Life in the Slow Lane...and in the Endless Aisle
Tugging the kids into the Y this morning from the distant employee parking lot, I heard the footsteps of a woman unburdened by children making rapid progress toward us from behind on the sidewalk. Our party of three was traveling the path in amoebic fashion, sometimes holding hands, sometimes on the grass, sometimes taking up far more space than an adult and two quarter-pints should occupy. And we were not moving quickly.
As a courtesy, I yanked my charges single-file ahead of me to allow our fellow pedestrian to pass. "Thank you," she said crisply as she hustled on by.
I watched her go, covering half a block before we'd made it another 10 feet. And I remembered days of walking that way, on my college campus or through the halls at work--walking as if I had somewhere to be, something important to do. I still did, of course, have places to be and things (of arguable importance) to do. I just didn't get there at my own pace anymore.
And on days like today, when I've had time for a cup of tea and a little reading before the kids get out of bed, I almost don't mind. Because when I was moving at my own pace, I was missing a lot. I didn't notice how fun it was to jump off of those rocks they put at the edges of driveways to keep people from tearing up the grass. I was inattentive to the many textures and colors snow can have. And I was unaware of how lovely it feels to hold a warm little hand on a cold morning.
Deep thoughts aside, there is one environment in which this Zen approach to the turtle's pace of children falls apart, and that is the grocery store right before lunch. My shopping experience this morning could have taken place in one of the outer circles of hell rather than Pick 'N Save and I wouldn't have noticed the difference. When I wasn't banging my giant cart with the red plastic truck cab on the front into end-aisle displays, I was dragging a child by the coat sleeve across the floor or racing to retrieve a huge glass jar of pickles from the unsteady hands of my two-year-old.
And here's the worst part. Since it takes two or three times as long to shop with kids, I have two or three times as long to endure the boundless variety that supermarkets offer. I remember today's LOOONG stroll down the condiment aisle to be particularly painful. I mean, really--do we need 438 different salad dressings from which to choose?
At least there are some real taste preferences at work there. It was the sour cream that truly baffled me. Does anyone in the world have a favorite sour cream? Then why are there six different brands in permutations of three sizes and three levels of fat content?!
Now that I think about it, shopping was overwhemling for me even before the kids came along.
As a courtesy, I yanked my charges single-file ahead of me to allow our fellow pedestrian to pass. "Thank you," she said crisply as she hustled on by.
I watched her go, covering half a block before we'd made it another 10 feet. And I remembered days of walking that way, on my college campus or through the halls at work--walking as if I had somewhere to be, something important to do. I still did, of course, have places to be and things (of arguable importance) to do. I just didn't get there at my own pace anymore.
And on days like today, when I've had time for a cup of tea and a little reading before the kids get out of bed, I almost don't mind. Because when I was moving at my own pace, I was missing a lot. I didn't notice how fun it was to jump off of those rocks they put at the edges of driveways to keep people from tearing up the grass. I was inattentive to the many textures and colors snow can have. And I was unaware of how lovely it feels to hold a warm little hand on a cold morning.
Deep thoughts aside, there is one environment in which this Zen approach to the turtle's pace of children falls apart, and that is the grocery store right before lunch. My shopping experience this morning could have taken place in one of the outer circles of hell rather than Pick 'N Save and I wouldn't have noticed the difference. When I wasn't banging my giant cart with the red plastic truck cab on the front into end-aisle displays, I was dragging a child by the coat sleeve across the floor or racing to retrieve a huge glass jar of pickles from the unsteady hands of my two-year-old.
And here's the worst part. Since it takes two or three times as long to shop with kids, I have two or three times as long to endure the boundless variety that supermarkets offer. I remember today's LOOONG stroll down the condiment aisle to be particularly painful. I mean, really--do we need 438 different salad dressings from which to choose?
At least there are some real taste preferences at work there. It was the sour cream that truly baffled me. Does anyone in the world have a favorite sour cream? Then why are there six different brands in permutations of three sizes and three levels of fat content?!
Now that I think about it, shopping was overwhemling for me even before the kids came along.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 9:54 PM
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