Naturally, I queried my friends first. But since they haven't lost their minds and would happily give me a winning Powerball ticket or their SUVs before handing out the names of their babysitters, I was left empty-handed. 

One hour and 20 minutes later, we exited. The middle child was wearing a Santa hat I’d apparently paid for, and my 3-year-old was lying on his belly on the bottom rack of the shopping cart, dragging his hands between my splayed legs as I walked cowgirl style out those automatic doors.