For Wendell and Jen

This one will not make you cry.

One of the cool things about living in a major metropolitan area is the shopping.  And there are few things I like better than a shopping coup.  (A coup is a brilliant, highly successful act. A shopping coup [pronounced coo] is when you get a killer deal on something, especially if it's a Fossil purse or Born shoes).  Before the days of Internet deals, we shopped old school: grabbed a girlfriend, loaded up the kids (and all accompanying paraphernalia, which was a lot), and made the most of the precious time we had while no one was screaming to be fed or changed.  The babies, that is.

Because I was a first time mom and didn't know any better, I asked my friend J if she would like to go shopping at a VERY popular outlet store about 10 miles away.  Because she was also a first time mom, J agreed.  We loaded up our babies, mine was about 3 months old, hers was even younger, and off we went. 

Thinking back on those days, I have no idea how I had the energy to be a mom.  When we got to the store, we had to grab the infant seat, the blankets, the diaper bag, the purse, the car keys, and, hopefully, the infant.  Once we physically made it into the store, there was the grabbing a cart, situating the infant seat in the cart, finding a place for the diaper bag, arranging the blankets so that the child did not get a chill but was still protected from the germs that must thrive in an outlet store, putting the purse out of reach of a passerby, and then going into full-on panic because you forgot where you put the car keys.  So, you undid the blankets, rummaged through your purse, took everything out of the diaper bag, looked under the baby for the car keys and were just about ready to find a phone to call the spouse (before cell phones as well) and then remembered the car keys were exactly where you put them so that you would remember them when it was time to leave.  They were in your pocket the whole time.

After rearranging the child, the blankets, the diaper bag, and the purse, we were ready to take on the outlet store. We found some amazing deals.  We found girl clothes.  We found boy clothes.  We found mommy clothes.  We found dishtowels.  We found chocolate covered almonds.  And then, in the most amazing shopping coup ever, we found the holy grail of great Christmas presents: A Little Tykes sled.  And one of the reasons it was so amazing is that this was May.  I had visions of strapping Spencer into that sled and his daddy pulling him through the beautiful, fluffy snow in our backyard while I made hot chocolate and watched adoringly from the back door.  (Did I forget that we don't usually get beautiful, fluffy snow here?)  And, honestly, I don't remember exactly how much we paid for those sleds, but it was a good enough bargain that I still remember feeling very excited about the VERY early Christmas shopping I had started.

We ended up getting a 3rd basket to help roll our goodies to the checkout.  Along with the things I had in my basket, tucked in and around the infant seat, I had a sled to purchase.  And along with the things J had tucked in and around her infant seat, she was purchasing 2 sleds (one for her daughter and one for a niece and nephew in a different state (where there actually is beautiful, fluffy snow).  After making our purchases, we began the trek back to the vehicle.  We were a train: the cart with my baby plus bags, me, the cart with the sled boxes balanced precariously, J, and her cart with her baby plus bags.  We giggled on our way out, partly from the amazing deal we got on the sleds, and partly from imagining how we must look to passersby.

And then we got to the car.  This was before the mini-van stage of my life.  This was before the 4-door sedan stage of my life.  This was the 2-door sports car stage of my life.  The joy of a shopping coup can be quickly diminished when one realizes the bargain will not fit in the mode of transportation there to squire it home.  We began to prioritize.  If we took 2 sleds out of their boxes, we could fit them in the trunk.  One sled needed to stay in its box for shipping.  There was no roof rack on this little car, but I did briefly entertain the idea of wedging the sled box in the sunroof opening and driving home like that.  That the babies needed to ride inside, in the backseat, facing the rear was a given.  Everything and everyone else were negotiable.

It took about 5 minutes of this before the giggling started.  We couldn't help ourselves.  We were Lucy and Ethel trying to figure out how to pack the car for the trip to California.  We were characters from The Grapes of Wrath  trying to strap the mattresses on the top of our car.  We were equal parts buyers' remorse and  bound and determined.  And never, never did it cross our minds to return any of what we had purchased.  (First rule of shopping at an outlet store is that you buy it when you see it, because it more than likely will not be there when you come back next time.)

We finally figured it out: 2 sleds sans boxes in the trunk, one boxed sled in the passenger front seat, two babies in rear-facing infant seats in the back, other purchased items wedged where we could, and a very skinny J would wedge in between the babies.  As we made our way to the accomplishment of the plan, (taking apart boxes, strapping in babies, wedging in other purchases), we felt quite accomplished in the success of our mission.  We planned that J would take the baskets back to the store (with the excess boxes in tow), and I was going to stay with the babies.

And then J gasped.  I could not imagine what had happened, but as I rounded the car I found J with one hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face, and the other hand holding up a package of baby girl tights that had somehow been under the baby seat and blankets in her cart.  Yep, J had shoplifted.  And I was her accomplice.  Neither one of us could stand at this point, we were literally doubled over in laughter.  It  was made worse because we knew that security was probably on the way out to grab us, but we still couldn't stop laughing.  Seriously, my sides were hurting.

As J headed back in to apologize and pay for the tights, I turned to get in the car.  And that's when I saw it.  There was a man, sitting in his car, with his head on the steering wheel.  I couldn't run over to check on him (I was in charge of the babies in the car), but I couldn't just let him die (which is what I sure he was doing).  Just as I decided that I was going to have to start screaming for help, he lifted his head.  He was not dying.  He was laughing.  At us.  With tears streaming down his face.  He leaned his head out the window and yelled to me.  It was something along the lines of never having been so entertained and that he would, from then on, gladly accompany his wife on whatever shopping she wanted to do for the rest of his life because that few moments of watching us made it worth it all.

I wish I could say I never had any other moments like that, but that would be a lie.  That wasn't even the last moment like that I had in that car.  But I have always wondered if there was someone watching a security camera that day and just how entertaining that must have been.  I've got to tell you, every time I watch America's Funniest Home Videos and DON'T see that day, I am thankful.