Just when I think I’m through the woods, it never fails—we always forget something on the list. But who wants to go back and get it? Not me. I’ve had my fill. Never mind that it’s usually something we really need, like chocolate chips for the cookies I promised the kids we would make when we get home. It’s just not worth another trip through the store. I’ve thought about asking one of the strangers around me to watch my kids for a few minutes and hold my place in line, but I’ve never gotten up the nerve. Most of the customers around me want to get rid of me by now, and I certainly don’t blame them. Plus, I can always send Doug back to the store for the chips.
The other problem with the grocery store? I always run into clients. I’m usually wearing an old pair of jeans or a sweat suit, and I’m lucky if I’ve combed my hair, and, no, I haven’t showered. At first, my clients don’t recognize me in my mommy cape. They’ve never seen me without high heels and lipstick. I politely say hello and offer my hand for a firm handshake. They stare at me, and then at my children. Then it dawns on them, Lady Lawyer was pregnant all those years. I guess that means she has children of her own. We usually have a good laugh as I introduce them to Weekend Mommy and make small talk as I chase Abby who is headed back to the soup aisle. I know they are thinking I can’t control my own children. They’re also looking at all the junk in my cart and thinking I must be a terrible mother. I’m careful to point out that most of the junk is actually for Doug. Sure, I’ve given in on the Fruit Loops and Cookie Crisp, but there’s lots of produce and vegetables buried under the sugar cereal and chips.
I’ve heard that Internet grocery shopping is quite the rage. I can see the benefits. No screaming kids. No heavy carts. No rushing around on Saturday morning. No surprise purchases. No colored marshmallows or Cookie Crisp. No running into clients that I don’t want to see on the weekend. It seems like a no-brainer; I should just do it all online.
Unfortunately, I can’t give up the grocery store. I can’t explain it. It all stems from my unwillingness to delegate. Besides, online shopping involves the computer. By Saturday morning, I’m tired of sitting in front of a computer, and I’m tired of my kids seeing me sit in front of a computer. Part of me thinks it’s good for the kids to join me in the simple task of buying food for the family. Even if it takes us twice as long and I spend twice as much money; it’s teamwork.
Adventures at Macy’s
Shopping for clothes is another story. As much as I’ve tried, the kids and I can’t achieve teamwork in the department store. When Anna was two, she was running around Macy’s while Doug and I were foolish enough to think we could shop. Anna, like most kids, was intrigued by the escalator. I probably should have stopped her, but before I could she managed to figure out how to press the stop button on the escalator and completely terrified some elderly woman who almost wiped out in midstream. Luckily, no one was hurt. We got kicked out of Macy’s before we even got a chance to use our coupons, and it took me awhile to get up the nerve to go back. Without Anna.
I still take my kids to department stores, although I’m much more careful around escalators. After the incident with Anna at Macy’s, the manager put a warning sign and safety guard on the stop button. It was long overdue. I like to think that Anna actually saved a few lives in the process. And I usually don’t take all three of them to the department store at once. Nick really hates to shop for clothes and will wear whatever I buy him, so he usually stays home. Not so with Anna. I’ve tried to buy her clothes without her. She won’t wear them. She has her own style and makes her own fashion choices. Besides, now that she’s getting a little older, she has fun shopping with Devoted Mommy. And they don’t even recognize her any more at Macy’s as the girl who stopped the escalator.
Abby, of course, always wants to tag along with her big sister, so we spend most of our time chasing Abby through the aisles and trying to find her when she hides inside the clothing racks. Department stores are a child’s paradise for hide-and-seek. I’ve come close, but I haven’t lost a child yet. Abby hasn’t had any incidents with escalators, although she got on an elevator once alone. The door shut before we could stop her, and she ended up in the lingerie department two floors above us. Fortunately, the ladies in lingerie quickly realized Abby was out of place and tracked us down. We didn’t even get kicked out of the store. I ended up buying some much-needed bras, and everyone was happy.
But Abby has developed a nasty shoplifting habit, especially with jewelry, and we often have to make unexpected returns. She probably wouldn’t shoplift in department stores if I just exerted more control over her in the grocery store. It’s all my fault. I should have nipped the soup and raw almonds in the bud. Now, she’s moved on to bigger-ticket items. She’s too young for me to explain the consequences of prison, so Anna and I have to go back and apologize to the cashier and return the jewelry. It’s embarrassing, even for Anna.
When it comes to clothes, I used to be the shopping queen. These days, I rarely have the time or the energy to shop for myself. Especially the way I like to shop. It’s all about the hunt. I’m never too proud to admit that Lady Lawyer finds her best deals at the outlets and the clearance rack. I learned that from my mother. Why pay full price for anything when it will go on sale next week? Unfortunately the hunt takes time, something I don’t have to spare. “Sorry, Nick, I can’t come to your baseball game this morning because I need to shop the twelve-hour sale, and early bird deals end at noon.”
