Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

When you have a house full of kids, you grab every opportunity you can to connect with the outside world, whether it be by going to school functions, attending church obligations or even going to the supermarket.

Back in the 1980's, one of the most expensive and obvious necessities of raising my young brood was the weekly event of food shopping.  We all traveled in a pack back then, my children and I, and the mini van I stuffed them all into was filled to the brim.   Always on the verge of breaking down, it had seen better days than when first purchased, our miracle “Voyager Mini Van” that would come to define a generation of mothers and families in general.

Of the five children in tow, three were in baby seats, so I really had no choice.  It was either the mini van or a mack truck; the mini van was much more fashionable.

In addition to the stroller that had its own place behind the ‘way back’ (bench seats that were in the very rear of the vehicle) there was the prerequisite plastic tub, holding dear the collection of army men, dollies and leggo figures.  You would think we were going half way around the world, when in reality it was only a ten minute drive.  Eons before the addition of tv screens in vehicles, it was up to each kid to entertain themselves as well as their sibling sitting beside them. 

Beside me on the passenger seat sat securely my own plastic tub of valuables – food coupons.   On days that items were doubled or even tripled the amount off the price, we felt like we had won the lottery.   Not only could we afford to get ice cream, we might even be able to sneak in a steak or two.

On the rare occasions when I got to make the voyage myself, I always felt like I was forgetting something.  In fact, I would feel sad the crowd hadn’t traveled with me, and so to ease my guilt I would pick up a new box of crayons and a coloring book, or a puzzle with candy to eat on the side.

Their eyes would search my face as I unloaded the car, brown paper bag after another, never saying out loud “What’d you bring me? What’d you bring me?” for they knew that was not acceptable.   They were always taught a gift was something not expected, and not to expect something just because I went out without them.    

Finally neither of us could stand it any longer, and I would reach into the last bag of suspenseful anticipation, their hopeful excitement shining brightly in their little faces.  

“Look what Mom got us!” they’d say proudly to each other, comparing the coloring books or the other small token of affection.   They would run around the house, dancing or jumping in place, warm chubby arms encircling my neck with a thank you hug.  You would have thought I had handed them the moon.

Nowadays, they have their own families to shop for, and I often wonder if they remember the feelings of innocence and joy from receiving an unexpected gift.  The act of love by merely handing something from your heart to theirs.

My days now are spent shopping when I want to, and not when I need to.  The recipients of the tokens of affection are waiting for me as I unload the car, plastic bag after another.  The bags are less in number, but only by a few.

A small caravan of canine faces greet me as I enter the kitchen, hands filled with goodies and surprises.

What’d you bring me?  Their eyes say to me, sparkling with love for the lady that feeds them most mornings and gives them their cookies at night.

Reaching into the bag, I pull out three “binkies”; stuffed dog toys that squeal when you squeeze them.

The feelings are the same.  Look what Mom got us!  They say proudly to each other, as their jaws clasp around the gift.  They parade around the kitchen, nudging each other as they go round our little house in paradise, happy to be the recipient of love, happy to be with us.

You would have thought I had handed them the moon.