by Susan Quilty

Created on: July 03, 2009   Last Updated: May 09, 2011

When my son was a baby, grocery shopping was an event. It began with my straight-armed trek through the parking lot, my car seat carrier tipping me to the right, my left arm straining to maintain my vertical position, and my feet propelling me ever closer to the cement and glass building.

Inside, I would stow the carrier in the shopping cart basket, not trusting the manufacturer's claim that it would fit securely over the cart's child seat. This arrangement left me an abundant eight to ten inches of cart space to stack a single layer of items. Items which were sure to slide under the carrier to be fished out while I gave the cashier my embarrassed and apologetic new-mom smile.

When my son was a toddler, grocery shopping was an event. It began when I lifted him by the waist, dangled him over the cart, and attempted to guide his wiggling little sneakers through the leg holes in the child seat.

He giggled as we walked the aisles, grabbing any item in reach the moment my back was turned and tossing it into the cart. I almost always found his additions, usually when I was at the check-out. I would return them to the cashier with my embarrassed and apologetic frazzled-mom smile.

When my son was a teenager, grocery shopping was an event. It began one afternoon, when we passed one of his friends in an aisle. The boys gave each other straight-faced half-nods. Nods that turned to uncomfortable eye rolling when I stopped walking to ask after the boy's family.

"Do you have to talk to my friends?" My son wailed in the next aisle. "That was so embarrassing!"

"Oh, relax. That wasn't embarrassing."

"It was!"

"You think that was embarrassing"

We eyed each other, our smiles growing, mine bold and his wary. He began a slight amused head shake as I put one foot on the back bar of the cart. I saw his mouth drop open in surprise as I pushed off, careening down the center of the aisle. The cart wheels squealed and the colorful packages where a blur at my sides as I pushed off again to continue my ride.

I glanced back at my laughing son and felt the cart come to an abrupt stop. I stumbled to the floor and jerked my head forward to see the store manager gripping the end of the cart with two hands.

I could hear my son's feet plodding up behind us. The manager gave me a stern warning and I tried not to laugh as my son gave the manager his embarrassed and apologetic, amazed-teenager smile.

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