Abe Lincoln: Healer or Dealer?

Ask any elementary student to name some presidents, and they will likely be able to name at least two: George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Clearly, in life these two individuals had dramatic effects on the growth of our nation. As a result of their commitment to our country, their legacies live on today. Both Washington and Lincoln are memorialized in everything from city and county names to historical monuments and national currency.

I submit, however, that today there is more to Mr. President Lincoln than any of us has ever realized. In fact, old 'Honest Abe' currently has quite a dark and sinister side, and I am here to expose him for what he is: Abe is nothing more than a dealer - enticing young, unsuspecting 'clients' (and their parents!) down a path of "need" and "want", from which I fear there is no return.

Let me explain. During our recent trip to Florida, we ventured into the local mall for some after-Christmas shopping late one evening. Being the amazing parents we are, husband and I failed to bring the stroller with us, and we resigned ourselves to carrying our son and his diaper bag (a crucial component in any outing) in and out of stores for the next two hours of our lives.

After about 5 hand-offs (or switcheroos...from baby to bag, back and forth)...husband and I had decided that those were 5 of the longest minutes of our lives. Something had to be done if we were to survive. I found the nearest bench, and, after making sure my family was safely seated and protected from the dangers of shopping in a mall without the appropriate equipment, I went off in search of help. My parting words to husband were, "if I am not back in 10 minutes, start a fire and use our son's favorite blanket to send smoke signals for help." The first 3 minutes of my journey were uneventful; however, on my 4th minute, I resisted the temptation to visit the comfort of the haven Starbucks, turning instead down the aisle to the left. It was there I came face to "handle" with the answer to my prayers.

There, in the middle of the aisle, was a row of strollers, each in the shape of a small car, complete with steering wheel and fake instrument panels. I crawled toward this mini-parking lot, hoping that I had not come across some sick mirage. If nature had indeed been playing a cruel trick on me, at that moment, I vowed to spend the very last ounce of energy I could muster to drag myself back to Starbucks, where at least I could welcome my shopper's demise with a non-fat, sugar free caramel latte in hand. When my fingers made contact with the cold, germ-infested metal handle of the first stroller, my energy was renewed; I swung my arms up in victory and jumped (if I had only frozen in mid-air, a passerby may have mistaken me for a Toyota commercial of the 1980's). As I landed, I knew time was fading. I again gripped the handle firmly and pulled back, eager to be reunited with my family.

After I re-connected my arms to their sockets, I frantically tried to "un-stick" my cart from its position. Near tears, I dropped back to my knees, downtrodden, giving up all hope for a pleasant mall-shopping experience. As I turned my head back towards Starbucks, I noticed a subtle glint along the floor. There it was, right there in front of me - it had been there all along, and I just had not seen it before. The front of each cart was secured to a small track, running the length of the mini-parking lot, reminiscent of the hitching posts of the old west.

At about that time, Grandma came around the corner and saw me closely examining the stroller/locking-track system. "What a great idea!," she exclaimed. And with that, her hand was in her wallet; in no time at all, she produced a crisp, new five-dollar bill and began to wave it towards me. As I reached for the bill, I paused, momentarily locked in a gaze with the man facing me. I could have sworn I saw President Lincoln actually wink at me as my hand made contact with his paper existence. It was at that point I knew I would be making a deal with the devil. I inserted the bill into the receptacle post at the end of the stroller lot, and instantly heard a single click erupt from the locking mechanism on the stroller nearest me.

Minutes later, car-stroller and I were back with husband and son, who had begun to gather scraps of paper and lollipop sticks for kindling. After wiping every last piece of the stroller down (twice!) with our disinfectant wipes (hey, we aren't dumb!), we propped our 5-month old in the seat with blankets. We even found a place for the diaper bag to hang, conveniently accessible while still secured to the handle.

For the next hour and a half, our son cooed, screamed in enjoyment, and was more alert than he has ever been, watching everyone around him while he was pushed from store to store. Life was good again, but at a cost.

And so to you, Mr. Lincoln, I say thank you. If it hadn't been for you, we would never have been able to give our son his first taste of rented strollers. And now our son is clearly addicted. While I could be spending tonight with a glass of wine and some very good blog reading, I am sure I will end up at the mall, searching for the strollers that will again pacify our son.

As a warning to all you new parents out there, I am posting pictures of our son's first "trip" in a rented stroller. Beware of Mr. Lincoln - he may seem like he only wants to help, but he surely has very selfish, sinister plans about which you are not supposed to know.

Addiction or happiness? You be the judge.

*wink*