grocery shopping at its finest

I spend an inordinate amount of time preparing for grocery shopping. Now, before you think I've jumped off the deep end, I'd like to give a little history on the whys and wherefores of my grocery habits.

I like American food; that is, food that is served somewhere in America. When we were stationed in England, it was difficult to find certain kinds of foods. Chocolate chips, for example, were sold in 54 gram packages. 54 grams isn't even 1/2 cup. I would need to buy their whole supply of chocolate chips and then clear out the store in the neighboring town to make one batch of cookies. Condensed soup in England contained no flavor. None whatsoever. Minestrone, Vegetable Beef Stock, Leeks and Cabbage all tasted like watered-down water. And so on. We lived 2 hours away from the nearest decent Commissary and that trip was a pain in the butt. So I learned to make a large list and buy in bulk, thereby making fewer 2-hour trips to the Commissary in Never-neverland.

To make this list I would have to plan out meals for 2-3 weeks and buy all the supplies needed for that entire time - or do without. It became a science. I knew where on the paper to write "eggs," because it isn't in the same aisle as the "breakfast cereal," no-no. And then there were the coupons. So yes, it has become an ingrained ritual.

Back in America, I shouldn't have to do that anymore. But, how many times did I stand with all the cupboard doors open and the fridge in shambles muttering, "I can't believe I have seven half-meals here. I have spaghetti but no sauce; I have hamburgers but no buns; canned tuna but no mayo..." You get the picture. So I went back to The Plan. Here, it takes a slightly different turn. I spend between $5-600 per month on groceries for a family of 6 and I am not ashamed to admit that. However, I pinch pennies and still buy in bulk, resulting in running to several stores to get the best deals.

I hate shopping with four kids. The biggest basket I can find (with the big plastic bus on the front) will seat three of them. Inevitably, some lady with a five-year-old walking next to the basket holding one jug of milk has the only one in the store. I no longer shoot daggers at those women. I just let my monkeys jump on her basket and say in my syrupy sweet voice, "Oh, sorry, I couldn't find a big basket like your big empty basket there, so my kids are going nuts. Excuse my circus - coming through."

So I head to the store, list in hand, with four kids in tow. My eldest is in charge of the list and - miracle of miracles - I got the big basket! No running down the aisles! No knocking boxes on the floor! No hanging off the side of the cart! Usually I have to re-arrange seating because of hitting and squishing and touching, but all is remarkably quiet on that front. I breeze through the store halfway done in record time when I notice the dialogue. So I pretend to look at the oatmeal and really pay attention to their words.

My youngest daughter, not yet four years old, is hanging out of the plastic bus (not really yelling because that would have gotten my attention much sooner), "Mayday-mayday! Cease fire! There are children aboard! I repeat, cease fire! Abort abort abort abort!!!!"

The elderly people who were looking at Corn Flakes are now looking at me like I'm insane. The boys are repeating their baby sister's litany, punctuated with whistling bombs and close-range shrapnel. I only have the frozen food left. We need to get out of this store. Now.

There are just some things you can't make up.