United we growl

Poppet (2) has appeared, I know it's early, but time doesn't apply to her.  She is talking animatedly in my face, her tiny little eyebrows doing double time as she breathes all over me.  Usually I find my baby's breath a tonic, she smells like biscuits most of the time.  This morning she smells strongly of garlic.  I am confused, but I'm also pre coffee so I don't give it thought time.
Reluctantly I roll out of bed, Angel (8) and Delight (6) are already up.  They like to sneak down before Poppet rises to watch American high school dramas.  We intermittently deal with the hand on hip, hair flick flounce that they like to emulate.
"Anyone know why your sister smells like garlic?" I ask
Delight doesn't look up " oh it's because she banged her cheek on the table"
Well that clears that up.
I usher them to the breakfast bar for food and switch off the tv.  Cue loud snorts of disgust.  I must choose my words carefully, the next thing I say has the potential to ruin the day for all of us.
I breath in and smile, "would you like to go to soft play later?" I ask.  Air fists and elongated yessssss's follow, this is good.  "Great, we just need to do the big shop first". Utter deflation.

It's not something I relish, despite their best efforts it always ends up being chaos.
I long for the day that Lidl deliver!
We power through the fight for the front seat. Even though we have made a rule that the eldest sits in the front, Delight likes to question this every journey.  I catch Angel smiling menacingly at her and consider putting Poppet and her mahoooosive car seat in the front instead.  I look at it strapped firmly in the back, a la Halfords, it's daring me, mocking me.  "Fuck off" I say to it.
"Mummy said fuck" says Delight with relish.  I squint my eyes and fix my gaze heavily upon her and take a breath, "and now, darling, you have said it too" we haven't even started driving yet.
On arrival, the search for the blue coin for the trolley ensues, I'm just about to have a tantrum when Angel holds it up.  She had it in her pocket.  She thought this was funny, I did not.
I read them the riot act and in we go. They instantly forget said, read act and scramble at speed towards the biscuits. I no longer care what other shoppers think of me and I just dare an old lady to tut.  I am the weary, and I am not to be messed with. In a firm hiss I threaten them with cancelling their holiday if they do not behave.  This seems to work and we have relative peace around the veg and tinned section, until Poppet spies the DVDs. "I ...HAVE IT !" she screams, trying to stand in her trolley seat.  I try to bend her back into place, but she goes tort and screams with a pitch of glass shattering proportions.  I get her down, but make her promise to hold her sisters hand. "I promise mummy" she lies. The moment I put her down she makes a break for it, she runs, misjudges and splat, straight into the DVD stand. Hot tears and more screaming follow. "Don't worry mummy" yells Delight and disappears, only to reappear seconds later with a pack of salami. She rips it open and hands it to Poppet who promptly slaps it on her face. This seems to calm her and she stands, letting it cool her little head, poking her tongue out for the occasional sideways lick.
It suddenly clicks that my darling little girls are using meat as a cold compress, I start to laugh only to be tutted at by a disapproving old dear.  Angel and Delight frown at her, Poppet growls.  We are trying to stop the growling ever since I announced to a poor unsuspecting man in the queue at the garden centre that "I have a little growler".  I wince at the memory, smile sweetly at the tutter and ask Poppet, loudly,  which DVD she would like. Tutter backs off, and so the Weary, the Mayhem, the Salami and Peppa Pig DVD, along with only half the shopping go home feeling triumphant in unity and stinking gloriously of garlic.