Rear End Push

Day 164

Today’s entry isn’t about what I did but instead of what I didn’t. 

It’s got me thinking. 

My husband often comments on people’s lack of self-awareness.  Walking in downtown Chicago, someone bumps the kids and keeps going without a look back or even an insincere “sorry.”  Maybe a driver pulls into a parking spot at the mall that you’ve been idling with your blinker on waiting for it to open up.

Things like this happen all the time.  Sometimes you’re the bumper.  Sometimes you’re the bumped.     

Standing in line at Joann Fabric, I mentally list the craft projects on my current to do list and wonder what in the name of all things sacred would possess me to ask the clerk to cut me fabric.  And then I ask her to cut me fabric. 

The pull of $1.99 patterns and the idea of a snuggly spring robe to sit and sip coffee in prove too strong to resist.

Arms full of material, I walk toward the front to check out.  A young mother stands in front of me.  Her daughter sings a song I’m fairly certain she’s making up as she goes at a volume a mother of three boys appreciates.  She’s loud and proud. 

I love this.  Except if it were my own child, then I would be shhh-ing and wondering why my kid is always the loudest in the store.  But it’s not my child, so I enjoy the performance.  Rock it, girl. 

As the little girl belts out a second verse, her mom does the one-hand maneuver.  It’s been a few years since I needed to balance a newborn in one arm and fish out my wallet, rummage through to find the right card and sign a receipt with the other hand.  She manages all this without waking her infant.  She moves off, her daughter’s song reaching a pitch that wakes the baby. 

“At least he’ll only cry in the car and not the store,” she quips to me.  Oh, no.  The store’s better, I think.  Closed spaces and crying babies are bad.  It hasn’t been THAT long. 

I step forward and place my items on the counter.  I’m thinking about cutting fabric and notions and completely oblivious to the mother struggling with the heavy double door. 

Did I remember to pick up matching thread?  Do I have elastic at home in my sewing box or should I pick some up? 

“Do you need help?” It’s the clerk who calls over to the woman.  Her words shake me from my daze.  The mother’s turned backwards and pushes the heavy glass door with her rear end.  It’s an awkward but effective move.  With a last grunt, she’s on the sidewalk. 

How easy would have it been to have run over to help her?  Easy.  But I wasn’t paying attention. 

As much as I write how opportunities abound.  They don’t if you’re not paying attention. 

Lesson learned, momma.  Lesson learned.