A Sentence Off the Old Paragraph....or something like that

Once a quarter, I entered my elementary school with a little extra bounce in my step because I knew that day was the big day....the day I waited eagerly for all fall, winter, or spring. The day my teacher handed out the Scholastic Book order forms. The only other days that could fill my heart with such glee were Library Day and Book Fair Day. My small hands would eagerly grasp the newsprint flier, where I would hug it close to my chest before poring over each choice, each possibility. I would then carefully select two or three books, whatever my parents would allow, then I would hand my order into the teacher, counting the days until my new books arrived. No, I'm not kidding.

When my daughter brought home her first Scholastic order form just days ago, memories came pouring back, and I saw my younger self in her excited eyes. "Mommy, look."

"Oh, Pumpkin, we can order books."

"I want that one, Mommy," is her reply. Oh, look at that, she already has one picked out. She points to a book with a large bus on the cover. "And that one, Mommy, Clifford."

"Let's see," I say, wanting to see how much the books cost. "You can pick out three books, okay." I mean, it is the first time for her to experience the Scholastic Book form, the latest titles at reduced rates. I love you, Scholastic people.

A studies the order form intently, excitedly calling out all the possibilities. I explain that she'll get these forms several times a year, and each time we can maybe order at least one book. She finalizes her selection, and I fill out the form and write a check. I realize this is one of those exciting parenting moments I've looked forward to sharing with my daughter: her taking a real interest in something I remember doing as a child. And her love of reading, just like her mom, will be a bond we can always share. Just wait until I tell my little bookworm about library day and the book fair. Hmmm...is C at the age now where I started reading to A?

Comments from the Checkout Gallery

After spending much of the Labor Day holiday tackling the thrilling task of cleaning out closets, I realize I have nothing planned for dinner....and it is quickly nearing 7 p.m. Travis, my sweet husband, has been keeping the kids busy playing while mom completed her closet, so I figured he would not mind if I went to the store alone. "I'm going to the grocery store," I holler into the playroom, as I grab my purse. "Mommy, I want to go." I look down to see my eldest scrambling to find her flip-flops. "Okay, sweetie," then to my husband, "I'm taking A with me."

A and I arrive at the grocery, list safely at home on the counter. I grab A free cookie from the bakery, and off we go, perusing the aisles, trying to come up with something quick for dinner. We finish our shopping, and I begin the search for the shortest check-out line.

A who has been giggling at mom's goofy antics, is still in a silly mood. A normally says one of three things when we greet passersby: "Good morning, Merry Christmas, or ARRRGH. This time she chose the latter. A suddenly lets out a loud, "ARRRGH!" at the lady in front of us. "Oh, my," is the woman's initial shocked response, but it seems the lady is just warming up. Granted, the screaming is annoying, but unless you have a bad heart, it is probably not really going to hurt you. I turn A's chin to my face, and firmly say, "Pumpkin, we don't scream at people." To which the lady responds, "Yes, apparently she does." Surely, she jests. I just continue unloading my cart without saying anything. But she doesn't stop there, no, the woman continues, "Someone really wanted some attention." I feel color creeping into my cheeks, warming them from my embarrassment and growing irritation, but I've been trying to allow God to cultivate the fruit of the Spirit in my life, namely in this situation gentleness and self-control, so I just quietly unload my groceries without saying a word.

I mean, really, what would I say? My daughter is three, if she's still doing this at 7, we'll talk. She skipped her nap and is hungry. Please tell me your not being serious. Maam, if you knew what self-doubt fills so many young parents already, would you be making me feel like I have no control over my child. Or how about, what really did you accomplish or plan to accomplish with your commentary? I just protectively stroke A's hair and softly explain to my daughter that it really bothers people for someone to yell at them, and that she should say hello instead or even, Merry Christmas. The woman leaves without saying anything else, and I finish checking out. A and I hurry out to the car, and I drive home, where I immediately call my sister for some reassurance that my daughter isn't the only child in the world that is trying to find her voice and express it, sometimes a little too loudly.