I'm going to step out on a limb here. It may be a stretch, and maybe I am totally off base, but I am going to guess that I am not the only person in the world who hates going to Wal-mart. Maybe I should be fair and say that it is really going to the grocery store that I hate, but since tonight I braved Wal-mart I am going to just pin the blame right there. Ugg - I really despise going there!
I usually have to work up my nerve for a couple of days. It is one of those things that I dread and usually put off until the very last minute - the minute where my children are scraping the bottom of our pantry and trying to make lunches out of three week old left overs (which I didn't know were still in our refrigerator) or condiments. That kind of last minute. (Before you worry, yes I do always feed them, even if it means going to the nearest restaurant and buying them something to eat.) That is pretty much out of character for me because I usually get things that I dread over with so that I don't have it hanging over my head. Not so with Wal-mart. Maybe it's because I know that the longer I put it off, the longer it can be until I have to go back again. I don't know. Regardless, it is one of those necessary evils (evil being the key word here) that I have to bite the bullet and do - week after week after week.
Our trips start out with me circling the parking lot looking for a decent parking space, praying that I don't get plowed down by the car behind me as we race for that last space that comes open within walking distance to the front door. When we finally get parked, I then deal with the quandary of deciding what to do with the baby who always has a knack of finally falling asleep in his car seat five minutes before we arrive at our destination. Tonight, since I had forgotten his Ergobaby carrier at home (of course), I left him in his car seat and hauled the heavy carrier inside. Since I had the car seat, I had to get two shopping baskets and take the chance that my older son wouldn't run down any old ladies with the one he was pushing. When we finally got situated with the baby carrier in one basket, my daughter carrying the diaper bag, and my son pushing the other basket, we stepped out into the aisle. We then had to almost immediately stop because the lady right in front of us decided she wanted to take an assessment of her basket. If she had only known that it was MY son pushing the basket behind her, she wouldn't have stopped with such reckless abandon for fear of being run over by the wild basket with the eleven year old driving it. I managed to get both baskets stopped and ward off any potential law suits, and we were on our way. As is typical of most trips, as we hiked to one end of the store, the baby woke up (of course). So I am trying to read my shopping list, keep the cart moving so the baby doesn't start screaming, and keep the other wild basket under control. My stress level started to rise. As is typical when that happens, my children sensed that and did what any sensible child would do - they got hyper. Then they started asking for things.
After I put my foot down over not getting a fish, we maneuvered to the next aisle. This happened to be the clearance aisle. In a moment of temporary weakness, I decided to see what was there. After I laid down the law over not getting new curtains (?!) just because they were on sale, I found a good deal. In true Wal-mart fashion, I had to work for the good deal and dig to find what I wanted. Of course this took too long and the baby started getting fussy. Sigh. We kept moving - aisle after aisle trying to pick up the things we needed, then back tracking aisle after aisle because I forgot something (which was, of course on the other end of the store). After firmly denying a matchbox car (even if it WAS just ninety-nine cents), we finally got all of our non-food items and headed to the grocery side of the store. By that point (after I solidly refused to buy a new movie that had just come out) my daughter was having to carry the storage bin that I needed to buy, I was pushing one cart, and my son was pushing the other cart. This was when the baby had it with being in his carrier and let us and the rest of the store know it. So, I rearranged. The baby came out of his carrier so that I could carry him, the storage bin and carrier (which was now tilted on its side) were in one basket (which my daughter was pushing), and the rest of the groceries were in the other, which my son was pushing. Now we had the fussy baby on Mama's hip, the steadily filling (and becoming heavier by the minute) basket being pushed by the eleven year old (who makes it a habit of looking behind him as he is pushing the basket forward), and the basket filled with an enormous storage bin (that was higher than my daughter is tall) being pushed by the ten year old (who had to push, then peak around the storage bin to make sure she wasn't going to hit anything, then push some more). Yes, and we were also being gawked at by other shoppers.
