The Day I Became "One of Those" Costco Shoppers

I loved going to Costco as a kid, especially on the weekend when the free samples were out.

Now the samples have lost their appeal and are harder to get at than when I was a kid. Maybe, in my maturity, I'm just too polite to push people out of the way or duck under their arms anymore.

As an adult, I dread going Costco. It is always so crowded. There are no self scans or express lanes. And what if I blank on my debit card PIN? It's been known to happen.

I hear it is a great place to work though.

I can usually get my husband, Dan, to go to Costco for me, but last week I needed tampons. Dan is progressive in every way except when it comes to buying tampons.

I once heard that you should only stick with a guy who is not afraid to buy feminine products. But in every other way he is all about gender equality, so I decided to marry him anyway. Even if I sneak tampons onto the shopping list, he comes home with everything . . . except tampons.

Anyway, I totally needed tampons, so I had to make the trip to Costco. I whispered my PIN to myself several times and headed out the door.

At first, I thought I was in luck. The parking lot was practically empty.

"Sweet!" I said to aloud. "I'll get in and out fast!"

But as I pulled into the best parking spot ever, I noticed people sitting in the few cars scattered around the lot.

I had made the mistake of thinking the store opened at nine o'clock and had shown up at nine thirty. It doesn't open until ten on the weekdays. Apparently, it's a thing for Costco customers to stake out a spot a half-hour early and wait for the store to open. The parking lot was full by nine forty-five.

I slumped down in the driver's seat and played with my phone, embarrassed. I didn't want anyone to think I was that kind of customer.

By nine fifty-five, people started getting out of their cars and circling the store even though the entrance was still closed off. It was strange, like watching gray-haired zombies swarm an abandoned building.

When I felt I had waited a fashionable amount of time after the doors opened, I took my place in the shopping cart brigade, similar to waiting in line for your turn at the car wash. One lady behind me kept ramming her cart into my butt.

"Oh dear," she said as we finally started moving. "I just about ran you over!"

As I entered the store, I noticed an elderly couple eating ice cream in the dining area. They didn't buy anything, just went to Costco for a snack. (I could see Dan and me doing this someday.)

Many shoppers had already filled multiple carts by the time I got past the TVs. I only needed three items, and I set to work finding them quickly.

They didn't even have the type of tampons I wanted.

But the good thing about being an early bird Costco shopper is that, while everyone else is busy buying out the entire store, the checkout is clear when you're only buying a few items.

When I came home later that morning, I discovered I was running low on the vitamins I buy in bulk. 

It looks like I'll have to make Costco run soon. Sigh . . .

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School's Out For Summer!

A couple of weeks ago, I ran across this picture in the paper.

Just in case you can't quite tell, it's a photograph of a limo picking up elementary age kids on the last day of school. I'm not sure if the kid giving the peace signs got to ride in the limo or was just really excited for the "no more school, no more books" thing.

The next evening, my husband, Dan, and I walked by a neighborhood "School's Out!" party. I know this because of the multicolored "School's Out!" signs plastered all over the houses. This was not just any ordinary summer shindig with hamburgers and hot dogs. I think there were pony rides involved.

"These parents are spending a lot of money to celebrate the end of school," I told Dan. "I mean, you'd think elementary school was a prison or something." 

"It's like they're rewarding their kids for accomplishing nothing," Dan said. "Like, 'Yay! Good job on your last day!'"

"Actually, they should be throwing expensive parties for the teachers. A Congratulations on Surviving Party."

I'm not saying people shouldn't throw parties to celebrate the beginning of summer. I'm just wondering if the extravagance and the emphasis on NO MORE SCHOOL sends the wrong message.

I mean, parents, don't you want your kids to feel good about attending school? Trust me. You do. You'll thank me that you kept your kids excited about learning when spring fever hits in April.

Besides, are parents that excited to have their kids home for three months? Because by the end of the summer, I hear a lot of rumbling from parents in cyber land about wanting school to start, summer break is too long, why don't the schools keep the kids forever . . .

As a kid, I don't remember limo or pony rides for anyone on the last day of school. Maybe I attended a few backyard barbecues or birthday parties during the summer. But nothing with a Congratulations on Breaking Out of the Hoosegow theme.
 
I didn't have time for parties. My summers were filled with day care, swimming lessons, tennis lessons, music camp, church camp, VBS. As a teen, I'd often volunteer as a helper at these summer activities, or I performed in summer youth theater. And then, when I came of age, I was expected to hold down a summer job, the kind of job that made me long for school.

I loved school, not so much for the social aspect, but because I loved to learn. Even now, I take classes any chance I get. I became a teacher, an eternal attender of school.

