A Trip to Loblaws

Does the title of this post seem redundant and ominous?  It is…feel free to stop reading right now if you would prefer not to relive the mistakes I have previously made.  Or go ahead and read along and shake your head at me thinking “WHY DOESN’T SHE LEARN!?!??”  I did the same thing to myself on my way home.  It wasn’t IKEA but it was an adventure nonetheless…

 I once again found myself again in Toronto this weekend with both kids and my dad and a full day to fill.  Rob was watching soccer and Mia was napping and I thought, “Hey, why don’t I give you a peaceful hour or so to yourself and take my dad and Toby shopping at Loblaws”…

Is this starting to sound familiar?

Not to worry- this would be NOTHING like our last excursion to IKEA.  I am a well seasoned shopper at the Loblaws at St Clair and Bathurst.  I know exactly where to park, where to drop dad and Toby off so they can see me the ENTIRE TIME that I am shopping, and where to buy them coffee and a muffin while they watch me.  In fact, the last time I shopped with them there happened to be free face painting and cake.  I don’t know what they were celebrating but we all had a good time.  The members of previous excursion who could remember such were VERY keen to return.

And so I set out, loading an excited 6 year old and an eager 87 year old into my car; we were off for another great adventure with visions of free cake and face painting dancing in our heads.

As soon as we got to Loblaws it was all wrong.  Where was our favourite parking spot?  What happened to the little bakery that sold coffee and muffins right at the entrance?  And WORST of all…WHERE was the RAILING that let people from the upper floor café WATCH the shoppers?!!?   This was the most devastating change.  My ability to shop with my crew hinged on the fact that they could both see me at all times.  I enjoyed my false sense of freedom to shop and roam around on the understanding that I would look up, smile, wave enthusiastically and shout “HELLO UP THERE!” every time I put something into my cart.  Toby and dad would always return an equally enthusiastic smile, wave and incoherent shout and then I would carry on to the next item on my list.  My railing of freedom had been replaced with a BRICK WALL, painted a modern colour of brown and accessorized with a baby grand piano in front of it.   The smile, wave and shop game came to a quick halt.

It was with a sense of horror and impending doom that I suddenly realized WHY there had been free cake and face painting the last time I was there.

THEY WERE CELEBRATING THEIR UPCOMING RENOVATIONS.

When your convoy consists of an 87 year old with dementia and an anal 6 year old with an impeccable memory, changes do NOT work in your favour.

I put on a cheerful face and tried to make the best of the situation.  No, they would not be able to get muffins but there were CROISSANTS and COOKIES at this new bakery.  And no, they could NOT watch me shop, but there were lovely big windows so they could watch all of the action on St Clair which (perhaps???) was more exciting than watching from above as I chose bananas.

My suggestions were met with skepticism.

Maybe one of them would like to play the piano?

The skepticism was soon accompanied by a displeased arm crossing.

I left the two of them sitting by the big windows and promised to come back with some sort of baked delicacy shortly.  I decided my best approach was to do a staggered shop.  (Was this even allowed?!?!)  I grabbed a cart and did a mad dash through the produce section.  I looked like a crazy woman, grabbing fruits and vegetables, throwing them into the cart un-bagged, and unexamined.  I got what I thought was about 50% of my list before going back to this new FANCY bakery and ordering them each a drink and a treat.  I settled for these extra large chocolate chocolate chip cookies, a coffee for dad and ludicrously expensive lemonade for Toby.  I left my cart by the bakery’s unimpressed barista and raced up the stairs to find my boys.

I have never been met with such a welcome before.  “Oh, Lyssie, thank GOODnes…” dad said, “I thought you weren’t coming back!”  I gave them each a hug.  They both agreed that the uber large chocolate chocolate cookies were adequate stand-ins for the muffins and greedily grabbed their drinks and set to work devouring both.  I listened patiently to their tales of the adventures on St Clair Ave and then told them I would be back shortly after I had finished my shopping…I promised not to be gone for long…

On the stairwell I transformed back from attentive caregiver to mad-crazy-don’t-think-I-won’t-push-you-over-if-you-get-in-the-way-of-my-cart-shopper and hit the meats and frozen foods section.

