Our oldest children spent their toddler years in Chicago, a city where lucky parents can walk their kids in strollers to neighborhood stores. No car seats, just leisurely trips for milk and eggs while checking out the latest outfits on the concrete geese on the porches. We also had one of those beaked porch dwellers, and Bethy named her Kirsten. Concrete Kirsten had a variety of seasonal attire including a Chicago Bears jersey complete with quilted helmet. Festive geese clad as skiers, Valentines, leprechauns, Easter bunnies, graduates, gardeners, beach bums, fall harvesters, witches, pilgrims, turkeys, Santas, and elves served as reminders to celebrate the season. The kids and I loved them. Sometimes the sole reason for a stroller outing was to check out the geese.
The key to a successful grocery shop with kids is a nap. Havoc strikes if the kids are overtired. It also got dicey if I was hungry because then I’d want to buy more than we needed and couldn’t fit it in the bin beneath the stroller seats.
My most humbling shopping experience took place when I was pregnant with Brendan, and we took a stroll to County Fair on Western Avenue. Katie was three and Bethy was two, and I was probably starving. All went well until we entered the check out aisle, and my two little Irish lassies went nuts over a Snickers bar. I had somehow thought that my children were going to be health nuts and not eat candy. Insane, I know, but I was young and thought I could control what went in my kids’ mouths. I naively thought that they would cherish the robust flavor of whole grain wheat bread, crunchy granola, and homemade yogurt. I’m convinced it was my mother who exposed them to the magic of Nestle and Hershey.
Katie and Bethy’s pleading for the candy escalated into pall mall tantrums, and no cooing, bargaining, or pleading would reconcile their quest for the candy. I dumped the basket of fresh fruit and veggies, opened each chubby finger to release their grasps, and hightailed it out of there. It was not a pretty sight and certainly not my proudest parenting moment.
When I got home, I realized that once again we were going to have Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for dinner. At the time, I only cared about blood sugar fluctuations, not the dangers of processed, fake, powdered cheese.
A week later, I went to Chesterfield Federal Bank across the street from County Fair. This was back in the days when people went to banks. My dad was friends with the bank president, and as I was leaving the teller station, the executive greeted me and said, “Nancy, I saw you in County Fair with your children last week.”
I still cringe at the thought of it.