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Twin Cities Mom Collective

An Open Letter to the Grocery Store on Behalf of Moms Everywhere

An Open Letter to the Grocery Store on Behalf of Moms Everywhere | Twin Cities Moms Blog

Dear Grocery Store,

As a Mom, your big box has become a place of contested territory for me.

I have a son who is three. As a ‘Threenager’: he is unruly, fiercely independent, and ogles over every toy in sight. As a mother: I am outwardly composed, stingy, and operate with the staunch belief that, children cannot always have what they want.

At the grocery store, Mom and Threenager have a conflict of convictions that collide.

Why is the grocery store a place of contested territory?

At some point, the grocery store business model decided that they needed to step out of their decades old wheelhouse of selling food. This diversification led to the deliberate placement of end-of-isle pop-up racks of pint-sized toys. Did consumer studies prove that 9 out of 10 parents cave and buy their kid that toy they are clamoring for in hopes of maintaining the peace? Apparently.

Why? Because I pray and plead for peace every time I enter.

Once we cross the threshold of the automatic doors, the Threenager knows he has arrived at the land of diecast cars, spiked neon balls, and seasonally themed stuffed animals. 

An Open Letter to the Grocery Store on Behalf of Moms Everywhere | Twin Cities Moms Blog

As a battle-scared mother, here is what I wish every grocery store could know:

  1. The process of continually and constantly repeating, “No, sweetheart, we are not going to buy that today,” means that I am unable to focus on my grocery list and the items I came there for. Saying, “No” comes at a price. I only have a stockpile of so many before the word becomes mute. 
  2. If I didn’t have to try to pull my limp, mid-tantrum, bawling child off of that vinyl tile floor I could actually focus on shopping. If I had peace through the isles I am more likely to increase my purchasing volume.
  3. I wouldn’t have to speed on by the shelves throwing the essentials into my cart with the sole purpose of getting out the doors and through check-out as fast as humanly possible. See the two items above – the battle between my child and me is on dramatic display.
  4. It is embarrassing to abandon our grocery shopping as my Threenager kicks and pleads with me, “Please Mommy can I have the fire truck? Please? Pllleeaaassseee?” The last time he did this his tone was practically pitiful and so sweet that I almost gave in. Any bystander who heard him likely labeled me as the Grinch mom who, stone-faced and wordless marched the wailing one out of the store.  
  5. These toys are at convenient heights for children aged 3 to 6. This is not an accident but instead an annoyingly placed hazard for parents everywhere.
  6. After a few rounds of toy tantrums, I learned how to strategically avoid all available toys. Out of sight, out of mind. It was working, peace had returned! Days later that same grocery store relocated all of their toy stands. Not cool grocery store. Not cool.
  7. The impulse rack at the checkout queue is what drains my last ounce of composure. Balancing the effort of trying to unload my cart while removing chocolate, gum and a package of lip balm from my son’s hands is maddening. If I’m not fast enough he has busted into the packaging and now I’m even angrier because I have to buy candy that I neither needed nor wanted. My mom bod is already on full mid-section pudge mode.
  8. It is nearly impossible to escape the confines of the big box, mid-tantrum without passing by the long lines of bored and impatient bystanders. If you ever want to know what fierce judgment feels like, haul your protesting child out of the grocery store. There are few things more demoralizing than losing the combative toy clash with your pint-sized Threenager at the eyes of a crowd.

As a Mom, I find myself continually at conflict with the all mighty dollar of capitalism and consumer marketing.

An Open Letter to the Grocery Store on Behalf of Moms Everywhere | Twin Cities Moms Blog

Before my Threenager arrived, I saw a mother pushing her kid in her cart while the tyke was glued to his tablet. In ignorant bliss, I scoffed. I now think she is a genius. She had distracted her child so effectively that he didn’t even notice the toy towers. I have since bargained with my Threenager to say, “We can look at the toys, but we are not going to buy any today.” We stop by the toys and point out his favorite ones. We talk about what color the fire truck is or the sounds that the police car makes. It has a success rate of about 85%.

So, in summation… 

Dear Grocery Store,

Please re-design your shopping experience with a Threenager in mind.

I and a few million other moms out there will thank you for it.

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