I Buy Myself at Cub

This afternoon I took a break from the back-breaking slavery of setting my own hours to do one of my favorite things, and went to Cub Foods. For those of you who don't live near one, Cub is a grocery store chain, no, NOT offspring sent by Hammock to torture me.

I parked in a fake reserved pharmacy spot (the kind "reserved" for people just dashing in and out again of the pharmacy part of Cub Foods, not the pharmacy part of Cub Foods), which was legally and morally okay because I had to buy some Advil. I like the candy coating on their ibuprofen. And while I was there, I saw myself, just like that picture above.

I literally said to myself, "I think I'll check the book and magazine section; there might be something there to read." Then I saw a terrific color cover: "Me Myself and Why...? What kind of a weirdass name is that for...wait. There's something familiar about this." I pondered; then, in a flash: "I wrote it! That's why it sounds so familiar. I wrote that book. Wait. I wrote THIS book. So...to answer my original question, there isn't something over here for me to read." I literally pondered to puzzle this out: I write books. Cub Foods sells books (and occasionally food). Cub Foods has bought my book to sell to their customers. I am a customer. I am now face-to-face with that book. That is the sequence of events: I am seeing myself. Now I am buying myself.

I know it's weird. Buying my own book? It's not like I don't know how it ends. But there was something so weird and cool about seeing myself for a split-second outside of myself: this is how it feels to be an MJD reader: mildly interested in a book with a pretty cover. And can we talk about the wonderful cover? With a back list of over sixty books, I'm not only used to covers but am stupidly lucky in that I'm used to good covers. And yet the first thing that hit me when I saw the cover flat for MMY was that gorgeous dark-blue-turquoise-ey background that I instantly liked. I still like it. I should be looking at it right now, instead of writing this blog. If only there was a way I could do both. Hmm, like have the cover color be my background cover...not the picture or annoying text, just the cover? It's weird that I'm only just now thinking of this.

Done! Okay, so I pitched a book I wrote into my cart (lame). Then I whipped out my phone and took a picture of the other copies of my book on a shelf (again with the lame), which I posted above. And I just now realized I'm between Stephanie Meyer's New Moon, and Stieg Larsson's Girl with a Dragon Tattoo. Which in case no one ever tells you is AWESOME. All those writers who pretend to be too cool for school when their book is on a shelf with Stephanie Meyers or John Grisham? Yeah, they're fibbing. They LOVE IT because it's AWESOME. If a couple of decades ago, if you'd cornered the kid from the trailer park and told her not only would she someday be published, but she'd be shelved beside best-sellers (and even write an occasional best-seller herself), she'd have laughed at you and called you an asshat.

Okay! Book gawked at, picture taken, book stuck in cart. Picked out food. Got in line at the register. Was intrigued enough to look into Jennifer Aston's pregnancy and then her abduction by aliens. Then the mom with the newborn talked to me.

The baby had the newborn look: all red skin and spiky black hair and pastel onesie. The mom had the look all new moms have: exhausted and starey-eyed and food on a shirt. Since my Not My Kid radar had been fully engaged; not only was I not noticing the crying baby, I hadn't even noticed her mom.The only reason I noticed her at all was because her mouth had opened and she talked.

While she was saying she was sorry about Not My Kid's crying I was taking in the pale face, and under eye circles so dark they were the color of ripe plums. Formula on her shirt. Long blond permed and (it must be said) at least one shower away from being pretty. At a guess, I'd say she had given birth two, maybe even three hours ago. I felt so bad for this woman; I knew exactly how she felt: "So tired oh boy the baby's so tired and crying a lot so tired gotta feed her so tired people will think I'm a bad mom because I'm so tired and so tired, I just can't get over there right this second because I'm so tired and jeez that's a lot of racket she's making probably because she's so tired".

While she was apologizing I noticed the mom in line behind me, a gal with four kids in the cart (apparently they were having a 2 for 1 sale on kids...I passed), and we sort of traded glances and then looked at New Mom. I thought, 'Not a big deal at all. Not My Kid isn't going to spontaneously combust if her mom doesn't rush right over and pick her up...not only does her crying not bother me, I hadn't even noticed it."

Then the mom next to me said, "Not a big deal at all. She's not gonna spontaneously combust if her mom doesn't drop everything and pick her up. Not only does her crying not bother me, I hadn't even noticed it."

I laughed and agreed, and now we were both looking at New Mom from our aisle: "Yeah, seriously, don't apologize. We really don't care even a little bit." I loved how we were all fluent in Mom. I loved how the new kid in our tribe looked so relieved and thankful, I loved that we were able to make her feel that way, even if just for half a minute. I loved that it wasn't me.

"It's uncanny, isn't it?" We chatted while we bagged our groceries. "I just do not care! Someone else's newborn crying her lungs out...it's like a white noise machine to me. Soothing, almost." The other mom nodded agreement: "Yeah, I've got four of my own. I quit noticing THEIR crying four years ago, never mind someone else's ."

Thanks, the new mom said. Nothing to be sorry about. No, really. Try to get some rest. Even--I know this sounds like an incredible unattainable Everest-like goal--but maybe even a nap. I didn't tell her it'd get much worse before it got better. "You've gotta be kind to yourself in these first few days." I didn't tell her that in some unexplainable way, looking back on this torture would seem worth it. Would seem even a bargain. Too hard to explain; just one of those parenting things. But all worth it, yep. That and more...and it's impossible to explain. Not trying to be patronizing. It just is, is all.

The mom with four kids said goodbye, and off we went in two directions. One of us saw her books rubbing shoulders, so to speak, with books that had sold in millions all around the planet. One was a sleep-deprived parent. They both had incredible, unbelievable, wonderful hard jobs, jobs they'd do whether they were paid or not. Oh, and one of us had to pick up his husband's dry cleaning. And one of us really mundane chore.

Still: worth it. That and more. I don't know why, but I'm gonna keep going with it. That seems to be working great for me; I don't know why, but I'm grateful. I don't ever want to take it for granted. It's good to be reminded by something outside yourself how very, very lucky you are.

And I am!