The Grocery Store Chronicles

It's that time of the year! When trips to the grocery store are fast, frequent and furious. (Well, okay, perhaps the entire year of 2020 has embodied the fervor of holiday grocery shopping.) Whether you're a Hy-Vee or Fareway fanatic, these stores are the place to be. A home away from home. The place to grab your milk. The place to let Eddie or Joe educate you on all things meat. The place to crash carts with the same person over and over again as you zig zag through the store trying to remember where they moved the Parmesan cheese.

As a kiddo, the grocery store was a magical place that earned me a Kit Kat for being good. Or if things weren't going so well, a threat of getting sent to the car. Sitting in the car wasn't only an acceptable form of punishment in the 70's, it was condoned by mothers who really had no escape.

As a teenager, the grocery store was quite possibly the worst place to be, especially if I had to tag along with parents. Much to my dismay, Mom would usually pick out the lane with the cutest grocery bagger. I tried to play it cool, even as she offered me the Kit-Kat for good behavior.

As a college student, the grocery store was a wonderful place again, especially if I was with my parents who were always generous enough to subsidize a cart full of Ramen noodles, and a few Kit Kats for good measure.

Then I landed my first job after college. I knew I had really made it when I could proudly glide right past those Ramen Noodles wearing my heels and a smart blazer.

When I became a parent, admittedly the grocery store lost its magic. Getting groceries with any child under the age of 8, wearing heels (smart blazer or not) is simply hell. No longer was it acceptable to send kids to the car for bad behavior. And Kit Kats were hardly a bargaining chip. My kids were the masters of manipulation. Getting a Kit Kat was merely child's play for them. If we didn't exit the store without at least an additional $50 worth a crap, I could safely assume they were ill.

I clearly remember the day I was able to get walk into Fareway without the kids. Handel's "Hallelujah" greeted me as I walked into the door. The heavens opened and golden rays of lights shined brightly over the produce as I was able to actually deliberate on which apples I wanted to buy. 

As I tiptoe into this brave new world of empty-nested-ness, one thing has becomes clear–especially during the pandemic. Our grocery stores are treasures. One week after the Kramer family garbage disposal (aka Cole) left for college, I spent $300 on food for Doug and me. I was well-aware we had no kids at home. At first, I thought perhaps I was either channeling some guilt for not having enough snacks at the house for the kids (as I was often reminded of) or guilt from feeding our family too shittily throughout the years in the name of convenience (potato chips as a veggie type stuff). But I think more than anything, I was just relishing.

Someone mentioned to me that it appears we're starting to settle into this new world of no kids in the house. Perhaps my grieved expression has faded a bit. Not that I don't miss our kids terribly. I do. But it has occurred to me that I could and should relish more moments that don't involve the kids–like spending time watching Jerry Seinfeld with my hubby, listening to a friend at work, sending funny texts to my parents, or staring at the meat counter debating whether to try the salmon or the cod. 

For me, here they are...cat and dog included:

Will Shop for Food...If I Must

I stopped into the grocery store the other night with an unusually cheery outlook. I left work at a reasonable hour and had no obligation to run a kid to practice or a music lesson. To put icing on the cake (if you consider a visit to the grocery store any sort of treat), no one was with me to drop Zebra Cakes or Doritos in the cart. I was sure to save an extra $50...and a little peace of mind.

As I settled in for my shopping trip, I smiled to myself as I noticed not one, but two, young mommies getting groceries with their tots. They were all so adorable, and for a moment I felt the nostalgia of toting my kids to the food mart, when their wondrous eyes glazed over all the forage on the shelves. But that feeling quickly dissipated. 

I merely made it to the produce section when the offspring of these two mommies (there must've been ten altogether) successfully cornered the store, leaving me fairly powerless to navigate. The memories came fleeting back. It was awful taking my kids to the grocery store! What was I thinking? I'd break out into a sweat almost every time, as I'd march my two dynamos through, clinging to the hope of no broken spaghetti jars.

So, back to my logjam in the produce. It rarely takes me long to shop in that section. So I was feeling all claustrophobic as the kids blocked me in with the fruits and vegetables. But I smiled, looking like the respectable business lady, as their sweet voices screamed questions to their mom about avocados. 

Eventually, I broke through the line, thinking I was home free. After all, I could sprint through the aisles, and swipe my necessities if I needed to. I could hear the circus behind me, but I wouldn't let them beat me.

I was wrong. 

I got all caught up in the yogurts. Damn yogurt selection. Soon enough, they were all ahead of me, blocking the aisles again. But I smiled at their adorableness and gave the moms the "I know what you're going through look"...all while strategizing a plan to avoid the little tarts.

Eventually, I  gave up and only filled up about half of my cart, which was my usually MO back in the old days, when I had my kids with me. My family was happy I came home with an unusual amount of junk food. Those aisles were about my only safe haven from the family of toddler terrors–apparently they were good moms.

Does anyone know when Amazon will start delivering groceries to rural Iowa?