Yesterday I took my
four-year-old daughter, Delaney, grocery shopping with me. The store had
those cute little kiddy carts that make preschoolers feel grown-up and
helpful. But by the glazed look in her eyes, I knew this simple cart had
mutated into a road racing, fire blazing, speed-demon hotrod.
The minute her hands touched the cart she transformed, not unlike Snoopy
on one of his Red Baron capers. This was her first experience being at
ground level and in control of a wheeled contraption. With driving goggles
and helmet in place, she was off. I could almost hear the crack of the
starting pistol and smell the fetor of burning rubber.
The maze-configuration produce section presented something of a challenge
and I lost her at the first turn. The display cases stand taller than
Delaney, so I could only catch glimpses of her as she darted between them.
I spotted her at the by-the-pound candy bin. "No! No, honey! That's a
scoop not a dinner fork!" Too late, she had already eaten so much I
knew I'd have to weigh her on the fruit scale at the check out counter.
Delaney was off again, rounding the corner at the dairy case and on to
aisle one on only two wheels. I raced to catch her while dodging the
apples and kiwi fruit that lay in my path. Thankfully, she made a quick
pit stop at the cookies, allowing me to gain on her.
Aisles two, three, and four were a blur. She was traveling so fast the
breeze she created turned pages at the magazine rack. Other shoppers
stopped to dial the "1-800-how-am-I-driving" number from her
carts' bumper sticker (a 90's cellular nightmare).
She ditched me in the meat department (somewhere between the chicken
livers and the beef tongue). Luckily, all I had to do was follow the trail
of breadcrumbs (or cheese doodles, as the case may be) in order to find
her (of course the shrieks from the sample lady helped, too).
In my haste to reach her I didn't notice the "wet floor" sign
next to the canned food pyramid. I skated passed it and into the bakery,
performing a triple axle around the array of cream pies before stopping
just short of the lobster tank in the fresh sea food section (my personal
Olympic moment- the East German judges gave me a 9.5).
This is one visit in which I was thrilled to see the end cap of candy bars
and bubble gum as this is where I found my little Indy racer. Her hands
were covered with chocolate and I knew I'd soon be wearing that sucker she
was gnawing on, but I had her in my clutches and I was ready to go home.
You can imagine my relief pulling into the check out lane and loading the
groceries, and an empty stem of grapes, onto the conveyer belt. The
checkered flag had dropped. I made it to the finish line, daughter in tow,
and without hearing those dreaded words… "Clean up on aisle
three."
In addition to raising
her six children, Kellie Head is a freelance humorist, Parenting Humor
Editor for Netscape and the Publishing Editor of Parenting Humor Magazine. http://www.parentingumor.com
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