On Walking to the Mall

We were all pretty antsy this afternoon. The kindergarten homework and violin practicing schedule was feeling a bit constricting. So, I pulled out the mom trick I resort to about once a week when the ways of suburbia leave me at a loss for anything else: I suggested we go out to dinner at a fast-casual Mexican restaurant of the Bajio/Barbacoa/Cafe Rio/Costa Vida/Rubios variety. Shouts of glee ensued, probably from the same post-metropolitan parts of their brain that prompted Esme recently to refer to soda as "pop". 

But then, the urban part of her brain kicked back in and she yelled, "Let's walk there!" I could have kissed her. I did kiss her. And we got the stroller, strapped in Dalloway and embarked on a journey that few Sandy, Utahns ever contemplate: we walked to the mall.

I suppose it's called a mall. I don't know the official name for the village-type layout of stores and walkways built up around an anchor tenant, in this case both a Wal-Mart and a Lowes. Whatever it is, walking there requires exiting our apartment complex, turning east along a major commuter street and passing a large field. Esme immediately noticed trash strewn among the weeds and shrubs. "Why doesn't someone come out here with a trash bag and pick up all these bottles? These plants need water. And it smells out here." Auden picked up the chorus: "It's like poopoo from the cars! It stinks!"

But Auden, without her Phil & Teds chariot in which I pushed her around New York, didn't complain for a moment about walking twenty minutes to the restaurant. In fact, the girls ran the last few "blocks" once we entered the mall complex. And for me, it was sheer joy to have my girls by my side again, rather than as disembodied voices demanding attention from the back seat. They each held a side of the stroller, looking up at me as they talked, shielding their eyes from the afternoon sun. They touched the prickly shoots that spilled over onto the sidewalk, crouched down to observe a cricket before it jumped away, laughed at a pair of hiking boots strewn alongside the bottles. Esme kindly asked Auden not to walk in front of her, because she is bigger than Auden and takes bigger steps. They were delighted with their independence, with the thrill of running to the street corner by themselves and then waiting for me to catch up.

By the time we reached the restaurant, they were a little homesick for New York, and we talked about what they miss and what they're excited to do when we go to visit. Who knew that walking, like music or food or smells, could conjure up such strong feelings of place and past in such little people? I adore my little walkers and after all, we'll always have New York.

Comments

[Kristy Williams]

I am so glad you had the "courage" to walk. I think one of the main reasons I love our new hometown is that I can walk to the grocery store. Best of luck in your new adventure in Utah.