Encouraging Amy shares my passion for bargain shopping and understands my crazy schedule. So she will call me from Vegas when she spots a high-fashion item on the clearance rack. She has the finest taste in the family, and she’s learned to shop in style on a pastor’s salary. When she calls, I know it must be good, and I write her a check without reservation. Doug is always suspicious and wonders why my sister has to find me clothes across the country, but even he can’t argue with her taste. I always get compliments when Encouraging Amy picks out my clothes. Someone will comment, “Wow, I love that unique red suit. Where did you find it?” At this point, I should just smile politely and accept a compliment. But I can’t. Instead, I have to tell the whole story—how my sister who lives on a pastor’s salary is the best personal shopper around, and she finds bargain basement deals at the outlets in Vegas.
“This suit was regularly listed at $800, but Amy found it on clearance for $59.99 at the Rack.” Fellow bargain shoppers appreciate the story.
But others just give me a blank stare, as if to say, “Sorry I asked. You must be really cheap to make your sister shop for you from Vegas. Can’t you just shop at the local department store like the rest of us?”
I’ve tried to shop for myself with the kids. It’s just too hard. Nick complains the whole time. Anna just keeps bugging me to go to the girls’ department. Abby keeps pulling things off the racks and throws a fit when I don’t let her try them on. So I squeeze shopping in when I’m by myself. And I’m known to go without meals on business trips just to have time for the outlets. I can eat at home.
Christmas
Just when I think I have shopping under control, Christmas rolls around the corner. Why can’t I just focus on preparing for the birth of Jesus? Every year, I tell myself, It will be different next year. Instead I continue to subject myself to a new level of insanity. When you add up immediate family, grandparents, friends, two large extended families of nieces and nephews, teachers, Sunday school helpers, and favorite babysitters, I’m buying Christmas presents for about fifty people. It’s unthinkable.
My kids see me running around in circles wrapping presents and making lists, and I have to wonder what kind of message I am sending them. That the greatest event in history is celebrated by buying your friends and family lots of stuff they don’t need? That more is better? Or that Devoted Mommy doesn’t have time to play for the next two months because she’s in charge of Christmas? Buying stuff takes lots of time, not to mention lots of mental energ
y and focus.
Christmas is the absolute test of my shopping skills, developed only after years of hard training and practice. My favorite time to Christmas shop is between 9:00 p.m. and midnight. The stores are empty, and Nick loves to tag along. First, we have to put the girls to bed and make sure they are really sleeping. Then we make our list and map out where we need to go first. We sneak out quietly and make a quick stop for coffee. Nick orders a hot chocolate, and I get the usual with a shot of caramel. I’m sick of low carbs, and I really need some sugar to go with the caffeine.
Shopping late with Nick gives us some much-needed time alone to bond. Most weekends, Doug and Nick are inseparable, and I take the girls. Nick and I both miss hanging out, and shopping provides a good excuse. Especially since everyone else is sleeping. Nick always wants to buy Doug something special, which leads us to the dreaded hardware store. I hate shopping for tools. Being around hardware makes me feel like I’m in a foreign country—or worse, completely ill. Last Christmas, Nick was dead set on buying Doug a snow blower. I was thinking about something more inexpensive and practical—like gloves, slippers, or some new underwear. Nick never looks at the price tag and his heart was set, so I broke down and bought the snow blower.
We could barely carry it into the house. We tiptoed inside at 11:00 p.m. and tried to sneak it into the office, quickly wrapping the outside of the box. Doug heard us carrying it in, saw the large, heavy box, and assumed it was a new mower—something he really wanted and needed since the old one died. I didn’t have the heart to tell Doug he wasn’t going to get his mower for Christmas. At least the snow blower was a complete surprise, and Nick was thrilled. Unfortunately it didn’t snow all winter. Nick waited and waited. We’d get an inch or two, and it would melt by morning. By February, Doug finally gave up and returned the snow blower for a new mower. Nick helped pick out the new mower, and everyone was happy. The next week, we got two feet of snow.
For weeks after Christmas, our house is completely cluttered with stuff. The kids have boxes and boxes of presents, and it’s literally shameful. Usually we have a few duplicates—an extra set of Legos, a game we already have in the closet, or two of the same craft project. Do we donate the extra items to children in need? Not exactly. Instead, Nick is usually asking to go shopping again, to exchange all of our extra gifts for more. I try to explain to him that it’s wrong to covet, and that you can’t take all your stuff with you when you die, just your soul. He still doesn’t seem to get it.
More Shoes
I can talk all I want, but I’m not exactly the most compelling role model. Talk is cheap. I need to start simplifying. And soon. Just look at my shoe collection.
The other day I was headed to work, and I couldn’t find a suitable pair of shoes. I’m sure it’s a sin to own as many shoes as I do, so I’ve stopped counting. But this particular morning, I couldn’t find a single pair to match my outfit. Where were all my shoes? About twenty pairs were missing.
