Picture the scene...a suburban desert...110 degrees...fireball sun...every slice of metal, silver, gold, rusted car parts about to drip onto asphalt lava...and we have to run errands. My son, Pipsqueak, and I are on our way from the bank to the grocery store; a multi-stop day. (All mothers gasp in horror--yeah, that's right, one-two, one-two). I navigate the heat and swiftly pull into the Safeway parking lot. My eagle-eye darts from here to there. I scan for an open parking space adjacent to a shopping cart return area. There's one! Right there, up-close. Fantastic! We jump the Xterra into the negative space of white lines.
You are now free to move about the world. (Was that a real voice or my subconscious being facetious)? Engine off, gather purse, jump out of the truck, must hurray before baby overheats, grab for a shopping cart---ouch, ah, ouch, maybe, ouch, ouch, no, no, no, too hot. Foiled again. Dagnabit! Ok, let's think. Three options firework in my head:
1. Get back in truck and drive home. Darn! We ran out of milk this morning; not an option.
2. Grab baby and "luggage," but buckle under the weight and drop to ground. Dry up like two shriveling slugs on the blacktop; too long, too painful.
3. Must...get...to...shaded...shopping...carts!
Load shoulders with diaper bag, purse, and water bottle. Drag body up into backseat of truck, unhook all car seat buckles. Darn, freakin', twisted belt, stuck arm, shoe Velcroed to seat! Pull 23+ lb baby, all soaked and tired, from car seat that looks like it's padded for a day on the tundra (ah, if only). Slide from truck, everything in tow. Reposition purse, diaper bag, and baby on limbs and trunk of body. Now remember keys. Dig for keys. Close, lock, push keys into pocket...and, we're off! We scurry across the lot. Pipsqueak shields his eyes from the afternoon UV rays in a spastic contortion that nearly knocks us both off balance, while he starts to say his new favorite words over and over, "Nice!" "Mice!" "Nice!" "Mice!"
I toss everything in the back of the cart, baby in the front, draped over the skewed cart cover and get inside to the A/C. Ah, sweet relief. I'm such a good decision maker (lick, sizzle on my tushie--well, that's how the movie version will capture it)!
Five more minutes of proper cart-cover hook-up, sippy cup prep, grocery list retrieval, fix this, tie that, squeeze diaper bag under cart, yank pants back up over non-thong panties, make funny faces at little Fritz and not look like a complete, disheveled mess to co-shoppers. Ready to shop. Darn all that water. Ok, mad dash to the restroom that's at the other end of the store and drag shopping cart into a very small ADA stall. Pipsqueak laughs and grabs his diaper. Better now than later.
NOW, finally, we're ready to shop. Dear God, I'm thirsty--it would be wrong to drink whole milk from a sippy cup, right? There IS a Starbucks in here. But, I haven't wasted money on a chic drink since my days of working full time. It's been a year and a half--I don't remember the size chart for overpriced, ice-filled drinks. Could I wing it? It's not like it's a Starbuck's cafe in the middle of downtown--it's just some guy behind a counter at the food store. Oh, what the heck, let me splurge, just this one time...
We roll up to the counter and after some confusion about what the employee says to me--was that a real, "Hi, how are you?" No one cares how a stay-at-home-Mom is doing unless they're looking for an honest-to-goodness full ear. I refrain. (I mean, he was speaking to me from behind the counter, kneeling on the floor, fumbling for something--was he pretending to look busy)? One iced, chai tea latte, please. Grande (that's affordable right)? Do you offer lactose-free milk yet? No, I don't like soy. Ok, something fat free. Yes, non-fat would be fine (is there a difference between "fat free" and "non-fat" that I'm not aware of)? I haven't been out of the professional world for THAT long and there's seriously too many double-negatives flying around for my mid-day brain. He better not pull a Jetson's maneuver and wheel out a robot to whip up my liquid dessert. No, no, those are human hands on my cup.
Ahh, there it is...so cold, so clinky, so small. $3.84. Ok, I'll bite. Debit and away...no? What? What in the heck is he saying to me? And from behind that glistening counter (no Sweetie, please don't throw your sippy cup, sit, sit down, one sec Boo, Mommy has to finish up)...what was I saying, what is he saying? Then I hear his baratone voice, "I'm sorry. I have to re-do your payment. You paid too much. I forgot that we're running a happy hour deal. All grande drinks are only $2.00 after 2pm." Bowchickawowwow. (Or as the kids say, "brownchickenbrowncow").
Being a stay-at-home-Mom today...priceless!
