Back to School Shopping Exhaustion: Realistic Tips I Learned Mid-Trip
I’m sitting in my car in the mall parking lot, half a soft pretzel gone soggy in the cupholder, sweat through the back of my cotton t-shirt, and it’s only 2 p.m. on Tuesday. The backseat is piled high with crinkly shopping bags, a neon-covered folder sticking out of every opening, and my two kids are passing a bag of gummy bears back and forth, sticky fingerprints already smudged on the new hoodie my 10-year-old just bought.
I’ll admit I went into this week convinced I’d knock out all back to school shopping in three days. All the parenting accounts I follow say get it done early before the shelves empty, before the last-minute rush, before all the good sizes are gone. So I blocked off Monday and Tuesday, wrote out every item on the school supply lists, mapped out the stops: Target for basic supplies, the department store for clothes, the mall for the specialty stuff my kids begged for. I didn’t account for every aisle being blocked by a stroller or another parent squinting at their phone to cross items off their list. I didn’t account for the checkout line stretching all the way past the holiday candy display that went up mid-August, for the fitting room that only had one working light bulb that made every shirt look dingy gray.
We got through it, though. My 8-year-old, who’s obsessed with all things space right now, talked a Target cashier into giving him a free constellation sticker for his new notebook, and walked out with a glow-in-the-dark pencil pouch I hadn’t planned on buying. It was $4, so I said yes. My 10-year-old found that cropped rainbow hoodie she’s been texting me screenshots of for three weeks. I fought her on ordering it online because I knew she’d outgrow the length by October, but when she did a little spin in the fitting room and said it’s exactly what all her friends have, I added it to the pile. By the time we walked out of the last store, I’d checked 90% of my list off. The only thing left? Shoes.
I stared at the entrance to the shoe store from my windshield, and suddenly I couldn’t make myself open the door. Last year, I pushed through this exact moment. I was so determined to get everything done in one day that I herded two already-overtired kids into the shoe store, snapped when my 8-year-old said every pair was “too scratchy,” bought the first pair that fit, and ended up driving home with a migraine that turned into a full-on argument with my partner about dinner. Two months later, the shoes I’d rushed to buy were too small, and my 10-year-old refused to wear the pair I’d picked out for her because she said they made her feet look “blocky.”
Sitting here today, I realized that the exhaustion I feel isn’t just from walking 10 miles around the mall. It’s from buying into the idea that we have to get all this done at once, that any delay means we’re failing at back to school prep. And it’s not just bad for me—it’s bad for the kids, too. Over the last few years teaching preschool part-time, I’ve seen how the back to school transition hits kids. Most of their first-week jitters come from feeling like they have no control over the big changes coming: new teacher, new classroom, new rules, new routine. All this shopping is one of the only parts of the transition they get a say in—but when we rush through it, when we’re tired and snappy, we end up taking that little bit of control away anyway.
That’s when I decided I’m not doing shoes today. It’s not lazy, it’s not putting it off until it’s a crisis—it’s adjusting for the fact that we’re all tired, and that a slower pace works better for everyone. I’ve picked up three small, concrete things today that I wish I’d thought of years ago, that make this whole process a lot less draining.
First, split the big, high-stakes tasks into separate trips. I used to think more trips meant more time wasted, more exposure to crowds, more hassle. But shoes are high-stakes: kids’ feet grow a full size over summer, most kids have weird quirks (wide toes, high insteps, a hatred of anything that isn’t super soft inside) that mean you can’t just order them online. Doing it when everyone’s already tired means you’ll either rush and buy the wrong thing, or end up in a fight no one wins. I texted a friend whose kid is the same age as mine to ask if she’s going to the mall this weekend, and she said she’s going Saturday morning right when it opens, when the crowds are still thin. I’m just gonna meet her there with the kids then. That way, we start fresh, no one’s already worn out from three hours of shopping.
Second, budget $10 per kid for an unplanned fun item, no questions asked. I used to stick strictly to the list, and say no to any extra little thing they wanted. But those $5 glow-in-the-dark pouches and $3 shaped lip balms are the things they get excited about. They carry them around all day, talk about showing them to their friends on the first day, and that little bit of excitement eases their nerves way more than any generic talk about how fun school will be. It’s a small amount of money, it doesn’t break the budget, and it gives them a small, tangible thing to look forward to that’s entirely their choice.
Third, write down your non-negotiables for big items like shoes before you walk in the door. I already jotted mine down in my notes app: under $70, wide toe box, durable enough for recess, machine washable. That’s it. Anything else that fits those requirements, the kids get to pick. No arguing about whether the sneakers are too colorful, or if the brand is cool enough. That cuts out at least 20 minutes of back and forth that just makes everyone more tired.
I start the car now, and the kids stop fighting over the Bluetooth long enough to cheer when I tell them we’re going home for ice cream instead of shoe shopping. The gummy bears have left sticky spots on the new backpacks, there’s a loose sock rolling around on the floorboard, and my to-do list still has three big items left to check off. I’m still tired, that’s not going away just because we’re leaving early. But I’m not the snappy, overwhelmed mess I was 10 minutes ago.
The school year doesn’t start for another week. There’s no prize for getting all the shopping done by Tuesday. We’ll get the shoes when we’re all ready for them, and if it takes another trip after that, that’s okay too.
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