Snowy December Christmas shopping is not for the faint-hearted. Neither is it for three-year-olds, I think, especially after standing in the Sears store listening to one howl. Not one that belongs to me. Not one even within eyesight. Just one angry pint-sized human expressing herself from many aisles away. Hearing her, my first thought is that I need a nap. A child crying always triggers my nap response. But I shrug off my desire to hide among the neatly made bedding displays. Birdie is along and wouldn't tolerate me napping in stores. I hope Howler and her mom are heading home. In about 14 years, they will be back for a much better Christmas mall trip. They will shop from a coordinated list, find bargains and share a snack from the food court. They will laugh at each other and at the other shoppers--the really crazy ones. Then they'll make fun of ridiculous store displays and get distracted shopping for themselves. At the perfume counters, they will smell all the smells. They'll want a pretzel, or a mocha latte, or an ice cream cone, but then remember how their jeans fit--or don't fit--and settle for a free hot cider sample from their favorite store. Howler, and Howler's mom, will suddenly both realize their feet hurt, which signals time to go home and claim some me-time. If you're lucky, that's how Christmas mall trips always end, with me-time. Unless of course Howler is a boy. Then I don't know what happens in 14 years. But in about 25 years, I know what happens. Howler will once again be howling through the mall, but this time he'll be carrying packages for someone whose feet never seem to hurt.
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