Annabelle Goes to Market Basket

Every Saturday morning, I go grocery shopping. (Yes, of course this is the life I've imagined from a young age.) I almost always go by myself because I really like efficiency. A solo trip takes maybe 45 minutes. A trip with the two adorable, dawdling females in the family would take at least five hours.

But on Saturday, wanting to give Bridget a little time to herself, I volunteered to take Annabelle on her first big grocery shopping trip. 

Since we've moved to the suburbs, we've started going to Market Basket, which is just delightful. Good food, low prices, excellent customer service. The only problem is that it's really, really crowded -- especially on weekend mornings. 

This realization made me nervous as I loaded a somewhat fussy Annabelle, clutching a Curious George doll, into the car at 7:30 AM. Oh well. Off we went:

Parking lot: We pulled into the crowded lot and Annabelle immediately went into the seat in the grocery cart. This, I thought, was a good sign because Annabelle hates sitting in carts at stores. 

Aisle 1: We headed for the cheeses and yogurts, two popular items in our house. I grabbed a bag of shredded parmesan cheese. "Annabelle's!" Annabelle yelled, as she reached for the bag. I gave it to her. I grabbed some kid yogurts. "Annabelle's!" Annabelle yelled, as she reached for the container. This is going to be a long trip.

Deli: As Annabelle sucked down the blueberry yogurt, I saw a great opportunity for interaction at the deli: "Annabelle," I said. "Do you want to pick a number so we can get more cheese?" She smiled. She pulled number 9 and number 2 showed  on the screen, which gave us time for our first random conversation.

Kind woman #1: "She's so cute. How old is she?"

Me: "Oh, thanks. She's almost 2."

Kind woman #1: "Oh, and I love her Curious George doll. My daughter loves that, too. Where did you get that, sweetie?"

Annabelle: (Silence) 

Me: "We got that in Harvard Square. There's a really nice store down there ..." 

Aisle 4: With the deli, the longest part of the experience, behind us, I had high hopes we were on our way. But as we picked out some granola, I heard the dreaded sound: "Up! Up! Up!" I cringed. "Oh, you don't want to be in the seat anymore, Annabelle?" She started at me. "Up! Up! Up!" Crap. I pulled her out, carried her with one arm and steered the cart with the other. This is going to be a really long trip.

Aisle 10: As we picked up some pouches (one of which Annabelle devoured; her second "treat" of the trip), she had mercifully decided she would walk. "Just stay with Dad," I said, as I grabbed several bottles of addictive Polar seltzer water. 

Kind woman #2: "Oh, how cute. I love her hair."

Me: "Say thank you, sweetie."

Annabelle: (Silence)

Me: "Thanks. That's very nice of you. We like it, too!"

Aisle 12: We saw a huge display of Goldfish. "Fishies!" Seconds later, Annabelle was walking around with her own bag of cheddar fish, treat No. 3. Smiles followed us (mostly her) as we turned toward the busiest part of the store. 

The frozen section: In between fistfuls of fish, Annabelle started holding my hand as the cart traffic picked up. I ducked into the freezers to get some waffles and then some mini raviolis, which delighted Annabelle: "Daddy's IN there!" I grabbed some ice cream. "Daddy's INNN there!" She couldn't stop laughing, which means I couldn't laughing. 

Fruits and vegetables: Enough fun. The fruit and vegetable section is essentially a war zone in Market Basket. Determined suburban moms in workout clothes, dads with complicated grocery lists, young kids "learning how to steer," and older folks carefully finding the perfect tomato. Carts were everywhere. One hand on the cart, one hand in Annabelle's, we weaved and darted our way to nectarines, cucumbers, and crisp green peppers. 

Tired dude: "How old is she?"

Me: "Almost 2."

Tired dude: "Yeah, I have four-year-old twins, so I can't bring them grocery shopping."

Me: "Oh, god. That must be tough."

Tired dude: "Yeah. Yeah, it is ..."

With our cart full, we headed for checkout. I picked up speed as I grabbed Annabelle's hand. Then, suddenly, she pulled.

"Oh, no. I dropped my Goldfish, Dad," shouted a nice couple. I cringed and looked back. No Goldfish on the ground, so I quickly grabbed the bag, smiled at the couple, and headed toward checkout lane #8. 

I expected a mini tantrum because the cashier had to scan the Goldfish, but it never came. Annabelle even volunteered to hold my hand as we walked across the parking lot, something that has proved very challenging in recent weeks. Sure, she took off running when I put the cart back, but, all in all, it was a wildly successful trip. 

Total trip time: 70 minutes. But the extra 25 minutes were the best ones of the day. 

A Chilly Housewarming

For most of Massachusetts, January 31 was just another cold, snowy Saturday on this frigid marathon called winter. A few inches of snow in the morning. Single-digit temperatures. Reports of a potential blizzard in the days ahead. If you live anywhere in the state, you've read sentences like these thousands of time by now.

For me and Bridget, January 31 was a day we’ll remember forever. We – wait for it – moved into our first home!

Hooray! We’re officially adults now! We realized our time in the city had to come to an end, so we packed up our things, asked friends for help, and moved 12 miles north to the suburb of Reading.

Like any big day you circle on a calendar, Bridget and I talked about January 31 endlessly. Ever since we officially bought the home in October, we looked ahead to the end of January with excitement and anxiety. Won’t it be great to have more room for our stuff? Should we hire movers or ask friends and family to help? (Aside: Our friends and family are wonderful people.) What will the new neighbors be like? What if we miss the city? Does this mean we’re not cool?

And, to be clear, it’s been wonderful. There are so many great things about owning your own little piece of the Earth, many of which we’ll document in upcoming posts. But, man, did we pick the worst month of all-time to move into a new house.

In no particular order, here are the five activities that have taken up the bulk of our weekends so far:

1. Shoveling 
2. Shoveling snow off the roof 
3. Worrying about ice dams 
4. Salting the walkway and the driveway 
5. Shoveling 

Sure, we’ve done fun stuff, too. We bought a new car and some furniture, ordered our first batch of oil (actually not that much fun), and enjoyed the many pleasures of our local Market Basket. But the winter has been a cold, continuous punch in the gut.

Dramatic? An exaggeration? It has snowed every weekend and, frankly, nearly even day since we’ve moved to Reading. I’ve yet to see a blade of grass or a dry patch of pavement. Before I climbed on the roof the first time, I went to Zillow so I could see some pictures and make sure the angles weren’t too steep. And the list goes on.

Last weekend, on the one “warm” day we’ve had, a young mother walked by and we had this quick exchange:

Young Mom: “Oh, are you the new owners?”
Me (as I shoveled the walk for the 87th time): “Yup, I’m Mike. Bridget and little Annabelle are inside.”
Young Mom: “Oh, how nice. Boy, what a horrible time to move. I feel so bad every time I walk by. It’s a really nice neighborhood. You’ll see … someday.”

Everyone has struggled with the weather this winter. Commutes have been horrible. Backs and shoulders are injured. Roofs are sagging. We’re no different. But on that first 60-degree April day, when we fire up the grill and watch Belle and Oscar run around in the backyard, it’ll be hard to find a happier couple in Massachusetts.