For Love of Bread

Lately the grocery store, in all its glory, has been on my mind. Not because I enjoy fighting crowds over my cereal, or because I feel a desperate urge to satisfy my intense craving for fresh fruit. Mainly I am interested in the grocery store because it seems to have become an open forum for my family’s adventures. Yes, I am talking about the grocery store, not some fun-filled escapade like Chuck E. Cheese or Miniature Golf. It seems any given foray into such a seemingly bland store ultimately leads to one of those moments where I think to myself, This should so go on the blog! Here are two such mini-adventures from the past few weeks’ worth of grocery visits.

Story #1: I think this unfolding concept of The Grocery Store started with a recent bathroom trip for me and Ava. (As you may recall, we have a particular luck when it comes to bathrooms—BAD. See A Toddler’s Honesty in the archives if you don’t believe me.) Anyway, we were on a routine bathroom trip, again in the handicapped stall. You don’t have to tell me that I have a bad habit—I AM PERFECTLY AWARE, thank you very much. As we were preparing to exit the stall, I went first and can only thank God that Ava hung back toward the toilet. I turned to speak to her, most likely to hurry her along from running her hands over the filthy tiled walls (one of her bad habits), when our world suddenly rumbled. By rumbled I mean the entire door to the handicapped stall wrenched itself from its hinges and toppled overtop of us. Okay, it mainly toppled on me, who in a rare moment of heroism blocked the impact from my tiny daughter. Yes, this did happen. Yes, I can say with some certainty that a handicapped stall door weighs approximately the same as a small African elephant.

In a rare moment of Lori Assertiveness, I hunted down the manager and told him EXACTLY what I thought about the condition of the store’s restrooms. Ava added that it was A BIG DOOR. Unfortunately, I did not receive any free products or store coupons as a result of this incident. However, Ava did leave with a newfound fear of handicapped restroom stall doors.

Story #2: On to the next adventure. For some reason unknown to me, Erik and I have always considered shopping a family event. Even before Ava blessed our lives, we were an unstoppable shopping duo. Neither one of us seems able to properly buy groceries without the other one present. I cannot explain or defend this habit. It just is. Well, now having a two-year-old to keep entertained during our self-imposed family shopping trips, I have come up with a variety of methods to limit the screaming to a minimum. Unfortunately, Erik rarely follows these methods that Ava and I hold so dear. One such method is this: after I select an item, I hand it to Ava and allow her to toss it into the shopping cart. She LOVES this. If a certain item seems too dangerous for a toss, I simply sneak it into the cart. Problem solved.

What I failed to account for, however, was Erik’s deep love of sliced bread. I won’t even get into the fact that he refuses to eat whole grain wheat and instead stubbornly purchases white bread. I’ve learned to live with that. What bothered me on this particular shopping trip was that he had taken ten minutes to select the perfect loaf of bread. He had inspected it for minute holes that might decrease its freshness. He had checked it to be sure each slice was properly formed. He had smelled it longingly through its wrapper to assure proper flavor and taste. Then gingerly he placed said loaf into the cart.

Seconds later, a package of spaghetti noodles and a box of Easy Mac came tumbling into the cart to join this immaculate loaf of bread. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN ERIK’S FACE! His horror was palpable as he realized the routine Ava and I had been practicing for the past seven aisles. Apparently his devotion to bread had distracted him from this routine, as if we hadn’t been doing this since before Ava can remember! After a ten minute discussion/argument about our current practices, I informed him that either he sacrifice the bread to whatever items Ava might throw its way, or he would have to carry the bread in his arms.

For the next fifteen minutes, Erik not only cradled the bread in his arms, but he continually smoothed out the plastic as we walked. And I swear I heard him whispering sweet-nothings to it shortly before checkout.

Just another grocery trip for the Smith family.