Pushing the Cart

When I went to pick my seven year-old up from school today, I passed another mother laboriously pushing three kids in a shopping cart. The children were wrapped in blankets because it’s a pretty cold and cloudy day here in Los Angeles. But they were still full of giggles and laughter, like they were having fun riding around.

And really, what kids don’t have fun riding in a shopping cart?

However, their mother looked like she wasn’t having so much fun. She looked exhausted, like she could keel over right then and there. She looked like the forthcoming tax rebate check might only put a small dent in her stress level.

I’m a pretty fast walker, even carrying a four-year-old around on my shoulders. And before I knew it, I was almost to the school and she was several blocks behind me. I wondered for a moment how she pushes all those kids up the hills in this neighborhood. I know I can’t push my two sons up our hill if they’re both riding in a stroller, so I can’t even imagine three kids in a shopping cart.

I left these thoughts behind as I popped into the school, got my son, stopped by the library, and said hi to the librarian. Ten minutes later, I walked outside and saw the mother and the cart full of kids slowly walking away from the school.

A young boy bounded along next to her. He was probably a third or fourth grader. Certainly old enough to be embarrassed by the sight of his mother pushing kids in a shopping cart.

Instead though, he was clearly trying to take over cart pushing duties for her. She relinquished her grip on the cart for a moment but he wasn’t quite strong enough to push a cart full of kids for too long. She gently scolded him in Spanish and motioned him to scoot over.

They began pushing the cart together and she leaned over and gently kissed his brow.

As I watched the pair pushing the boisterous trio of children in the cart, my own sons decided to engage in an impromptu footrace. They began running at breakneck speed toward a tree up the street. I quickened my pace to catch them, passing the mother and her family as I lengthened my stride. I said hello and gave her a quick smile, which she politely returned.

When I finally caught up to my kids, instead of hearing bragging about who’d won the footrace, my four year-old blurted out, “How come we don’t get to ride in a shopping cart?”

My eldest concurred, “Yeah, you need to get us a cool shopping cart too.”

“You don’t really want to ride in a shopping cart,” I told them.

“We do!” they insisted and then began chanting, “Get us a shopping cart! Get us a shopping cart!”

“If you loved us, you’d push us in a shopping cart too.”

And that is true. Love is without complaint pushing your kids in a shopping cart. And love is a young son trying to help his mother.

One of these days my sons will understand that mothers only push their kids in shopping carts when they don’t have the money to afford fancy double strollers. And when they do, I wonder if they’ll remember this day.