Lost at Winn Dixie

I stopped by the grocery store this morning after dropping the kids off at school. I went to Winn Dixie, to be more accurate, which almost never happens. Its expensive and I always get lost there. Yes, I'm one of those people who shop at Walmart, which is not to be confused with being one of the infamous "people of Walmart." This morning however, I had to dodge it due to rolling out of bed at the last possible minute. You see, I trash talk with the produce guys at Walmart, and although I'm not a girly girl, I still have my pride. They spotted me in my ratty, old Jeff Samardzija jersey one day early after moving here. We have been jawing about college football ever since. This morning, this disheveled woman decided to punt and go elsewhere, improving the odds of not seeing anyone I knew.

So, not knowing my way around a Winn Dixie, I inadvertently found myself on the baby aisle. Its funny how you go through seasons in life. There have been no babies in my periphery for several years now and then suddenly they are everywhere. Its a different blend, to be sure. My contemporaries have moved beyond the child bearing years. Its either early grandparenthood or the much younger fellow nursing students I went to school with a couple of years back. In any case, my facebook page has been filled with updates, announcements, pictures of growing bellies and baby toes. The flower girl in our wedding and the babysitter around the corner both have two a piece. Now that will make you take another look at those fine lines in the mirror.

I wasn't one of those women who instinctively knew how many children I wanted or when I was done having them. I have closure issues and the finality of declaring that chapter complete was just too sad for me. I simply avoided it and let time elapse. I am forty-three, love my sleep, can't find my phone or car keys most days, and that is how I know I am done with that phase.

Still, when in Rome...   I walked over to the bright green box of Pampers wet wipes, looked both ways, no one in sight, and took a big whiff. As a young mother, I was an odd one. I would buy cheap diapers, but not cheap wet wipes. This was my logic: as soon as a diaper serves its purpose, its destiny is to be removed and thrown away as quickly as possible. To buy good diapers was to suggest that you were fine with letting your child sit in their mess at the mercy of super absorbency. Gross. I didn't go full cheapskate though. I opted for Luv's diapers; reliable but no leather seats or Sirius radio.

Now wet wipes, that was another horse altogether. That piece of material literally was all that came between my hand and the "matter at hand." It was a worthy investment. It had to be thick enough, wet enough but not too wet, flexibly strong like a Bounty paper towel and have a pleasant odor. Remember the times you caught a whiff of your child and realized you were down to one wet wipe? It had better be a Pampers if you wanted that job done right.

We also took to using the fine, sturdy, empty boxes for our most guarded treasures. They worked nicely for things like savings bonds, birth certificates, social security cards and other important documents. It was a well known protocol for years in our house, if there's a fire, grab all of the pampers wet wipe boxes on top of the fridge and run for your life. They also make useful storage for photos, errant crayons and colored pencils, and recipe boxes. If I was a betting woman, I'd say there are probably a couple of them still tucked away in a closet somewhere, though we did finally break down and purchase a file cabinet.

The power of smell never ceases to amaze me. If time travel is possible I am convinced it will come through the vehicle of olfactory perception.  Suddenly, I am transported back to a living room on the east side of Indianapolis. I am unsure of the year because all three of my children who are actually 14, 14 and 10 and nearly five years apart are there, and simultaneously around 18 months old. Barney is talk-singing on the t.v. in the background. There are hard, plastic toys in primary colors strewn everywhere that bang loudly when dropped on the pergo floor. Luke is pushing the school bus that sings incessantly, "the wheels on the bus go round and round." Sean is trying to climb up on the rocking horse without assistance for the umpteenth time this morning. Nolin is in the high chair, fat cheeks spread in a full, toothy grin; drooling and both arms smearing sliced bananas back and forth on his tray table like windshield wipers.

The air permeates with the scent of Pampers wet wipes because I have used them on everything here. The table, the highchair, the rocking horse, the school bus, my babies and me. I look so busy wiping everything down. Busy and completely clueless as to how very much I'm going to miss all of this.

On January 7th my Irish are playing in the big dance so I'm sure I will find excuses to make plenty of trips to Walmart where I can gloat, wager and hash it out with the produce boys. But every now and then, I might just need to stop and get lost at Winn Dixie, so I can see my three favorite boys.