I got ALMOST everything on my list and was heading to check out when suddenly I got the innate maternal sense that my boys needed another check in.  So I left my cart strategically located in the dog food section (because it was the least populated) and raced back upstairs for a quick check-in before heading to the checkout.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs I was met by a very solemn Toby (who now felt the chocolate chocolate chip cookie had been TOO large and was upseeting hi stomach) and a very EMPTY table by the window.  Where the HELL had my father gone?!?!?

“Papa had to go to the bathroom.”  Toby said matter-of-factly and then pointed down the looooong hallway to the bathrooms. 

He hadn’t gotten far.

There he was, without his cane or his wheelchair, holding onto the side of the lovely, modern brown-painted-brick WALL, hobbling himself towards the men’s washroom.  I raced over to him and promised to get him his wheelchair.  Those 50 feet he walked unassisted in his desperate quest to get to the washroom was probably the most amount of exercise he has had in years.  I quickly rescued him with his wheelchair and got him the rest of the way.

“There you go, Dad,” I said, wheeling him right up to the door.   “You go in and go to the washroom and I’m going to check on Toby.”

I raced back down the long hallways and found Toby sitting by himself at the table, working on his colouring book, still lamenting the fact that I had fed him TOO large a cookie and that it made his stomach hurt.

It could easily take my dad 20 minutes to tend to his business in the bathroom and suddenly my mind went back to my cart that was sitting unattended in the dog food aisle.  I couldn’t even conceive of the disaster that would ensue if someone stole my cart and I had to start again.  We would be here until next weekend at this rate.  So I decided I would take Toby with me, get the cart, and come back up to get my dad after he was done.

The Loblaws at St Clair and Bathurst is a LARGE store.  This was no small feat.

And so we returned 10 minutes later, cart and kid in hand, to find my dad patiently sitting in his wheelchair outside of the men’s washroom.

I went running over to him, “That was quick!”

The look on his face told me I was wrong, “I haven’t even BEEN yet!”  He said to me, “I couldn’t FIND the washroom!”

OH GOOD GOD.

So I took Toby and the cart back to the window and then went back down the hallway and this time WALKED my dad INTO the bathroom, PAST the urinals and directly INTO one of the toilet stalls.  I smiled to the man who was using the urinal on the way back out.

I had no choice but to sit and wait with Toby this time as my dad did his business.  Toby and I coloured 5 pictures, counted all the blue and red cars that went by and watched my ice cream melt as we waited for my dad to finish.

Finally I looked up and there he was, back in his wheelchair, sitting outside the men’s washroom.  Before I could get all the way down the hallway another man came out of the bathroom and was chatting to my dad.  I could tell he was being enlisted to rescue my dad from his predicament so I picked up my pace. 

Just before I arrived I heard my dad say to him, “Oh, THERE she is!  Thanks for your help!”  The man gave me a sideways look of disgust and carried on down the hallway towards the elevator.

“Oh, I’m SO HAPPY to see you!” my dad exclaimed, “I was just starting to worry that you weren’t going to come back for me!”

“Dad,” I said, crouching down, “I would never leave you.  I was just down the hall.  Now…what was it you said to that man?”

“I told him I didn’t know where my wife was!” he said triumphantly.

Oh, shit.  No wonder the creepy stare.

“And you do know I’m not your wife, RIGHT?!?!”  I clarified.

Dad thought this was REALLY funny. 

The look on the man’s face (who was waiting by the elevator when we walked back by) was NOT amused.  And it got even less amused when Toby cheerfully welcomed him back with a big suggestive, “Hi, Papa! How was the bathroom?" 

Why, oh WHY could I not have taught my kids to call him GRANDPA instead of the ambiguous ‘Papa’?

I swallowed my pride.  The worst of the hurdle was over.  My kid and my father were safe, toileted and fed and I had a cart full of the necessary groceries (including a now fully melted tub of ice cream).  I had one more hurdle and that was the checkout.

I am happy to report that checkout and delivering the groceries to the car went off without a hitch.  I returned to the men out of breath but with a great sense of accomplishment.  Dad rejoiced at the fact that I had (once again) come back for him and Toby joined in his triumph.  As I wheeled them out of the horribly changed Loblaws dad asked, “Where to next, Lyssie?!”

“How about a quick stop at the LCBO on the way out, “I suggested “I feel like maybe having a glass of wine when we get home.”

“Good idea!” dad said. 

And lo and behold, just as it always was, there was the LCBO right in front of us at the exit...At least Loblaws had the good sense not to change EVERYthing in their renovations...