We go to Target a lot. Today our main purpose was to buy ‘safe’ sandals for Lane – ones where her toes are covered, to keep her feet a little safer for things like playgrounds and playdates. We left without sandals (they had a suitable style but not in Lane’s size) but we did leave with pop and a box thing for our TV remotes and a nunchuk for our Wii and some clearance baby food and other assorted things.
We’ve sort of fallen into a tradition of sorts at this Target. I’m not sure how it happened. We park really far away from the door, ostensibly so I can get a few more steps into my day. Then, on the way back to the car, Lane sits in the main compartment of the shopping cart, and as safety allows, I run. I go fast, and take turns nearly sharp enough that it feels to Lane like we might tip over (of course, it’s not really THAT fast and THAT sharp… she gets thrills when we go downhill in the car, after all). If I can get a good straightaway, I run really hard, then step up on the back of the cart and ride myself for a few yards. And it’s fun! Lane loves it, I get a kick out of it, and Jake’s even starting to enjoy it.
It’s really amazing how having kids around gives you a pass to act all goofy like that. I find I take advantage of it more and more. When you have a kid around you can do things like:
- Run for the sheer joy of it — not to burn calories or train for a race or get in shape — rather, simply, for the feel of the wind on your face and the thrill of hearing your heart beat in your ears
- Twirl around for absolutely no reason, other than because it feels funny to get dizzy
- Blow bubbles
- Touch a worm – or even better, pick a worm off the driveway after a rain and put him back on the grass, and talk to him while you do it
- Dance like a complete insane person
- Sing songs in the middle of anywhere like “I caught a little baby bumblebee…”
- Watch ants walk around and work
It’s sort of weird how you get to your teenage years, and we all go through this period of conformity (well, I guess some people don’t). You work extra hard to appear in charge, in control. It’s good training for adulthood, I suppose, a territory where you’re not supposed to ever appear TOO happy or TOO joyful or TOO elated. Kids give you such a great excuse to break those barriers, to abandon that conformist adult behavior, even if only for the length of time it takes you to get to your car at Target.