Thursday, March 24, 2016

"This Little Poppie Went to Market"

By Jerry Zezima
The Stamford Advocate
In nearly 38 years of marriage, I have found that food shopping is a matter of putting the cart before the horse’s behind. This explains why I am the designated driver whenever I go to the supermarket with my wife, Sue.

It also explains why I had the same job recently when I stopped and shopped at Stop & Shop with my granddaughter, Chloe.

The difference is that Chloe likes to go food shopping with me, whereas Sue would rather leave me home or, if I must accompany her, ditch me at the deli counter because, as she has always known, I am full of baloney.

On our most recent visit to Best Yet (we refuse to shop at Worst Yet), Sue asked if I wanted bananas.

“Yes,” I replied. “And do you know why?”

“Why?” Sue wondered warily.

“Because,” I announced triumphantly, “they have appeal.”

Sue sighed and said, “I don’t know why I take you shopping.”

Still, the supermarket is the only place where she doesn’t want me to get lost. If I wander off with the cart, or linger in the beer aisle, or get into a traffic jam in the frozen food section, which creates so much tension among shoppers that I am surprised there hasn’t been a push-by shooting, Sue will come looking for me and exclaim, “There you are!” when she finally finds me.

I am not much help at the checkout, either. I’ll just stand there while Sue pays for the groceries, which she also bags because she is afraid I’ll drop a watermelon on the eggs.

Things went much more smoothly when I went food shopping with Chloe, who’s almost 3. According to her daddy, Guillaume, who accompanied us, Chloe is obsessed with Stop & Shop.

She also likes other stores, including Costco, which she always spells out, saying, “C-o-s-t-c-o, Costco!”

Recently, we took her to Dunkin’ Donuts, another favorite. As we were leaving, she found a piece of paper in the backseat of the car.

“Look, Poppie!” she said to me. “A receipt from Costco!”

Then she spelled it out.

But for Chloe, Stop & Shop is the place to be. That was amply evident when Guillaume pulled into the parking lot on a brisk Saturday afternoon.

“Stop & Shop!” Chloe exclaimed, spying the supermarket sign from her carseat.

After we got out of the car, Guillaume put her in the child seat of the shopping cart, which I got to drive.

“We’re going to Stop & Shop, Poppie!” Chloe informed me.

“Yes, I know, Honey,” I responded cheerily. “We’ll have fun.”

Did we ever. As I maneuvered the cart through the fruit and vegetable section,  Chloe picked up a packet of strawberries.

“Strawberries, Poppie!” she said. “They’re red!”

Then she turned around and dropped them into the cart.

“We really don’t want strawberries,” said Guillaume.

That made no difference to Chloe, who picked up a packet of blueberries.

“They’re blue!” she said as she dropped them into the cart, too.

I steered the cart through the next aisle.

“Bananas!” said Chloe. “They’re yellow!”

I pointed to the apples and said, “What are they, Chloe?”

“Apples!” she squealed. “They’re green!”

“And how about these?” I asked.

“They’re red!”

It went on this way for the next 45 minutes. When we got to the checkout, Chloe said, “Number 5, Poppie!”

We were, indeed, at checkout number 5.

Guillaume bagged a few groceries, including a pineapple but minus the strawberries and blueberries, which he put back when Chloe wasn’t looking.

As we rolled back out to the parking lot, Chloe said, “Bye-bye, Stop & Shop!”

When we got back in the car, I said, “Poppie drove the shopping cart. Did I do a good job?”

“Yes, Poppie!” Chloe said. “You did a good job!”

And I didn’t even make any banana jokes.

Copyright 2016 by Jerry Zezima

Thursday, March 10, 2016

"Big Girl Weekend"

By Jerry Zezima
The Stamford Advocate
The surest sign that a toddler is getting big is when she becomes more mature than her grandfather. In the case of my granddaughter, Chloe, who is about to turn 3, that happened about three years ago.

Two other signs are when she gets her own bed and has her first haircut.

Both of those things happened to Chloe recently in what was dubbed, in case you missed the celebration, Big Girl Weekend.

Since she was born, Chloe had slept in a crib, which prevented her, as some grandfathers have been known to do, from getting up on the wrong side of the bed.

I don’t know what the wrong side of the bed is, unless it is against a wall, in which case you will hit your head when you get up and promptly fall back to sleep. Since I am off the wall, I have never had this problem. That’s why I have always thought that the right side of the bed is the top.

Anyway, Chloe had begun trying to climb out of her crib, a sure sign that it was time to get her a bed.

When Chloe heard the news from Mommy (my younger daughter, Lauren) and Daddy (my son-in-law Guillaume), she was very excited. Nini (my wife, Sue) chimed in, saying Chloe was going to get a “big-girl bed,” which made her even more excited.

When I (Poppie) added my two cents, which Chloe put in her piggy bank, she said, “Chloe’s a big girl. And Poppie’s a big boy.”

“Poppie has a big-boy bed,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t wake up on the wrong side of it and slam headfirst into a wall.

Lauren and Guillaume shopped around for a twin bed and a box spring, but naturally there were complications because one store offered one deal and another store offered another and never the twin did meet.

One day, Guillaume and I, thinking outside the box spring, lugged a box containing a bed, not a spring, back to one of the stores. Later, I went home and fell fast asleep in my own bed.

But rest assured, it all turned out OK because, on a recent Friday, Chloe’s new big-girl bed was delivered. She took to it like a fish to water, even though it’s not a water bed, and went right to sleep that night, probably dreaming of her first haircut, which she got the next day.

On Saturday morning, Sue and I went over to see the bed, which is higher than ours and a lot more comfortable. It also has two mattress guards, presumably so Chloe can’t get up on the wrong side.

“Do you like your bed?” I asked Chloe.

“Yes, Poppie!” she chirped. “I’m not a baby. I’m a big girl.”

And she proved it even further when Lauren, Guillaume, Sue and I took her to Hairport Salon in Port Jefferson, New York, for her first official haircut.

“She looks like Shirley Temple,” said Valerie, a very nice stylist who had the important assignment and, if I do say so, the honor of trimming and shaping Chloe’s blond curls.

Chloe sat calmly in a chair, holding three purple brushes while Valerie snipped her underlying baby hair. Chloe even helped by handing Valerie one of the brushes.

When the haircut was over, everyone told Chloe she looked beautiful.

Chloe smiled and bit into a cake pop that Lauren had given to her for being so good.

It was a fitting end to Big Girl Weekend. The next celebration will be this Saturday, on Big Boy Weekend, when Poppie gets up on the right side of the bed and goes for a haircut. I may even have a cake pop.

Copyright 2016 by Jerry Zezima