I must confess that every time "Go to Costco" appears on my to-do list, I feel a little thrill of excitement. I know, I know. It can be a pain to go; finding a parking place, steering the gi-mungo carts around, picking up enough samples at the food tables to feed your hungry mass of children, not crashing into anyone, limiting your conversations with all the people you know to under two minutes so as not to lengthen the time of your trip beyond two hours. Being over by the bread (SE corner) when one or other of your offspring suddenly and urgently needs the bathroom (NW corner). Not being persuaded by the kids that we really do need a full-body massaging chair for only $99.99. (They almost got me on that one.) But I still just love to go.
Yesterday after school I took the girls with me for an unusually large trip. I mean, you always run out of t.p. and diapers and chicken at the same time, you know? What made it extra exciting was the fact that it was pouring rain. Pouring. The girls were great for the trip - Bitty, in the back of the cart, was steadily getting buried alive by groceries as she happily munched away on such exotic samples as Jell-O mousse, spinach quiche and goat-cheese ravioli. (That last one is actually slightly made up and my guess is that the only person to guess the movie reference will be The Becky.) Bundle was tucked in up front working on the same delicacies, making sure to spit most of them down her front in the process. By the time we got it all loaded on the check stand, paid for, reloaded in the cart and picked up our berry smoothies, I was feeling rather triumphant at our successful trip. As we approached the exit I could see out the doors that the rain had not let up in the slightest and we were in for a wet trip to the car. I did what I could to make my kids happy and Bundle looked so cute as a result that I actually paused to take her picture before getting her into the car:
I was a little irked after I took the picture because I looked up to see a Mercedes Benz poised and ready, blinker already flashing, to take my place. (I had procured quite an awesome spot, unlike usual.) I hadn't even put the kids in yet! Not to mention all the groceries. Seriously, if I were them, I'd get out and help. It was a t.p. day, people! The cart was totally full! But I managed to get it all in by myself, move the cart, buckle the kids and drive away before getting honked at.
And of course I brought home the best treat ever. Every Costco trip affords us one special item - that one thing that wasn't on the list or part of our daily menu in any way. Sometimes it's organic cracker-chips things. Once it was dark chocolate-covered pomegranate bites. Those were a mistake. They were so delicious that Troy and I made ourselves sick on them. This week? A large yellow box of cereal. Not just any cereal, mind you, but those awesome little mini-boxes of cereal that upon sight throw both Troy and me into the nostalgic fever. Both of us grew up in nearly sugar-cereal free homes, being offered the tasty treats only on very special occasions. And the mini boxes were just the height of happiness. As I grew up in Boulder our family would come visit the relatives in Utah about once a year, and every time we'd come, we'd stay in my grandmother's condo in Park City. And every time we were there we got two things. Mini cereal boxes and Professor Poole's pulp-free (oh the ecstasy!) orange juice. We moved to Utah when I was twelve and I was sure that those two marvels of nature were sure to become part of my daily life, but alas, it was not to be so. For Troy, the mini-boxes appeared only on the family camping trips. It was so funny to sheepishly show Troy the container of cereals and see his eyes light up as much as mine had.