Retail Therapy

There's nothing like hitting your local shopping centre with your children for a spot of retail therapy.

No, there's actually nothing like it.

I need real therapy after that experience.

I went out with the purpose of buying some goodies for the kids with some vouchers I found in the cupboard.

I came back with a headache and possibly a stress-induced ulcer.

Some chocolate buttons would set the tone, we would stay for a maximum of an hour and then we would meet The Boy for lunch.

What could possibly go wrong?

For starters, The Goddess was rudely awoken from her nap by the older two squabbling over whose turn it was to turn off the inside car light (switched on because we went inside an underground car park of course).

Off to Waterstones we went to buy an audio book. It should've been so easy. I knew the one we wanted, but despite instructions not run off, I found myself chasing The Peaceful One around the shop.

Ironically, I finally caught up with him down the child psychology aisle.

After that I reduced the number shops I had planned to visit, headed to one more store and then got the heck out of there.

At times the sibling rivalry is intense.

In that short amount of time, we had 'But she pressed the lift button before me.'

'I'll put the ticket it, you put the money in and I'll collect the change.'

'No, I want to put the ticket in.'

'It's not fair, It's my turn go into the car first.'

It's exhausting being caught in the 'he said, she said' crossfire. I'm trying my best to encourage them to work it between themselves but it's early days.

Meeting The Boy was a welcome break, or an extra pair of hands at least. Lunch was a tasty but rushed sandwich as we passed The Goddess back and forth between us.

Then it was back to mayhem as I attempted to buy an item for myself. En route home I stopped by a local sports shop. I just needed a pair of running trousers. I've entered a 10k run and need to look the part - raggedy tracky bottoms just aren't going to cut it.

So as I tried on a pair of shiny running leggings (looking like Sandy from Grease only with sausages for legs), whilst the baby cried and the others ran under the clothing rails, I remember why I barely venture to the real shops and do nearly everything online.

Retail therapy now has a whole new meaning to me.