Sometimes, Angels Walk on Asphalt

"I hate Christmas."  It wasn't necessarily true, but the words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them.  Maybe it was the surrounding chaos or maybe it was something akin to understanding in the eyes of the other mother trying to contain a baby that inspired the confession in the middle of aisle 8 at Fry's Grocery Store.

She gave a tired laugh.  "I know.  And I have to go to Costco after this."

"Ugh.  I just came from there.  It's a madhouse."  Our conversation was cut short when my toddler threw a fit again, this time as my nine year old attempted to keep him from overturning a number of canned goods from their shelf.

It was the day before Christmas Eve, and the store reminded me of fighting traffic on the 405 in Southern California.  The same miserable traffic that I do not miss, and yet there I was bumping cart to cart in a very similar version.  If I hadn't needed a large bottle of whipping cream I would have taken one look at the parking lot and forgotten shopping altogether, but I was in charge of dessert for Christmas Eve dinner, and that required whipping cream.  Lots of whipping cream, as only the very best kind of desserts do.  Having only too late realized that Costco doesn't sell whipping cream, there I was with one fraying temperament in store number two with three kids in tow.  It was enough to make me hate Christmas, and as evidenced all around me, I wasn't the only one.

Everyone in the store seemed slightly short tempered as we impatiently maneuvered around one another through the too-tight aisles, our plans too often at odds with one another.  "Excuse me.  Sorry.  Can I just get around you.  I'll just be a second.  Sorry.  Didn't see you there..."  The bare minimum etiquette didn't quite make it to the eyes of most shoppers.  There, one could see the stress, the impatience, and the frustration.  More of which I would have noticed had I not been chasing my 20 month old who refused to sit in the fancy toy car/shopping cart that he had insisted upon only moments before, the monstrosity which I was now left maneuvering in this mess while trying to contain him at the same time.

"Logan!  I need your help!" I begged as the baby darted around the giant soda display.  "You go that way!"  As I rounded the other side, I heard screaming.  Familiar screaming.

"Mom.  He won't come!" my daughter whined.

"Okay, I got him," I responded while rounding the corner and picking him up.  Putting him in the cart and buckling him in I said, "Now you have to sit!"  He didn't like it.  The screaming escalated.  At this point I thought it was possible that the entire city was in this store, and they were all watching me.  It really was a shining moment.

"Okay, guys, stay close!" I commanded the other two.  I had had enough.  It was cream time.  Anything else would have to wait.  Upon nearing the dairy section, I found it so crammed that I had to abandon the cart momentarily.  "Watch the baby, and don't move!" I ordered. 

I weaved my way to the refrigerated door. "What?!  Are you serious?!" I said out loud to no one in particular.  "They are out of cream?!  Are you kidding?!" This could not be happening.

(to be continued...)