Despite really really liking it, I don’t shop at Trader Joe’s that often (I know, I know, I know). It’s really out of sheer laziness. I like Safeway, it’s close and it has it all. But I don’t always love the prices there and TJ’s does have great stuff so I’m making a bigger effort to split the groceries up and maybe save a little cash in the process.
Yesterday afternoon after nap time, I persuaded Baylor into the car for a grocery run with the promise of a mini cart at TJ’s. She was intrigued by going somewhere new – this kid has a memory like an elephant. She knows where all her friends and relatives houses are, which street we turn for school and which street leads the way to our favorite restaurant. She also knows where we get our hair cut, where Safeway is and where the pet store is and points them out as we drive. It’s a little scary what she remembers sometimes (like how to get to the airport after not driving there for 6 months…). As we drove, I was relating where the store was in relation to where we get our hair cut. This satisfied her that it wasn’t “real real far” and so she turned her attention to the mini carts.
As we walked in the door, she spotted them. It was like nirvana. A real grocery cart in a real grocery store. She asked me for a wipe to get the handle (just in case there was any doubt about her being my kid) and we proceeded to the produce section. All the while getting smiles and nice comments from everyone she passed.
It was there that I learned that mini carts are not as awesome for the parent as they are for the kid. You know why? Because they are the perfect height to cut your achilles tendon. The third time I was flat tired by the little cart, I became terrified of it. I couldn’t let B out of my sight – it was less about her being kidnapped and more about self-preservation. Much much more. The carts come with a long pole attached to them (security? location? I have no idea) which I proceeded to use as a guide to keep her in my peripheral vision so that I could keep my ankles from being accosted. She was less than pleased about this, but was easily assuaged by a jar of enchilada sauce so all was well.
The kicker was the checker gave her about 2 dozen stickers at the check out. I was so proud when she sweetly pointed to one sticker in the bunch and asked if she could have that one, rather than assuming they were all for her. When the nice checker told her that they were all for her, there was a brief moment where I’m certain she thought about asking if she could move in. And really, who could blame her? The brilliant part is that now she’s asking me “do we need to go to the grocery store??”.
I couldn’t get her to open her eyes for the pic – any time spent taking her eyes off the stickers was a total waste, in her opinion.