gazpacho after miss huffy puffy

July 13, 2017

Kansas City, Missouri

I pushed the full cart of groceries next to the checkout and the kids started emptying the cart. It was late on Thursday morning and only one register was open, but there was no line. Slowly, item by item we emptied the cart and the cashier who recognized us said hello. Behind us was a middle aged lady with a box in her arms. Her face was stern and she dramatically huffed, “Is there another line open?” Making sure to catch my eyes and let the extent of her inconvenience travel the distance. Perhaps, she’s never waited at the check-out, which would be a rather lucky scenario, but as far as I know, stores everywhere have them.

I could see that she was annoyed because my children were helping and the reality was that I couldn’t do it any faster myself. I decided to let her wallow in her misery and just keep to my task. The cashier looked at the whole of the two people in line and said, “No ma'am, not at the moment,” because he knows the line tends to bend around aisles and this was no line.

What trouble it must be to feel inconvenience so greatly at things so insignificant. It must be an exhausting way to live. I remember the day I decided to let my kids help. It was one of those days where the lines reached halfway down the aisles. There were a lovely mother with six young children, the age of my own and younger. Her arms were full, her eyes were tired, but she walked through the rows of cereal and cans and produce with ease, not making excuses or feeling bad for her young tribe. If anyone needed groceries, it was them. As they walked, her children pushed carts and retrieved three or four of everything. At the checkout, she comforted the baby, who was no longer content and the kids without protest or drama unloaded the groceries. I had one split moment where I thought it might take forever, but then I watched. Why should she do everything, while calming a fussy baby while ten little hands do nothing at all. They were a well-oiled machine, every part helped. I will never forget them.

I wonder if all the people in line were annoyed, but it doesn’t even matter, you know. Motherhood doesn’t mean leaving your children to go do things that life requires, it means rallying the troops and accomplishing the mission. We wait together, even when they don’t know the difference between 10 minutes and 100 years, they haven't even experiences the DMV. They will learn that milk should be handled gently and bread shouldn’t be squished. They will hold produce in their hands and feel the ridges of cantaloupe and hearty skin of potatoes. They will learn to not throw yogurt containers into the cart (lesson learned), because they will break open. They will take care with glass bottles, because glass bottles exist. It’s not entirely exciting or fun all the time, but you should learn how to handle it along the way.

All you mamas out there filling carts and corralling little troops, stay strong. How marvelous that we are able to buy good food to fill their bellies. How wonderful that one of the cereals they pick is basically a sugary treat. Thank God for shopping carts that hold small children and air conditioning and grocery stores that also sell wine, thanks Missouri. Sure, we may wait in line a while and the old adage that many hands makes light work neglects to mention that small children aren’t always helpful. Small children are life, living breathing life (AND WE ARE KEEPING THE ALIVE) and it’s all going to be alright, as long as we don’t turn into huffy, puffy madam inconvenience.

Later, we stopped by the vegetable market for tomatoes and the most beautiful onions. The farmer is hoping for rain tomorrow, and he told us briefly about the vegetables that grow best with high heat. He told us that cantaloupe will be in about a week or two, and the kids told him that he grew the best cantaloupe they have ever tasted. He taught us to tell when they are perfectly ripe and no one in the grocery store is going to do that. The rest of the way home, they told me what things needed water to grow. People, trees, flowers – yes. Robots, toys, video games- no.

A Regina Spektor song came on the radio as we pulled into the driveway and after all the groceries were put away, I turned on one of her albums and made gazpacho. Gazpacho, to me, is one of life’s greatest joys, because tomatoes and spices and fresh veggies. Regina, she was good company for gazpacho. I danced a little bit in the kitchen as I tasted the first few spoonfuls which are currently melding together in the fridge.

Once lunch was finished, I had the insatiable need to write, even if it was just the rambling of an ordinary day. Hemingway said to write one sentence about the truest thing you know. So, I say, life is like gazpacho, colorful, bright, a little bit wild, and a decent amount of work, but taste it, really truly taste it and you might dance alone in your kitchen.