on the way home from my mother’s house.

I had my babies with me.  They are one and two years-old.  Let me repeat that.  I have Irish twins.  They are ONE AND TWO YEARS-OLD.  Let this be a lesson to you, high school girls, you can get pregnant while using the “PULL OUT!” method.

Now that I have your sympathy, allow me to continue.

I am driving the hour-and-a-half drive back to my house from my mom’s house, and thinking about how I can just stop at the Walmart in Findley, with my babies, and pick up milk and stuff for tacos.  In my head, I am going to put both children in the basket part of the cart and put my actual groceries in the baby seat part.

I pull in the parking lot and scour the lot until I find a spot with an abandoned cart nearby.  You see, you have to think about the proximity of the cart in relation to your car when you have visions of kids trying to run away from you and getting run over by someones 4-wheel drive pick-up truck.  My kids are runners.  Like really fast and strong steroid-shooting Olympic athletes.

Now the question is, which child do I get out first?  Obviously, one child will be left in the cart while I get the other child out of their seat.  So I choose my daughter, Lilah.  She is less bad.  Hopefully, she will sit still in the cart as I unhook her brother from his car seat.

Lilah sits still.  So far, so good.

I pick up my son, Logan, and put him in the cart.  I am immediately overpowered by the smell of poop.

Who went caca?

Not me!  It was Wi-wah!

Okay, just sit down.  I will change her inside.

Logan sits down.  Wow!  This is going really well.

I grabbed the diaper bag out of my trunk, and we headed inside.

I could tell she stunk by the way people were looking at me as I passed by.  But, come on People of  Walmart!  What could I do until I got inside?  UNTIL I REALIZED THEY WERE STARING AT THE SHIT ALL OVER MY NEW WHITE HOUSE BLACK MARKET SHIRT that just so happened to be white.

Fuck.

Now what?

I am covered in poop.  Human poop.  And I am walking into the light that is the Walmart Supercenter in Findley, Ohio.

I had to make a decision.  Do I just turn around now?  Or do I just go inside, and buy a new shirt?  I still had 45 more minutes of travel ahead of me, and clearly I needed to change my daughter’s diaper.  I decided to buy a new shirt.

I went to the ladies section and quickly found a shirt for a few bucks.  I grabbed it off of the rack, and went to the family bathroom in the back of the store.

Basically, I have now shopped a bit and walked completely from the front of the store to the back of the store in my poop shirt with stink oozing from me and the cart.  The photo opps for the People of Walmart website are basically endless at this point.  I am sure I will make the cut.

I close the door in the family bathroom, and I immediatley hear knocking.

Just a minute.  We’re in here.

Are you going to pay for that shirt, ma’am?  And you cannot take carts in there.  It’s our store policy.

Oh yeah, well today is the kick off to your new policy.  I am covered in my daughter’s crap.  I don’t want my kids getting out of this cart and touching the herpes on the toilet seat.  And I am paying for the shirt.  I will save the tags.

Silence.  Good.  She went away.

I change my shirt, and grudgingly threw  my brand new $44 boob-flattering shirt in the trashcan, only to replace it with a $5.00 tee-shirt from the rack.  I just grabbed the first size Large tee-shirt I could find.  I had no clue it read, “Now Better Than Ever” and sported a picture of Betty White’s head.  On a normal day, this would be funny, but today… not so much.

Moving onto my daughter, I realize she is dry and clean.  Crap.  This means Logan pooped.  Two year-olds can be such such liars.

I stand him up on the baby changing station.  This time I was more careful as I noticed that he had poop all over the back of his winter coat.  The poop had exploded out the top of his pants, into his shirt, and was running down his legs.  It resembled a Wendy’s Frosty (except one made with dark chocolate).

Someone knocks on the door again.

Ma’am, this is Security.  You can’t have a cart and merchandise in the restroom.

I whip open the door in my new Betty White “Now Better Than Ever” shirt.

Do you see that kid covered in poop?  IT IS DISGUSTING!  YOU CHANGE HIM!

He closes the door and leaves.  Men.

So I continue in my state of panic.  I pull off his coat and clothes, throw them away, and wipe him off with what feels like a million baby wipes.  I put a clean Pull-Up on him and his pirate rain boots.    I then searched the bag for a change of clothes for him.  NOTHING.  Not even girl clothes.

Fuck it.  He is going out there in pirate rain boots and a Pull Up.

Mommy, you has caca in you haiwr.  Hahahahaha!  Mommy has caca haiwr!  Wook Wi-wah!  Caca!

Oh my gosh.  I did.  I had shit in my hair.  I put Logan back in the cart and went to the sink to wash the poop out of my hair the best I could with pink hand soap and crappy paper towels.

I left the bathroom wearing my Betty White tee-shirt, with a naked kid in my cart, and half wet hair.

I pushed the cart with my eyes diverted to the floor as Logan yelled, Mommy me so cold!  Me so cold!

I know you’re cold.  Let’s go get you some clothes.

I could feel the stares of the Walmartians as I pushed him to the nearest kids’ section.  Which happened to be for boys size 8 – 12.  I grabbed him the smallest camouflage hoody I could find, and I put it on him.  It looked like a dress, so I figured it counted for pants as well.

The Security Guard came towards me.  The same one from the bathroom.  I decided to nip this in the bud.

I AM PAYING FOR IT!  MY KID IS COLD!  BACK OFF!  I AM ALSO GOING TO GET MILK AND TACO STUFF BEFORE I LEAVE!

At this point there is a crowd.  The crowd is staring at me.  Waiting for me to make a move.

And I did.  I pushed my kids through the store to the food section with the Security Guard by my side.  I shopped for taco stuff and picked up some milk.  And I paid for all of my goods as well as an US Magazine (I deserved a little splurge after that).

The moral of this story?  No matter how great your kids are, they all shit on you at one point or another.