As I navigate the parking lot, my children add a touch of chaotic charm to my shopping mission. My littlest ones cling precariously to the front of the cart, swaying like they might tumble right off and put the “hold on tight or you’ll crack open your skull” theory to the ultimate test. Meanwhile, the more adventurous ones are digging through bags of real fruit, convinced they’ll unearth the elusive box of fruit snacks before we reach the car—spoiler alert: they’ll likely just end up smashing the chips.
Every trip across the parking lot feels like a tightrope act. I often have to swerve to dodge a tiny, oblivious elderly woman backing out of her spot. Then, I find myself trying to cross back while a sympathetic but frazzled mom in a minivan trails at a snail’s pace. If only she’d let me pass, she could have my coveted space right next to the cart return.
Ah, the cart return spot—my sanctuary. It’s the ideal place to wrestle both groceries and kids into the car without leaving them unattended while I sprint across the parking lot. I harbor this irrational fear of a clown-masked kidnapper swooping in while I dash my empty cart back. If something like that happened, how could I ever face my kids again, especially when they’re old enough to remember the time I showed them that terrifying movie, Poltergeist, for a “fun” fifth-grade class activity? Just what every girl wants: a lifelong fear of spongy red clown noses and a traumatic movie experience.
That’s how I keep my kids off milk cartons—by sticking to the cart return and avoiding any clown-related fears. But every so often, I do get to shop solo. A lone trip to the store may involve picking up goodies for the kids, but it also means I get to stroll across the parking lot without little feet getting in the way.
When I’m on my own, I’m no longer dealing with a child straying from her sister’s grasp, weaving between idling cars. The twins aren’t squabbling over who gets to push the cart, and I’m free from navigating around tiny feet that could easily get squished while I attempt to load the trunk. Most importantly, I don’t need a car cart.
Alone in the parking lot, I undergo a transformation. With the car door thudding shut behind me, I stand a little taller, lifting my less-than-perfect bosom and letting my belly relax over my waistband for the first time in what feels like forever. My shoulders roll back, and I glide forward, taking steps like a runway model instead of waddling like a penguin, which is what happens when a child tries to squeeze between my legs.
I’m a woman, a confident one at that. I carry just my purse—not the extra toddler-sized princess bags my girls tend to hand over to me seconds after we exit the vehicle.
In this moment, I’m a parking lot diva. My shirt is comfortably covering my bra, no longer at risk of being yanked down by an overly curious child. I even look chic in my sunglasses, perched perfectly on my face instead of dangling from an ear after a tussle with the kids.
When I’m the only shopper, my pants fit properly, my lip gloss isn’t snagged in the wind, and I actually have a latte in hand, free from the dreaded drive-thru detour that always leads to demands for cake pops and chocolate milk.
I am finally myself again, not just “Mom,” but a woman who’s old enough to buy wine without being carded—yippee! If it weren’t for that pesky My Little Pony sticker one of my kids stuck to my backside before I left, I would be the woman I always envisioned myself to be.
So, here’s to those rare moments of solitude in the parking lot and the small victories that remind us of who we are beyond motherhood. For more tips on navigating the complexities of parenting, check out this insightful piece on fertility resources. And if you’re considering starting a family, make sure to explore this trusted retailer for at-home insemination kits.
In summary, whether battling the chaos of kids or relishing a rare moment of solo shopping, the parking lot is a place where every mom can find a slice of her identity amidst the everyday hustle.
Leave a Reply