Daddy Fuel

Only the most clueless of my roommates, past or present, have failed to come to the rapid realization that I don't enjoy shopping. For as long as I can remember, that has been the case, and going back as far as high school, people have figured out ways to avoid going with me. It was in 11th grade when my mother began giving me a clothing allowance and telling me to go on my own. Then with my first college roommates, we kept a common refrigerator, and after our second trip to the grocery store together, I was such a pathetic malcontent that they began bribing me to stay home by bringing me lime sherbet (a perennial favorite). My reputation preceded me into my next two living arrangements, where shopping was solitary.

It was not too long after our honeymoon that my wife learned the dark lesson about me and the outlet malls. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I have tested my dear wife's patience to the limit in the last several times that we have had to stop by there. In fact it's gotten almost to the point of no return, and even though I have in the mean time realized that sporting a bad attitude and complaining does not win me any favors and that attempting to show a good face at least lessens the irritation, I can barely breathe without projecting an irritated aura of "how soon can we leave?" Let's just say that my idea of a good time doesn't involve crawling through crowded parking lots dodging shopping carts under a merciless bright hot sun. At least I've learned to suppress the complaining and show a positive attitude for the kids.

All that sets up this afternoon, where after serving with the children at church this morning, we went to lunch with our dear friend Dori, whose pool and dogs were much enjoyed by my children. When Hannah suggested a trip to Ikea afterward, I breathed, I smiled, and I even took some initiative to find out where it was and round up the kids. 'nuff said. It was hot, it was crowded, parking was hard to find, but I stopped; I breathed; I enjoyed watching my youngest play at the wooden train set and following the others on our vary meandering route the display rooms. I think I didn't lose my temper at all, not even a little. When Hannah suggested getting our trip to Costco out of the way, I stopped, I breathed, and I chose to be positive. The parking lot was crowded, the sun was merciless, we dodged shopping carts, but I had a great time pushing my two daughters through the aisles looking for this and that, squeezing the coffee bags so they could smell the fresh roasted beans through the vent hole.

So, on the way home, Hannah and I got our reward. From the back seat, completely unprompted, Eliza says "Hey everyone, three cheers for Mom and Dad for buying us the pink stool. Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip hooray!" Followed immediately by Ian, "and Mom and Dad, I forgot to say, thanks for making us such a wonderful breakfast this morning!" Makes it all worth it.