“Eeeee! Errrrrrr! Vrooom!” These are the noises I make as I dash through aisles and around corners, coming to a quick stop before speeding up again, trying my best to avoid running over any feet or bumping into backsides. Buzz’s face is lit up, as if we were on the best carnival ride. His eyes wide, his smile spread, as he sits buoyantly against advice in the basket of a shopping cart.
This ordinary moment is like an exhale as we make our way up and down the aisles. With each item placed in the cart, Buzz graciously grabs a hold.
A box of cereal, “Thank you, Mommy!”.
A bottle of maple syrup, “Thank you, Mommy!”.
A gallon of milk, “Thank you, Mommy!”.
He grabs each selection with as much enthusiasm as the last, sorting the previous item gently at his side, making sure there is room for all. We eeeee! and errrrrr! and vrooom! a bit more past bags of pasta and jars of peanut butter until our list is complete. He helps place what he can on the conveyor belt before gripping the box of cereal tightly to his chest, as if it’s his prize. An older lady unabashedly smiles at us as I lift him from the basket and we walk out behind the cart, Buzz’s bright face barely peeking over the handle, Lucky Charms still embraced tight.
There isn’t much else that makes me feel ridiculously domestic like going to the grocery store with my kids. It’s a rare treat when it can be fun, too.