The Evolution of Grocery Shopping

I know lots of people dread the grocery shopping chore, but in our house, it's always been our "thing."

We've been doing it as a family since my wife and I were first dating. The Sunday morning tradition always began with a perusal of new recipes in new cookbooks to create an extensive shopping list, and it continued at the store with a cup of coffee and a leisurely stroll through produce.

It used to be other shoppers that made my blood boil. The soup aisle is notorious for folks parking three cars wide to search for the impossible-to-find Progresso Light Minestrone.

But then Will was born. Our routine changed slightly in a few ways. (And I found other things that made my blood pressure sky rocket.)

Our sunday mornings started a little earlier, since Will's alarm clock went off at 5:30 every day of the week. It was fairly easy to put him in his pumpkin seat and cruise the empty store that early in the morning (Starbucks red eye coffee in hand), despite the fish counter grumbling at us (we think their latest "Fish Market Hours 9 a.m.-9 p.m. Daily" sign is a direct result of our early morning salmon orders).

But then Will graduated to the car cart. Its issues don't need to be explained.

And then Reid came along.

Suddenly, what was once pleasant grocery shopping is more frustrating than ever. I'll take slow pokes mulling diet soup choices any day over the amount of whining I have to endure in the middle of a grocery store.

Let's start with that formerly extensive grocery list full of new recipes from cookbooks. Those cookbooks are still in boxes in our basement from last summer's move, and we have a weekly rotation of tacos, pasta, and soup. We don't even need a list.

The boys argue over who gets to sit in the car cart (since now they both don't fit together). There are little sneaky hands who find--and often unwrap--candy in the checkout that we then have to purchase. I have eaten so many sleeves of Rolos as a result of this. (But I feel it's my duty, after all, to go ahead and consume them. I'd hate to see them go to waste.)

Back in the day when they both fit in here. Barely.

And the free cookies. Every time I see a bakery lady standing next to an empty customer cookie dome, I want to ask her what on earth she thinks she's doing. I mean, it's EMPTY. You think free asparagus spears in produce is going to appease these kids?

And the balloons. If they don't pop before we leave the store, then they get sucked out of the moonroof of the car, or popped as soon as we get home. (But I do thank the fine people at Kroger for providing me with an unending supply of chip clips which they use as balloon weights.)

There have been at least two occasions in which we have abandoned a full cart mid-aisle, because we couldn't beat the clock against toddler meltdowns. Or lunchtime.

(Had they just restocked the cookie container, we may have made it...)

But this Sunday event, it's our tradition.

There will come a time when the boys will both be snoozing past noon and will miss the trip. Or a day when a baseball game conflicts and one parent will be making that trip solo (and if it's my wife, then she will feel like she is on vacation).

But if it's me, I will miss this current routine, car cart arguments and all.

It's what we do.

The day when I can stroll and sip a hot coffee will mean that my family isn't with me, and no matter my frustrations in what the present grocery trip is like, the thought of the future trips makes me, well, nostalgic already.

-Greg

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