It was at this point that my husband called. My poor husband. The one who had been at work all day and was finally on his way home and decided to stop off and see about getting a new phone. My sweet husband who got me the really nice, new, expensive iPhone and suffered his way through an old phone that alternates between dropping calls and deafening him with a faulty speaker. This saintly husband wanted my advice as to what I thought would be best - a nicer phone like mine or one a little less expensive but more his style (he usually hates new technology and wants the older and simpler items). So we stopped the caravan and tried to stay out of the way of the many, many shoppers around us so that I could help him make that decision. I balanced the phone on my shoulder, the baby on my hip, and tried to corral the kids (after adamantly refusing the more expensive soup that you could drink like a drink). After about the fifth or sixth interruption of my wonderful husband so that I could chide the kids about asking for yet something else, I decided that it would probably be better if I just got off of the phone and we discussed this later. He had already decided not to get a phone tonight anyway.
By the time we made it to the check out counter, we had made several trips from the back to the front to the back of the store again (because I can never seem to forget something that is just on the next aisle). My arms were aching from hauling the twnety pound baby around the store, and I was exhausted. We made it through the check out line with the person behind me probably becoming annoyed because I was trying to load two baskets with groceries and keep the everyone under control (all the while explaining to the eleven year old that he should not overstimulate the baby - who was back in his seat by this time - and that just because he made him laugh once he probably didn't need to make him laugh ten more times in a row). I recovered from the heart attack of the total price while explaining that no, the eleven year old does not need to allow the baby to pull his hair hard, but that if he puts his head down next to him while he is in his seat and shows him the top of his head, the baby will probably reach out and grab his hair. After finally getting everything loaded into the baskets and the eleven year old's hair removed from the grasp of the baby, we managed to get out of the door (past the greeter guy who always has a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face as he watches me leave - probably wondering if I had dropped my sanity on aisle three). When we finally made it down the hill with the two heavy baskets (that were being pushed by the two kids because I was carrying the baby carrier that I could have sworn weighed ten pounds more than it did when I carried it in), I breathed a sign of relief that we avoided leaving any dents in anyone's cars or being run down (by the next person looking for a parking spot within walking distance to the front door). We loaded the car to the tune of the crying baby who didn't understand why Mama had to leave him in his seat while she loaded everything up and uttered the words that break his Mama's heart every time she hears them (Ma mama - ah ma in the MOST pitiful voice). Driving out of the parking lot I felt as if I had survived a battle.
You know what? I realized that I did, in fact, survive a battle. No, not the kind that has machine guns and bombs (good thing - no telling what I would have done in the heat of the moment when I couldn't find the price I needed if I had known I had a loaded gun I could whip out and REALLY intimidate the rude Wal-mart worker with). In all honestly I survived a spiritual battle. The kind that separates, well, the virtuous from the non-virtuous. I'm not going to say that I was full of grace the entire time, but I wasn't frothing at the mouth either. I wasn't the model of patience with my children, but I didn't back hand my son and send him sprawling across the produce section either when he thought I was the meanest mom in the world for not buying him the clementines he wanted (and no, I didn't even want to - the thought didn't cross my mind). This was my opportunity to be stronger than my fallen human nature, and for the most part I succeeded. This was the the spiritual pain so that I could gain - gain grace and virtue. No I wasn't perfect, but maybe next time I can be a little better and the next time a little better than that. Isn't that our path to sainthood? Accepting our crosses that Jesus sends us (so that we can be closer to Him) is what we are all called to do. St. Paul had a lightning bolt that knocked him off of his horse, St. Joan of Arc had a steak on which she was burned, and I have Wal-mart. Boy does it put things into perspective when I put it that way. I hope and pray that God will give me the strength to grow and become closer to Him with every trial that I face - every cross that he sends me. Heck, if I can be really good and offer it up, I just may come out of Wal-mart with less temporal punishment and time in Purgatory. Now wouldn't that be nice?
There were even glimpses of Heaven mixed into all of that - like when my son turned around a magazine that had a scantily clad woman on the front so that he didn't have to look at it (he does notice when I do that after all!). Or like my sweet daughter who managed to push around a basket that was bigger and taller than she was around a very crowded store, and didn't complain. Or the sound of a silly baby laugh as he gleefully yanked on his sweet brother's hair (a brother who was sweet enough to just let him because it made the baby happy - he didn't stop until I told him he shouldn't let the baby hurt him - it was okay to make him stop). God was reminding me of what I'm striving for with these little glimpses, and I was blessed enough to be able to recognize it! :-)
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