It started poorly, with Steve having to get up early to pick up a cat from the vet. "Sam's up," he told me, while I blinked at him from bed. "But he's watching cartoons. He's ok."
I was so tired, my face hurt. I stayed in bed 20 minutes longer until sister poked and guilted me awake. She loves waking up next to me and is content to smack and bang me even if I don't open my eyes. She's ready with a smile whenever I do.
I brought sister downstairs and ground beans to make coffee - surely the only way I going to survive. Then I turned the grinder upside down to send the fresh grinds into the measuring cup. The cup and the coffee grinds dropped to the floor instead, spreading fragrant darkness on the tile with a rippling effect. The cup also cracked beyond repair.
There was just a bit left in the cup where it lay on the floor, and I not too proudly scooped up some of the coffee from any pile more than four coffee grounds high to brew enough for two cups of coffee. Then I determined we'd go to Trader Joe's today to buy more coffee (and grind it there, due to obvious necessity).
We made it to TJ's a few hours later. I put sister in her car seat in the bottom of the shopping cart, filling the entire basket. With no room for Sam in the cart, he climbed on and off the front - standing on the lower shelf beneath the basket - as we strolled through the store. I stacked groceries on sister. Yogurt. Soup. Crackers. Greeting cards. When we got to the coffee aisle, I instructed Sam to stand behind me by the cart. He fidgeted and wiggled and I turned my back to grind the coffee. After pouring my beans in and pressing start, I heard a terrible crash. I spun around.
My eyes could not comprehend what I saw. There was my son, trapped under the red shopping cart. The cart was laying on its side, my baby still in it. Contents had fallen out. A shriek began escaping from my son's mouth. I screamed. Before I could figure out that it was time to let go of the coffee canister, a crew of Trader Joe's employees surrounded us.
They righted my shopping cart, lifting it off Sam. I picked up the wailing boy and one of them checked on sister, who had not batted an eye. Another picked up my cracked yogurt container and said "I'm going to need a new yogurt." He disappeared. A third woman said "Can I get you anything? Can I bring him some suckers?" She returned with two suckers - "One for each hand," she said. By this point, I'd moved past shock into tears. A fourth TJ's employee brought a bottle of cold water for the still-sobbing Sam and returned again with a soft cloth to dry my tears. The lady who'd checked on sister gave me a hug. Water boy offered to finish the shopping for me - as if I could even remember what I was there for in the first place.
Then I remembered. Coffee. I looked at the grinder, which was still grinding away. A pile of freshly ground coffee peaked in a mountain over my coffee can, spilling each way. I noticed the off button. Right under the start button. Whatever.
Wishing we were invisible, we limped around the store a bit longer, until our tears were dried and we'd bought enough self-indulgent treats to feel a bit better. We won't go back for as long as possible. The Trader Joe's crew was so gentle with us - perhaps that is what made it so hard to stop crying. We are humbled, thankful, and touched. And we are spooked. And we will never allow our young ones to ride on the front of the cart again.
Maybe our best grocery shopping is done online.
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