My Love/Hate Relationship With Car-Carts

I have two kids under the age of four. From time to time – most often fueled by a fear of what may happen if we don't get out of our pajamas and our house – I take them both grocery shopping with me. Yesterday was one of those lucky days. And it went a little something like this:

T: Ooooh Mumma, I want to ride in the car cart. (For those of you who don't have these – and I'm not sure who you are because if we have them in Maine you must have them where you are – they are these horrific kid cars attached to the front of shopping carts. People put children in them and then the small people are completely obscured from parental view. If you aren't careful, your kid could likely climb out in produce and you might not notice until you get to dairy. But I digress…)
A: Ride! Car! RIIIIIDDDDEEEEE in CARRRRRRRRR!

Me: Internal struggle while I weigh the pros (quiet, happy, seemingly well-behaved children) with the cons (germs, e coli, germs, the fact that one or both of them are likely to lick some part of the car cart or their hands or eat food off of it). I relent. And because we were in the parking lot when we spotted the vehicle in question, I couldn't even do a quick wipe with those cart sanitizer wipes. Which might be fine, because I'm pretty sure there is enough alcohol in those wipes to intoxicate my children from the aforementioned licking, eating and finger sucking.

Anyway, the trip through the grocery store went (mostly) smoothly. T: definitely "rested" his cookie on the seat of the car cart then ate it; ditto for A with a piece of cheese. So gross, but once you commit to the car cart you just kind of have to go with it and bathe them in baby wipes once they return to their carseats.

Segue to dinner time. T is wandering around the house mumbling "Mumma, it's so cold in here." Considering that he usually strips down to his Captain America underpants the second we walk in the door, I wasn't overly alarmed. Until I noticed that, for once, he was fully clothed. And apparently freezing, in spite of the flaming red cheeks that he was also sporting.

A little less than 24 hours – and a sleepless, very feverish night where I compulsively googled "meningitis symptoms" and "supermarket shopping carts causing toddler death" – later I can confirm that he has a nasty bug, most likely the flu. Which I am blaming entirely on the car cart.