Making a Scene

Yesterday, I took the boys with me on a run to Costco. We needed school supplies, which now include mass amounts of disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizer. We needed snacks and groceries, and I wanted to check out what was left of their seasonal stock for the summer. Now at 8 and 5, Little Bro sits in the cart while Big Bro insists on “helping me push.” School supply lists in hand, I turned over the reigns of the cart with my standard rule- you hit anyone or anything, I revoke your license.

A crowded warehouse store and a hefty cart that barely rests under eye-level isn’t the perfect environment for driving practice, so after about 10 minutes of “come on,” “slow down,” and “watch out,” Big Bro hit an aisle of canned food and I took over. Commence whining. As Big Bro pleaded with me for his right to steer the cart while interrupting himself to yell for samples at the end of each aisle, his younger brother decided it would be a great time for a “game” he invented to which I’m still a bit fuzzy on the rules other than it resulted in him saying “you look like poo” loud enough for passersby to hear. This immediately cured Big Bro of his grief over the cart and sent him into laughing fits which caused the poo comments to get louder and louder.

I started to regret taking this time to go to the store. I could’ve gone the next day and left them home with dad. I tried to calm down their hysteric laughter and keep them yelling “poo” and from bouncing around the aisles, grabbing boxes of sugary snacks and trying to toss them in the cart. Finally, I threatened to cancel our afternoon plans. That kept them straight until checkout.

Then, while waiting in line, an older woman approached me. I felt a quick jolt of nervousness as I wondered if she’d seen their rowdy disruptive behavior. She leaned over and said, “I just want to compliment you on these two young men.”

Young men? It’s a phrase I’d never heard before with reference to my sons. Compliment? Also unexpected given that the majority of this trip I felt like I was trying to keep them from tearing apart the store.

“Your son dropped his paper and said thank you very nicely when I picked it up. You don’t hear that very often from kids his age anymore.”

I thanked her and told her how much I needed that today, holding back tears. I laughed it off, saying I felt like I’d been herding cats and just hoped I got what we needed. She smiled.

I could tell she’d been in my shoes before. I could tell she’d walked the aisles of a grocery store, herding rowdy children while desperately trying to remember what was on her list. I could see in her eyes that she understood how a simple errand could turn into dozens of questions and answers, moments of extreme multitasking. And I could tell when she walked away and looked back at my boys, that she missed it.

Employees gave the boys stickers on the way out and they happily bounced to the car. We continued our afternoon plans. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t leave them home with dad. I know someday I’ll miss it too.