Costco take me away...

A few years ago I said, "Calgon, take me away!" to an early twentysomething during a particularly harried day at work. Miss Perky just gave me a blank look. "You don't know Calgon? You know, the bath stuff from the TV commercial" I said, rather shocked. I could see a glaze forming over her eyes as she mumbled something under her breath. "Oh...." I breathed out heavily, my heart sinking into a long sigh, "I'm old. Nevermind."

Had I said that today, I would have received the same blank stare from my son that I did from Miss Perky. So I whispered my soliloquised plea to the empathetic audience that can always be found somewhere in the vicinity of my kitchen sink. They are kind enough to listen to me during my weighty, mother-gone-wild moments. This scene took place before I went to Little Gym with David, and came home and realized that my shirt was inside out the whole time and that my hair was doing a Medusa impression against my will. Well, I immediately found two giant hair clips and twisted the rogue curls into submission, turned the shirt right side out, took one more look at the dirt on the floor that I had recently vacuumed, and decided that Costco would be my Calgon today.

I love Cotsco. I love that the aisles go almost to the ceiling. I love that I can buy clothes, fruit, tires, fresh bread, a sofa, and a 42' plasma TV all at one place. I love the good deals, the name brands, and the customer service. Costco is truly my Calgon. I can take a deep breath, go in, look around, and maybe not even buy anything and feel better. It's great for the kids because there is so much to look at for Lucas, and David can't really get hurt, and there is almost always free food to be had. I'm not seeking retail therapy when I go, besides, it's not even true retail therapy. No one dreams that buying toilet paper will make them feel better. I generally don't buy things that we don't need, and even today, I was good about not buying the nice-to-haves. ( I really do need the wrinkle serum-and it's on sale this month anyway!) I stuck to the list, used my coupons, and for an hour didn't have to hear any crying, or whining, and I didn't have to employ any mediation, facilitation or entertainment skills for my children. Sure, I could have waited for Kiel to come home and locked myself in the bathroom for an hour. But I would have felt bad about the dirty floor, the laundry waiting to be put away, and the fact that I had no idea what we were having for dinner. This way, I could ignore those things and still get something off my to-do list.

You see, Costco offers you the feeling of productivity wrapped up in an escapist moment. It's so big that other peoples voices are drowned out. You can avoid people you know by dodging behind an endcap in papergoods or greet them with a welcome smile as if they were a value added item on your list. You can dream about that granite topped double vanity with brushed nickel hardware while munching down on some English Coastal cheddar cheese...(oh-what's that?...GOUOOOOODA! Mmmmmm!) You can have a feel good experience about your obvious consumption, and more importantly, you can get out of your house when it's closing in on you.

My Costco therapy session wasn't quite long enough today because by the time I got home and saw that floor again, my blood pressure started to rise-At least I figured out what was for dinner though. Today was a long day, not a bad day, just a long day. I know there will be other better and longer lasting blissful moments and I'll take them when they come. And when I need to, I'll make them happen, even if it's just an hour at Costco. Sigh.....