We are at Walmart. It's 9 AM on a Sunday morning and despite the herds of July Forth purchasers there is one, say it with me, one checkout open.
The reason I have subjected myself to this outing is simple: Beach. She needs closet organizers. Really needs them. In tears in a pile of clean laundry next to a mountain of shoes beside a hill of leotards and a small knoll of stuffed animals: needs.
So, Walmart we go....and we found what we needed. Plus a swim cover-up for gym camp, 5 dollars. And sunglasses for gym camp, 5 dollars.
I am staring down at the cart at the blue running shorts I have put in, also 5 dollars when Beach rounds the corner with one more thing... one more 5 dollar thing.
All round the stores across America there are abandoned items. Pocket novels in the produce section, a pair of sensible tan sandals size 8 shoved beside the Polly Pockets. Sweet coconut smelling tanning lotion, leopard print hair clips, a t shirt with a bejeweled palm tree on the front, a bra size 36-D, all mis-shelved.
I know exactly how all these items got there. Despite appearances they were not drunkenly shot out of a t-shirt cannon in a frat prank. No, they were lovingly placed by mothers giving up what they wanted for themselves in order to give something to their children.
Not Martyrs, just mothers gladly dropping stones of love along the path home. Tangible evidence of their work. "We were here."
Now if you are in the market for new running shorts I know where you can find a screaming deal. Down the shampoo aisle, between the body soaps and the conditioners is a pair of blue running shorts, clearance price 5 dollars.
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