Holiday shopping: Love made it fun

The Boston Herald

BEVERLY BECKHAM

The woman was hassled. You could see it in her eyes, in the way they darted about the place, and in her footsteps, quick and impatient, eager to keep walking past.

But the storefront intrigued the little girl at her side. "What does the sign say, Mommy?" the child asked.

"It says, `All items $1,"' the woman explained.

"You mean everything in that store costs a dollar?" the child said.

"That's right," the mother replied.

She had on a long maroon coat and a matching scarf, which the toddler in her arms had tugged so that it was now dragging on the ground. The mother took a step and the scarf caught in her shoe. The little girl used the opportunity to ease a little closer to the store.

"Can I look for just a minute, Mommy, please? Maybe I can get Daddy something in here."

It was obvious the mother didn't wanted to go in. The aisles were narrow and packed with little kids searching through bins of plastic. The noise level was high; even the piped-in Christmas songs couldn't drown out the high-pitched squeals. The child in her arms was heavy; the packages she was carrying were cumbersome; it was 8:30 at night. All she must have wanted was to go home. And yet she nodded her okay and followed her daughter into the store.

The child had the energy her mother lacked. She skipped up to a bin, her smile bright as morning, and rummaged through stationery. Then she moved on to Christmas cards, then looked through dozens of plastic ornaments, inspecting them all. She was like a foot soldier on patrol, taking in every detail, examining every item, missing nothing.

The toddler squirmed so the mother put him down, but within a minute he'd knocked over a bin, spilling small bottles of hair conditioner, which rolled all over the floor. The little girl helped her mother collect them, then continued her search.

Up and down the aisles the three of them strolled, the child in the lead. At the bins of books she lingered the longest. "What's this one about?" she asked her mother. "Do you think Daddy would like this one or this one?"

"It doesn't matter," the mother might have shrieked. "Just pick out something so that we can get out of here."

But she didn't say that. She read each title her daughter showed her, and said, "No, I don't think Daddy would like that," or "Maybe he would. What do you think?"

The toddler moaned that he was hot. The mother unzipped his jacket. The toddler complained that he was thirsty. The mother promised that soon they would get a drink. The toddler rubbed his eyes and yawned. The mother picked him up and carried him again.

The little girl finally settled on a pocket calendar for her father. "Can I get something for Kim and Granny and Grampy, too?"

Of course, the mother would say no. The store was hot and crowded and they had been in it close to 10 minutes and the toddler was half-asleep in her arms.

But the mother didn't say no. She said, "If you hurry. But only five more minutes, okay? Just five more minutes."

The child didn't dally. She chose a cross-word puzzle book, earrings and a flashlight and then promptly got in line.

The line was the worst, long and slow. By now, the toddler was dead weight in the mother's arms. He was gently snoring and I was sure she would finally lose her patience. "I'm not waiting," I thought she'd say. "I'll come back and get this stuff tomorrow."

But instead she stepped out of line and into the mall, sat on a bench and let her daughter wait to pay.

I followed them as they walked away. I wanted to see what would happen next.

The little girl took her mother's hand and skipped along in silence for a while. Then without breaking stride, she said, "I love you, Mommy."

The mother turned and pulled her daughter close. She didn't look tired anymore. She didn't look hassled. She was smiling.

She didn't look tired anymore. She didn't look hassled.

Both of them were.