The Target of My Affection

My Dearest Target,

From the time I was a young mom, with little to my name, you welcomed me.  For the last 25 years you have given me everything a woman, wife, and mom could ask for.  I have turned to you for peace, quiet, and serenity and you have never disappointed me.  You are everything others have tried to be and failed.  You are my one stop breath of fresh air on a hot day and I love you for it.  

You greet me with your shiny red carts, and the smell of new merchandise beckons me.    My list of essentials is quickly forgotten as your clearance stickers and new home décor lure me in.  The passages of pretty things draw me in like kid in a candy store.   You grant me wishes I didn’t know I had.  Soon my cart is full of happiness and I immediately feel more organized, beautiful and functional.

The changes of seasons are better because you’re there.   The spook of Halloween, the sparkle of Christmas adornment, the sweetness of Valentine's, gives joy to my insides.   I can conquer gift giving faster than Oprah gives away cars. I feel like the queen herself; I can buy, wrap and sign a card and be out your doors like a professional shopper.

I am even brought out of my turkey-induced slumber on Black Friday because of you.  I want to revel in the excitement of your crowded aisles and enjoy seeing others experience all you have to offer.  It is a tradition and a thrill to share that day with my girls and you.  The long lines of shoppers don’t really matter because I know they really don’t appreciate you.   They are fair weather fans that are not into you for the long haul.  You know I will always be back after the chaos has ended.  

When I thought you could not be any more in tune with my needs, you added

groceries to your aisles.  You save me Target.   You save me from that extra trip to the grocery store.   Piled in my cart of happiness are snacks, cold cereal, almond milk and the makings for tonight’s dinner.  And when my son needed to be gluten free, you provided his favorite chicken strips that made me mother of the year. Target, you are the answer to everyday living and my peace of mind.

Target Redcard is the jewel in the crown of my Target experience.  Just for shopping, just for being a person with needs, you give me 5% off every time.  I win the lottery at every check out.  No coupons needed; no blue light specials. You are paying me for the privilege of loving you.  And I would like to think that you love me too.

  Your ever grateful and dedicated customer,

Linda

Sunday Naps

Coming home from church yesterday, my husband looked at me as I was yawning and asked if I was going to take a nap.

"I don't think I have a choice", I said.

And that is exactly how I feel on Sundays. I literally have no choice on wether to nap or not.  My body knows.  My body instinctively knows it will not get much mattress time until Saturday morning, and that's a maybe.  My body starts to sense this in the last few minutes of church, when my eyelids become heavier than day 1 on the Biggest Loser. The head bobbing while sitting in the pews is embarrassing, but it can't be helped.  My body knows it must wind down from the week's adventures and gear up for new ones.  My body knows it must avoid the chaos of life for a few hours in order to endure the chaos of life.

So after church I dole out the rations to the natives and tip toe upstairs.  They all know where I'm going but I still feel I must be sneaky.  Somehow, being sneaky makes the nap more forbidden and much more luxurious.  With white noise and the cave like feeling I have created in my room, it has become optimal for afternoon slumber.  Of course  my offspring choose this time to get along for the first time all week.  And by get along I mean, play games, run up and down the stairs, create theater, and solve boredom problems by making as much noise as possible.  If Dad is around I can hear the "shhhhhhh" even through my blaring fans.  He knows.  He knows mama needs her naps. If mama aint rested, well you know, life sucks for everyone.

As I learned most my good mom traits  from my own mother (she won't take credit for the bad ones) , the art of napping came from her too. Why were moms so tired I wondered.  I did not know about the hours they kept, the tossing and turning from worry about kids, teenagers and the complete lack of energy one feels after raising kids for years upon unrewarded years.  Not sure how restful her naps on the couch, in full view of the family were, but it seemed to work for her.

And little did she know, she was showing me my glorious napping future.

My mom, perfecting the art of the nap since 1967.