It's Sunday night at 8:30 p.m., half an hour past the boys' bedtime. We're driving home from my mom and dad's after a party, and I remember that we're out of coffee. I also want a pork shoulder for the crock pot, so I ask Aaron to drive by PCC on our way home. My plan was to dash in by myself and be back in the car in five minutes, but as soon as we pull into the parking lot Jack shouts "Baby carts!"
PCC has the cutest damn baby shopping carts which I never let my kids use unless Aaron is with us. But he is in fact with us this particular evening, and PCC isn't really a hotbed of activity this time of night so I agree that we can all go in and they can each have their own baby cart. We go over the Baby Cart Rules- no running, no crashing, no putting things in your cart without asking- and proceed to shop as a family. Whenever I pick something up, the boys beg to have it put in their cart. I alternate. The coffee goes in Jack's cart, the pork shoulder goes to Matteas. Aaron takes them down an aisle while I grab cottage cheese, and when I come around the corner I see the boys inching their way toward me slowly and carefully. Jack's feet are off the floor, resting on the frame of his cart and Matteas is behind him, his cart pushed against Jack's but. "Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-choo-choo!" says Matteas, clearly working hard to be the quietest choo-choo he can be. "Mom," he smiles proudly, "we are being a train!"
"That's a very good train Matteas," I say, smiling back. I can tell they are feeling the magic of an ordinary activity happening at an extraordinary time, and am suddenly very glad we were out of coffee.
A few days later we are back at PCC, this time without Aaron, so no baby carts. But- oh happy day!- the cart that has a ride-in car attached to the front is sitting in front of the door and there are no other children in sight. There is only one car cart, and it's always anxiety-producing to see if it will be our turn. It's right there, so I pull into the closest parking spot and we make a mad dash through the rain to the cart, which is dry inside thanks to the cozy roof on it. We have a peaceful shopping time, I remember everything on my list except for one thing and we even make it through the check-out line with both boys still in the cart. About every two minutes they ask me to run really fast, but I always tell them there are too many people in the store. Only one time did they feel the need to make siren noises, but they did it so quietly that I let them do it for a full minute before reminding them that we were in a shared space and we couldn't take up all the sound. "We were doing that so people will here us coming," Jack says.
"People will hear us coming, trust me," I reply.
We leave, and I put the groceries in the trunk and feel cozy for the boys, dry in their little car cart as the rain picks up speed. "Boys, you behaved beautifully in the store and I really appreciate that. Want mama to push you around the parking lot as fast as I can?"
"Yes!" they answer in unison.
The parking lot is fairly quiet, so I run as fast I can while still controlling the cart and we shoot across the parking lot at top speed, the boys screaming and hollering as loudly as they can. "Wheeee-holy-cow-this-is-so-fast-whooooo-hoooo-aaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!" 45 seconds of pure, unbridled, puddle-splashing joy.
"Mom," Jack says as he buckles his own seat belt, "that was the Best Shopping Trip Ever."
"I agree," I say, soaking wet and happy. Some days, this job is so freaking hard that I lock myself in the bathroom just to have three feet of space around my body and fantasize about what it would be like to live alone, all alone in a quiet space that stayed clean. But other days, I have the incredible luck to see an opportunity for shared joy and am able to seize it with both hands, even in the pouring rain.
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