Ball-Mart

ballmart

It’s rare I take the Gs to Wal-Mart. When I do, I tell them, “If you’re good, I’ll let you look at the toys.” I get what I need to get and, if they start to get a bit wild, I remind them. “You have to be good if you want to look at the toys.”

When done and, if they’ve been manageable, I head to the toy section. I give them five minutes to roam around, hit buttons, dance, and – for Gabby – repeatedly yell, “I want this for my birthday!”

Last time we went, I hit the toy section from the back aisle. That route just happens to pass by the athletic department, and the sports ball rack. As soon as Big G caught sight of it, he became an addict. He would venture near no toy. All he wanted was “Bahl! Bahl! Bahl! Bahl!”

To their credit, when I say five minutes are up and it’s time to go, they leave with no complaint, beggings or outcrys. I just assure them that, yes, they can “have it for Christmas.”

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