Tossing and Turning

I’m not the only person who lays in bed at night thinking about the stuff that I’m too busy to think about during the day, right?  And it usually gets out of hand, true? 

Example:

Last night I was thinking about something I need to buy and, knowing it was going to rain today, I decided to first look on the Internet.   While I was musing about where to look, I took the next “thought step,” which was:  if everyone stays home tomorrow and uses the Internet to shop, the stores will be empty. (If that were true, by the way, even the rain couldn’t have kept me away.)

This is not an original thought, of course.   We all recognize that the mom-and-pop stores have all but disappeared thanks to the convenience and cost-effectiveness of using the big box stores.  As much as we long for the days of going to the little shop around the corner for our shoes, the reality is that the majority of us can’t afford it. 

But should the big box stores be worried now?  Are they being gobbled up by the mega-Internet?  How much Christmas shopping did you do online last year?  For me, it was almost 100%.  This year I might reach that percentage.  Especially if it snows J

How quickly will we become an insulated, stay-at-home society?  This is where my mind spiraled last night.   Toss:  We shop from home more and more.  Turn: The big-box stores gradually close (there are rumors that Best Buy is already on its way out).  Covers off:  If we don’t need to go out to shop, we don’t need cars—at least not our own, personal cars.  One car per household will be enough. 

Covers on: Everything comes to us.  We buy even more comfortable furniture.  Nesting is taken to its highest level.  The result?  We get fatter.  Maybe even the French get fat!  (Hit the floor and do a few happy shuffle steps.)

Burrowing back in: On the other hand, the Jewel Tea man, the Omar bread man, the milkman and the butcher used to deliver and they went the way of the nickel Hershey bar.  Why?  Was it because we wanted to get out?  We are social animals, after all.

Oh, wait, we can now socialize on the Internet.  Without taking a shower or putting on a bra.

Tonight I’ll work on world peace.

Good Cop, Bad Cop.

Our daughter’s thirteen-year old car bit the dust Saturday.  It coughed up its last noxious fumes shortly after she left the gas station, with a full tank, of course.  She asked her dad and I to go car shopping with her on Sunday.  Her parameters for purchase were simple:  Used, low mileage, good on gas, cheap.  Here’s the kicker:  She asked for her dad because he can (euphemistically) kick the tires.  She asked me because I’m the “bad cop.”  I’m the one who doesn’t care about the kids in the picture on the salesman’s desk.  I don’t care if Heather “looks good” in a blue car.  I don’t need a new best friend. And I’m not afraid to walk if the deal isn’t right or takes too long.

She was right, of course.  Historically, I’ve always been the hard-nosed realist.

“No, you can’t wear the jeans with a hole in the knees to Mass.  I don’t care if dad said you look cute.”

“No, you can’t eat an ice cream sandwich for lunch.  Yes, I know.  Funny daddy said it is a sandwich, after all.”

“Call when you get there so I know you’ve arrived safely.  Call me or I’m coming to find you.  Yes, I trust you but, unlike daddy, I can’t sleep until I know you’re safe.”

I cross-examined the boyfriends.  Dad played golf with them.

I wasn’t always crazy about my reputation with my kids as the bad cop, but I also silently loved that they had such a sweet relationship with their dad, too. 

This is the part of parenthood that gets better with time.  Instead of the tears or stomping feet or swishing hair or rolling eyes I got when she was a kid, I now get asked to use the bad cop part of my parenting repertoire. 

And here’s the best part:  I’ve raised a good negotiator.  She called today to say, “I told the salesman to put the car up on the rack and have it inspected (they don’t offer that at this small lot) and to put a full tank of gas in it, too (they don’t do that, either) if they want me to buy it.  And I want it in writing.  He agreed.“  Well done, grasshopper.

I guess that makes me a good “bad cop.”  

Who’s the “good cop” in your household?  I’m betting it’s the hub.  If it’s not, humor me and tell me it is, okay?