The culprits? Anna and Abby, of course. They had taken my high heels to the playroom to open their own shoe store.
Most kids are having tea parties, playing house, or make-believe shopping at the grocery store. Not my girls. They’ve set up their own shoe department. For the price of my lunch, I could buy a pair of my own shoes and wear them to work. Not just any pair. If I wanted a pair that matched my outfit, it would cost more. Anna was in full sales mode, trying to show me how each pair was just my size. And Abby kept trying to convince me to wear the leopard-skin shoes with my pink suit, even though I already had a perfect pink pair of shoes to match my outfit. She was already wearing the pink shoes and wanted to keep them at home, to go with her princess dress. I finally prevailed with some good old-fashioned bribery. A time-out just didn’t seem to fit the mood. “If you give Mommy the pink shoes, you can wear one of Anna’s blue princess dresses and put on matching blue shoes.” Anna gave me a frown, but Abby quickly complied, and I could finally get dressed for work.
The shoe store was more than a wake-up call. Nick was already obsessed with having more stuff, Anna would soon follow right behind, and Abby was the only two-year-old I knew with a shoe addiction. If I didn’t intervene quickly, my kids would drown in a sea of materialism, maybe forever. Devoted Mommy decided that we should immediately start shopping for needy children.
We set out for the toy store, and the kids each got to pick out their own presents for a child of the same sex and similar age. It’s a start, but it’s not as if we even put a dent in world poverty. Of course we want to do so much more for the needy, but it’s easier said than done when I work all week, live in the most homogenous suburb around, and go out of my way to constantly put my kids in a “safe” environment. When they get a little older, we can go to the soup kitchen or adopt a needy family.
I know I should be doing more to cultivate a spirit of gratitude and service, but right now, I have too many excuses. I simply don’t have the time. It’s too dangerous to take my kids to that side of town. I’m afraid that Abby would make a mess in the soup kitchen or, worse yet, steal the soup. My own family has enough needs right now. We can always just give money. I would just be a Band-Aid to problems that are bigger than I can tackle. It’s not like I can make a real commitment. I don’t want to be one of those people who says she is going to effect change and then do nothing. Isn’t it better not to get involved at all? Maybe when I retire and the kids move out, then I can really focus on helping all those needy families. I’m feeling pretty needy myself these days.
Like most things in life, if I waited for the perfect timing, I would stand by and do nothing. Sure, like most working mothers, I’m pretty overwhelmed, but if I used this excuse every time I saw a need outside of my own family, I would become completely and totally self-absorbed. Even more troubling? My children would become completely self-absorbed. So I have a responsibility not to be satisfied with the status quo and teach them to invest their treasures in things that won’t rot, decay, or be destroyed. While I regularly fall far short of this command and probably shop more than I should, I fully intend to keep pressing forward.
In today’s culture, it’s hard to teach my kids that our lives are about more than our material possessions. After all, having more stuff is cool, isn’t it? So we read the story of the rich fool who had such a good crop that he tore down his barns, built bigger barns, and thought he was set for life. The only problem? God said to him, “You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?”1 Pastor Eric explained that the big barns were not the problem—the problem was the rich fool’s heart. In addition to the rich fool being completely selfish and not using his possessions for anyone other than himself, he was placing his security in things that were temporal—things he could never take with him. In simple terms, it was a bad investment.
So while “more stuff” can make us happy for a season, I try to explain to my kids that we really need to invest in things that will last, like other people. And the more I focus on the needs of others and teach my children to do the same, the less we shop and the more we realize just how much we really have.
NINE
Generations of Superwomen
Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work.… Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
Ecclesiastes 4:9, 12
There is a generation of women that I really want my children to know. Many of these women are first-generation Americans. They are tested and strong. They have lost children and hold their heads high in public, even though they may sob in their beds at night. Many of them don’t talk about their faith; they just model it. They live modestly, never had their “own” income, and work hard running their homes. They don’t complain, because they know life isn’t easy. They never expected it to be easy. Unlike my generation, they never thought they
could have it all. They never got pedicures or went out for girls’ night or expected anything other than hard work and the reward of children and grandchildren who would bless them for years to come. On the outside, these women sometimes appear hard and calloused. (Who could blame them?) But on the inside, they are warm, loving, and generous.
Most of us know a woman who fits this mold—a grandmother, an aunt, or even a neighbor. I was recently talking to one of my colleagues, George the Greek, about this lost generation of women who are sorely missed by their children and grandchildren. Every family has a matriarch. For George, his Yaya (grandmother) was the glue that held the family together. We both agreed that watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding was a bonding experience for those of us who grew up around ethnic families. George had fond memories of his Greek Orthodox Easter—roasting a whole lamb with the eyes still in it, in his front yard. His neighbors would drive by and stare, and he would feel sorry for them and think, They must not have nice families.
Yaya would shake her head and say, “These people will never know what they are missing. Just make sure you marry a girl who is Greek.”
Chasing Superwoman Page 9
