It's hard to believe that two years ago today, I was walking home from the grocery store. Walking. I think I loaded up a backpack, and carried a few bags in my hands. It was only two blocks away, so no big deal.
Fast forward to today.
To get to the grocery store, I have to drive an hour down treacherous mountain roads with sharp switchbacks, dodging ditzy deer, suddenly sideswiping skunks. I feel like a cross between Jeff Gordon (vroom!) and Lewis & Clark. Oh, and the drive down usually includes at least one diaper stop. It's like when baby biddy gets in the car she thinks, "Hmm, I'm bored. What should I do for the next hour? Oh I know, I'll make this car stink like a pig pen in April! That always livens things up. If I'm still bored after that, maybe I'll paint the windows with milk and cheerios."
Since getting to the store is basically a voyage, we try to do it as little as possible. But when we do, we stock up. And I mean, STOCK UP. We fill that cart so full that the wheels won't turn sideways, and if someone walks in front of you there's no stopping in time. *SMASH!* We stock up like the world is ending and this might be the last food we get.
Did you know that most grocery stores (even walmart) will put little chips of dry ice in with your cold items if you request it? That's the only reason we don't leave a trail of ice cream along the road, like a drippy version of Hansel and Gretel. (Extra bonus: sometimes there's still dry ice when you get back to make Homemade Soda Pop!)
It's a good thing we're well versed in tetris, because packing up our little car with all that food is ridiculous."If the flour goes here, then there's no room for the milk, and the milk should be by the chicken so that everything stays cool, and the frozen peas have to go in the cooler, and we'll just put these cookies and chips up by me..." Has anyone ever invented a roof-mountable freezer? Cuz I'd be your first customer.
And then, loaded down like a donkey carrying a sumo wrestler, we slowly chug our way up the mountain. This time I don't feel much like Jeff Gordon, as the unburdened cars whiz past. Slowly, slowly, we make it home, exhausted, and after putting the cold stuff in the fridge and getting the baby out of her carseat, we crash on the couch like a marathon runner. We're done. We made it. Remind me to never do that again!