Holiday Shopping

There are many, many reasons why I try not to shop in stores over the holiday season. I hate crowds, hate standing in lines, hate the parking lot wars. I'm also very susceptible to merchandising and marketing ploys, so I suddenly believe I need yet another gift for someone. Ever since we swore off credit of any kind, I've been able to control this temptation a bit better.

Another thing that has helped has been stopping the flood of catalogues that rush to our door every day. I signed up with Green Dimes (http://www.greendimes.com/) and now have many days when there is only one thing in my mailbox. It's helped lighten our recycling bins considerably, but it's also helped me to curtail my consumerism. I can't want something that I don't know exists.

This year I have another reason not to shop in brick and mortar stores. My children. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, I went to Kohl's with my girl. She loves to shop. I needed a table cloth to match an existing table cloth for our Thanksgiving dinner's extended table. They had one on sale. There is always a sale at Kohl's. The store near us is huge. Huge on Costco proportions, but jam packed with stuff. It's like a WalMart with carpeting. Racks and racks of stuff, the aisles crowded with lane blockers and displays beckoning us to buy things not on our list.

We found the table cloth easily, discussed the merits of matching or coordinating napkins and selected the coordinating ones. (Matching ones get camouflaged in the table cloth, according to my daughter.) After that we took a quick look to see if they had a pudding basin and then were heading out. But my attention was diverted by picture frames on sale and beckoning, so we took a detour into that section.

And then she was gone. One minute we were chatting about presents for Daddy for Christmas and the next minute she was simply gone. I wasn't worried at first, just left the frames and went to the Christmas ornaments she had been admiring. Not there. I went back to the table cloths and the non-existent pudding basin. Not there. I have a pretty good bellow that I use to call the kids in at night, so I used that. Nothing. Louder. Nothing. Louder and more desperate. Nothing.

I stopped a passing worker, who informed me that she had to be in shoes. I said I had lost my child and she continued on to shoes. A shopper told me to go to customer service, which was thankfully nearby. I did and they paged a Code something for lost kids. Panic had now completely set in to me. Maybe 5 or 10 minutes had passed. Even in a huge store like this one, that is long enough for someone to convince her to go out into the parking lot with him. What were my last words to this precious girl? What if I never see her again? What do I do next? By the time it took for the 7 foot tall store employee who's job it is to find lost kids came sauntering up, my mind had made the fliers, called the police and media outlets, garnered the support and action of my entire community of friends to find my child.

The slow walking giant asked me what she was wearing, I told him not only that, but what she had for breakfast. I told him exactly what she looks like, what was in the shopping cart she was pushing and what her voice sounds like. I told him she's eight years old, but short like a younger child. I just jabbered on an on while we were looking, telling him about combing her long hair, the birthmark on her belly, her love of everything animals. After what seemed like an eternity and was probably only two minutes, he found her. She was swallowed between round racks and wall racks of women's clothing. She couldn't see over the top and got lost in the maze of the floor configuration that forces a shopper to look at ever single item on display.

My little Missy was mad. And crying. But mostly mad. First she was mad because I had lost her and then she was mad that she couldn't figure out where the registers were because she couldn't see anything but clothes and couldn't figure out how to get out of her maze. And then she was mad because I was hugging and kissing her and telling her how sorry I was for losing her. I think she was more embarrassed than mad at that point, although we had a private spot there between the racks packed so close that a body has trouble getting through.

I vowed then and there to stay out of all stores except for necessities until January. And not to take the kids. My guard with the older two was down now that they are older, I need to work on that. We walked to the checkout together and I bought her some fuzzy socks from an end cap display at the checkout, thereby proving my point all over again about store shopping.