I took a deep breath as I rode the escalator up Mount Buy-More; one
child in an ergo carrier, one clinging to my back, and another one grabbing my
leg. A modern day sherpa at the suburban summit of one-stop-shop
convenience. I needed pulls-up (potty training!), half & half,
white socks and vitamins. That's it! Seriously! Sure, I
had 3 kids with me, but the list was simple and this big box store with its
promise of ease and accessibility had me all sorts of confident.
I looked over at the stack of red baskets and thought, "I think
I could just grab a basket for this trip." But as my already
sweaty palm reached for that crimson siren with it's dainty handle,
something stopped me. An angel, intuition, or perhaps just the sheer
experiential wisdom of 11 years of parenting staid my hand and I shook my head
with a bitter laugh:
Oh Kathleen, you are not a basket person anymore!
But, I only need four things.
Sure, you do!
I do!
But this is Target!
Fine!
Soberly, I grabbed a super size cart and told the kids to hop
in, but Linus stopped short and politely said, "No, fanks. I
don't fink I can go dare. I walk, ok?"
Ok.
It's just four things. He could use the exercise.
By the time we made it to the baby section my cart was half full
with pencils, granola bars, wrapping paper, and clorox wipes that they
were practically giving away! I talked
up the excitement of potty training to Linus and boldly declared that we would
find the coolest, raddest, big boyest pull-ups that ever existed.
"No, fanks. I not a big boy. I'm just too
little."
"But we'll have a party and you'll get candy!"
"I don't fink so."
I ignored his hesitation and began to spread out a variety of
options which included a few titans of the toilet like the Incredible
Hulk, Spider Man, and of course, no one knows how to make it to the potty like
that dependable old Thomas the Tank Engine! I wasn't even
mentioning real-live cotton underwear yet, but Linus was panicking. We're
talking quiver lips, deep breathing panic! So at
the top of his lungs, to God and everyone, he announced, "I LIKE TO POOP
IN MY PANTS!" All-righty, then!
A few passerbys looked at me as if I was
the one making such proclamations, but undeterred, I listed off all the
"big boys" that were potty-trained. The list is quite long,
actually. And just then, I heard the most ungodly sound come from
the baby. Oh no! This happens once a week and normally requires at
least one, maybe two, hazmat suits.
I asked my 7 year old to get me new clothes and a diaper for the
baby. (Yes, we count these outings as field trips for her
business/math/psychology class.) But by the time, I pulled the baby out
of the carrier, it was too late. The damage was done, and apparently I had
also forgot the wipes and diapers. Sweet.
And then I remembered I was in the diaper section of Target.
Wipes! Onsies! Diapers! Like a mad woman, I dashed about grabbing
supplies and trying to tear into these boxes one handed with a crayon as I held
the soiled baby and continued to field comments about how "dat Hulk is too
cary for my pants!" I knew I had no time to reach the land
of changing tables without ruining the both of us. So I laid out a
blanket--the only thing besides crayons in my purse--and took care of
business. Just four things, and somehow it descended into a literal
sh*% show!
But we rallied, we really did! We just need half
& half, vitamins and--dang--what was that other thing?
An hour--yes, an hour!--later, we were finally
pulling up to the registers to pay. Exhausted and shaky--do not shop
before eating breakfast, people--my cart overflowed with la croix, wipes,
diaper boxes (HUGE), milk, apples, and sidewalk chalk. I
didn't have room for the sour cream or the raw chicken, so I stuffed that in my
purse. Don't worry, I paid for it!
And in the midst of the unloading and the fielding questions
about the Yucatan peninsula and fishing out Linus' unapproved additions, I
looked up and saw the most beautiful young woman. High-heels, curled hair, cute
outfit, so put-together! Then I saw it. She was carrying a
basket. A red basket! My basket! She was probably
just running in for some breath mints and a greeting card.
God Bless her and her basket.
I was a basket person once. But now I shop like a
mother. And mothers use carts. Big carts.
And we fill them up to the brim and stuff them with all the stuff needed by
those little basket cases who've stuffed our hearts so full.
And then, I looked down again at that raw chicken in my purse and
I just smiled. I really like this cart I'm
pushing. I really do!
Oh, and for the record, I forgot the socks!
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