It dawned on me, as we were getting back from Costco- remembered the milk, forgot the Ritz crackers- that what I really am is a glorified burro. A pack animal. A beast of burden, picking up what everyone else lays aside, a coat-tree with curly hair and boobs.
Getting out of the car and making my way to the house, I had in my arms: Abby, my diaper bag over my shoulder, keys to open the door, cell phone, a bag of books from the book fair at Jeff’s school, the Costco receipt (for some reason), Beanie’s Mickey Mouse backpack, the mail wedged under my arm, Abby’s blanket and the sock she kicked off, and my own coat. Jeffrey asked me to hold his lunchbox, for which he got a glowering look, as he bounded from the car and ran towards the backyard.
The thing is, even holding every loose article in my family’s possession, I still managed to get to the door and in the house without dropping either a) the baby or b) everything else carefully perched upon my person.
After sending Jeffrey out to get his own lunchbox (grrrr…) getting Beanie a snack, and popping Abby in her crib with some toys, I prepared to head out back out and schlep all the many loads of Costco crap into the house. My wonderful husband called right about then, to ask me “What are you doing?” Do you want to imagine how that conversation went? You’re right.
When the steam ran out of my tirade, my wonderful husband suggested I leave everything in the car, and he would unload it all when he got home. Hallelujah- you don’t have to ask me twice! So that’s what I did.
One of the best things about living somewhere with real weather- as opposed to California ‘winters’- is that you never have to hurry home from the market; you can leave your groceries in the car, and your milk might actually be colder when you bring it in than it would be in the ‘fridge. (You gotta be careful about leaving soda pop in the car, though. I made that mistake when we first moved here- super mess!)