Photo by D Sharon Pruitt, Pink Sherbet Photography, (free Creative Commons license)

Generally speaking taking kids grocery shopping gets easier as they get older, although the nice thing about babies is they are self-contained little creatures who can’t run off the second they see the seasonal gotcha aisle of the month (“MOM…! Look at the candy! MOM…I NEED this water gun!”)

I do sometimes miss the get the heck in, get the heck out pre-kids days of ninja grocery shopping and let’s not even talk about how having school-age children opens up entire chasms in awkward parenting conversations thanks to the checkout line gossip magazines. Recently my 9-year-old, Miss C, waved a glossy magazine at me and read the cover headline, “How Teen Mom Ruined My Life.” I scraped out of that with a brief, “Yes, teenagers should NOT be parents.” Satisfied with my response, she dropped the topic after this sage remark, “Yeah mom, teenagers shouldn’t be parents…they’re too busy wanting to hang out with their friends!”

Whew.

Mom: 1. Entertainment rag: ZERO.

A few days ago I had to practically drag the girls to the store with me and I promised them I only needed to buy two things so I guess grocery shopping with me isn’t exactly fun and games for them, either.

I took a short cut through the home cleaning aisle on the way to grab milk with them trailing behind but they both stopped immediately in their tracks to gaze lovingly at the rows and rows of air fresheners.

The girls were grabbing air fresheners off the shelves and sniffing them like they were artisan hand-dipped soy candles on Oprah’s favorite things list, when, in fact, they were just Renuzit air fresheners for a buck.

It takes very little to entertain my kids apparently.

They practically begged me to buy them each an air freshener for their rooms so I told them I was fine with getting them each one but that if they saw something else for a dollar I’d get that instead.

They professed their love for the air fresheners and tossed them joyfully into the cart.

Their rooms now smell like paradise breeze, which I must admit is better than African Dwarf Frog (Miss A’s room) or I Will Survive Because I have a Stripper Name Hermit Crab (Miss C’s room.)

Let’s not talk about what their unbridled glee over air fresheners says about my housekeeping skills.