I know not all kids love school, the kids for whom learning is not easy or particularly fun. But I seriously doubt these are the kids whose parents are renting limos and throwing lavish parties.

These are probably the kids who deserve a celebration. They truly have accomplished something. School was hard. And they made it through another year. 

Credit: Family Fun Magazine

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On Turning Thirty-Eight

When my husband, Dan, turned thirty-eight in April, he seemed a little pensive the next day. (I would say "quiet," but those of you who know Dan would wonder how he could get much quieter.)

"Are you sad because you're getting older?" I asked, "Because you're coming to terms with your mortality? Because you can't refer to yourself as being in your mid-thirties anymore?"

I realize now that I probably wasn't helping the situation. 

Then we went mountain biking, and he cheered up.

Last weekend, it was my turn. I remember writing a blog post when I turned thirty like that was some kind of milestone. But now I just wonder where those eight years went.  

As it turned out, both of us spent our thirty-eighth birthdays mountain biking. As you can see below, I rode on three consecutive days the weekend of my birthday.

Maybe Dan and I were trying to prove something. Would most late thirty-somethings be able to do this?

Actually . . . probably. Mountain biking is kind of a big deal in Idaho, and lots of people of all ages ride the trails around here.

Over the past eight years (that I am not exactly sure happened), my journey closer to forty looks like this: I have developed a click in my left knee. I have started dyeing my hair (not for fun, to get rid of the gray). I have an occasional popping in my right shoulder and a tightness in my hamstring. I have been diagnosed with asthma and (hereditary) high cholesterol. And my metabolism is shit.

And I am a healthier-than-most-people-my-age woman.

By all accounts, this is just going to get worse because I am not that old yet.

An older (by a couple of years) friend once told me, "I thought it would be a gradual decline, with a few plateaus here and there. But, nope. When I turned forty, it was like this," and he motioned with his hand in a sharp descent toward the floor.

According to one article, old age doesn't happen until after age fifty-eight, so I've still got a ways to go. And I am sure I will have a whole new set of ailments to discuss in two years when I turn forty. But I'm not complaining . . . yet . . . just observing.

Besides, would I want to go backwards in age, give up everything I've experienced and learned over the past eight years (that I am not exactly sure happened)?

Nah. 

Still looking young (and alive) after three days of mountain biking

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My Favorite Summer Activities (and Why I Should Maybe Not Do Them)

I love the summer, and I love my favorite outdoorsy activities. But I'm not tough or gutsy. And I am getting less tough and gutsy the older I get. (I just turned thirty-eight yesterday.) In fact, celebrating another birthday, inching me closer to forty, got me thinking: Maybe I shouldn't do these things anymore.

My husband, Dan, and I see lots of people older than we are doing all sorts of crazy outdoorsy stuff. We live in Idaho after all, and people around here would wrestle grizzly bears if you'd let them. But we've already established that I'm not tough or gutsy like those people. I am, however, a five-foot-three bundle of entertainment during my ventures into mother nature.

1. Hiking
I love hiking, but . . .

I am deathly afraid of heights. If you have been reading my blog for a while, you have probably seen the infamous Becky-breaks-down-on-the-trail video. Unfortunately, this is not the only heights-induced breakdown I have had.

And I don't want to run into bears . . . ever. From what I've heard, it's inevitable. You keep hanging out in nature, you will encounter a bear eventually.

2. Mountain Biking
I love mountain biking, but . . .

Dan's doctor can't believe that, as an avid mountain biker, he hasn't broken any bones yet. It just goes with the territory. You keep mountain biking, you will break a bone. I don't want to break anything. And I'm sure as I approach forty that my bones are not what they used to be. I already know I don't heal as quickly as I used to.

And I still don't want to run into bears.

Oh, and the heights thing. I've had a few mountain biking meltdowns that (thankfully) have not been captured on video.

3. Trail Running 
I love trail running in Boise, but . . .

As I get older, I'm noticing weird aches and pains that don't go away quickly. And I have heard many I-used-to-run-but-my-knees stories from people about ten years my senior.

Cougars are scary too, and they love coming down from the foothills onto the trails in our city.

One time, this thing crossed my path, and I didn't freak out too bad.

I don't like snakes either, and they hang out on the trails all the time.

But . . .

Last summer, a runner passed me and warned me about a snake on the path, and I was like, "Is it a rattlesnake?" and the runner was like, "No," and I was like, "I got this."

And just a few weeks ago, I was running with my girls' group at school, and some of the girls started squealing about a snake on the trail. I stood beside the snake and directed the girls around it, kind of like, "Nothing to see here. Move along."

So . . . maybe I'm tougher than I think.

Or maybe I should just stick to my other favorite summer pastimes: Reading and blogging.

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