A Woman and Her Wallet

A story of what becomes of a woman when it has been too long since her last shopping excursion alone.

This week JDubbs spent four days in Chicago and my kids and I hung out from Saturday to Thursday in my mom's apartment in Civilization, Mass.  I loved getting the extra time to spend with my extended family, but I didn't love the single parent routine that quickly took its toll on me.  Of course my mom was around to help out, but she doesn't get home from work until 6 o'clock and then it's only a half an hour until baths and bedtime routines commence.  Having her around in the morning was so fun; Jax loved snuggling in her big bed while he woke up and Em showered her with smiles.  But I was pretty burnt out by the time JDubbs came home.  I needed a little time off.  ASAP.

I had to wait until today when I could go shopping by myself to get some quiet time, but there is nothing like a silent car and no one to haul around a grocery store to make a mom happy.  And to go Christmas shopping alone!  Ah, these are things that a mom of two dreams of, and I got to enjoy them all today.

Then I went a little crazy.  You know, impulse shopping is something I don't really get to indulge in anymore--we're on too tight of a budget and I don't have a lot of time when I shop.  I'm usually in, grab what I need, and out before meltdowns can occur.  Today I was blissfully alone and therefore dangerously shopaholicky.  Too much freedom and too much access to my wallet.  I know compared to Christmases past, I barely spent anything, but it was the ability to just wander around stores and consider what my friends and family might like that really made my day.  And thus, made me more apt to spend.

So when I found myself at BJ's, concientiously checking things off my list, and I stumbled upon this--

(no, that isn't Jax)

--just what we were looking for for Jax's big Christmas present, that I immediately hauled the gigantic box on top of my already full shopping cart and headed for the door.  I tugged my overflowing cart happily to my car when I stopped short.  Uh oh.  No Highlander.  Just a little compact car in the form of my Jetta.  Also known as Danger Mouse.  The trusty little green car that got me to San Diego and now putts around Vermont in its old age: the perfect retirement community for such a dependable car.  Except when I have a gigantic box full of Christmas joy that needs to be shoved in there somewhere.  Oh, along with two monstrous boxes of diapers, a jumbo case of paper towels, along with another $100 worth of groceries.  And when I opened the trunk, JDubbs's golf clubs.  Shit.

So I did what any damsel in distress would do.  I looked for a big guy with more visual/spatial/logical reasoning to help me fit the kitchen box in my car, even though I tried myself and it was quite clear there was no way it was making it in.  I thought a little male ingenuity might be all that was required, because I really didn't want to have to lug that big box back into BJ's and ask them to put it on hold or something.  Or worse yet, return it.  I had my spontaneous shopping moment and I wanted it to work, damnit.  I did not want this to be yet another example of my inept and illogical shopping amnesia.  Oh, right.  That humungous box isn't going to fit in my little car, is it?

Enter nice man and his nice family who helped me determine that no, the box would not fit in my car, but that didn't mean the kitchen couldn't.  There was a way, and that way was simple.  Take the kitchen out of the box, throw the box away, and never be able to return this impulse purchase if I decide I want to.  No going back now.  My pride and I had certainly come too far. I tore into the box and loaded the kitchen set, in its many many parts, into my car and hoped I wouldn't lose any.  I probably did.

Here's how I looked to my mother-in-law when I rolled up to her house to deposit said kitchen set in her basement until Christmas time:

No, I couldn't see out any of my windows on the ride home and yes, I probably could have killed myself and half the state of Vermont, but I made it work and the kitchen and all its accoutrements (minus the box) are now safe and sound until Santa's little elves come to assemble it on Christmas Eve.  Jax has his big present, and I have my pride, intact.

So ends the story of a woman who too seldomly gets to shop.

(Featured: Step2 LifeStyle Custom Kitchen)