All That and Then Some

ALICE - Pour Some Sugar On Me

AS IT TURNS OUT, stroller technology has advanced somewhat since I was entirely au fait with the toddler crowd. While Angel twerked up and down the hallway, I pressed levers and stepped on pedals, desperately trying to get the folded-up contraption to release itself from its cosmic pretzel and transform into something a toddler could actually sit in.

I was on the verge of tears when Vic walked in from his run.

"What the hell?" he asked, which was fair enough, given that while I'd mentioned babysitting today, I hadn't said (or been aware myself) that it would involve quite so much gear at such an early hour.

"Wa da HELL!" chimed Angel from behind me with a toddler's instinct for immediately learning words they shouldn't say.

Vic's eyes widened, only just noticing that there was a toddler as well as a folded-up stroller in the hallway. He looked at me questioningly.

"Ah," I explained. "Daddy-Buddy's having a spa day. We're just about to leave for the grocery store, but I can't seem to...." I gestured helplessly at the annoying stroller. "I've tried everything I can think of. Stupid thing won't open up."

My husband, who is good with mechanical things, removed his earbuds and took a long look at the beast. He flipped a (fairly obvious, in retrospect) lock/unlock lever on the top handle, and the whole thing unfolded itself magically before us.

"Oh."

"Mmm," he said, brushing past me a little huffily and jogging up the stairs. "I have to get ready for work."

Implied: unlike some people (meaning, I supposed, me). Interesting.

I'M STILL RUMINATING ON the exact nature of the bug that crawled up Vic's bum this morning as Angel and I roll smoothly down the cookie and crackers aisle. We've developed a happy agreement where she points at something and I obediently open it, give one to her and drop the rest into the handbasket that I have balanced on the stroller's handlebar.

"Want!" she yells, pointing at a box of Pirate Cookies.

"Remember to say please," I remind her, already reaching for the colourful box.

Angel delivers an enthusiastic "Pees!" just as another baby stroller rolls up beside us.

"You know, you should always have her clipped in. It's not safe otherwise," the woman driving the second stroller says. Her eyes dart between the shopping basket, the open cookie boxes and the peanut butter cookies I'm reaching for. "Has she been peanut tested?" asks the impertinent, unlined face of the twenty-something mother who is eager to school me in the science of feeding toddlers.

"She's not allergic," I inform her more confidently than I feel. Has Buddy ever mentioned peanuts? I remember from when my own kids were young, there was a certain age before which you weren't supposed to offer them nuts of any kind, just in case. My hand stalls in mid-air. Maybe we'll skip the Pirate Cookies. Just in case. Even though they're my favourite.

"That's a nice stroller, you have," I say, trying to deflect any further peanut conversation. "Bet it opens like a dream."

The young woman made a sort of squiggly face at me, then said, "Don't worry, my mother finds the new strollers hard to figure out too."

Then she strolled off.

"Wait — I'm not her grandmother!" I call out after her. Is she insinuating that I look old enough to have a grandchild? That's just ridiculous. And rude.

I get my compact out of my purse to check if I've somehow aged 20 years since waking up this morning. While I look for favourable lighting, I'm vaguely aware that Angel has hopped out of her stroller and is selecting something of her choosing from a lower shelf. Good! Motor skills development! Got to get out there and take what you want in this life, girl. I am teaching important life lessons!