DATE: Thursday, June 26, 1997               TAG: 9706250660

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B3   EDITION: FINAL 

COLUMN: THE HOME FRONT 

TYPE: Military 

SOURCE: Jacey Eckhart 

                                            LENGTH:   71 lines

GROCERY SHOPPING WITH A 3-YEAR-OLD TAKES

Grocery shopping with a 3-year-old takes brains, guts and determination. Grocery shopping with a 3-year-old and someone else's 4-year-old takes a severe lack of common sense. Or milk.

Last week, I was low on both, so I hauled Sam and his buddy, Carson, into the commissary.

``Psst, Lady!'' hissed the handsome blond in uniform at the I.D. desk. ``Have I got something for you!''

Pity, I thought, the darling boy must be myopic. Did he not see the preschoolers clinging to my thighs?

The blond guy edged around the desk and headed purposefully toward the baskets with the infant seats attached. ``These boys weigh 45 pounds apiece,'' I called after him. ``Infant seats are unsafe after 15 pounds!''

Infant seats? The boys looked at each other and scooted toward the door. I was searching my purse for a bungee cord to lash them down when the blond pulled up with the Amazing Monster Cart.

This thing was the stretch limo of grocery carts. Attached to the back of a normal cart was a gray plastic child carrier fitted with two forward-facing seats, safety belts and an extra handlebar. Everything but a Jacuzzi. I felt a tear well up.

``What is dis thing?'' asked my son.

``It's for babies,'' Carson announced confidently. ``We'll ride on the front of the cart.''

I felt my bliss begin to slip away, but Carson was no match for my favorite blond.

``Hey, buddy,'' the blond told Carson as he hoisted him into the seat. ``This isn't for babies. It's for big guys. It's. . . it's. . . it's a spaceship, man.''

Both preschoolers turned eyes as round as saucers toward this paragon. They sat still as they were buckled in for takeoff. I flashed a smile of gratitude and headed into the fray.

Weaving in and out of the aisles, I threw carrots and kiwi fruit into the cart, slowing only at the sack-of-salad department. Contentment in preschoolers rarely lasts. However, the boys were still sitting quietly in the Monster Cart.

The boys were so content that I actually slowed down and began to enjoy my shopping. I checked labels. I compared prices. I whistled a happy tune.

It was no wonder the boys weren't complaining. Instead of traveling backward in a cart that was too high off the ground with a couple of cold metal bars between their legs, they sat in space-age comfort. What god-like figure pulled the money out of the commissary budget for this wonderful invention?

My only mishap with the Monster Cart occurred when I swung around the detergent aisle and nearly bulldozed a retiree into the Surf display.

``That's some cart,'' he said. ``Did you bring that in yourself?''

I explained how this was the first time I had ever even seen the cart and that I was already deeply in love with it. His wife looked at me enviously.

``I wish they'd had that thing when I had young children,'' she said. ``I really could have used it.''

Suddenly, I thought of a young girl I had seen in the commissary last week with her 4-year-old pushing his baby brother in the stroller while she pushed the cart. I thought of mothers I had seen pushing two weeks worth of groceries in one cart while pulling a second cart full of children. I thought of parents who had to shop with a couple of wild preschoolers every day.

Maybe we civic-minded types could gather all those old ``Navy wife - toughest job in the Navy'' T-shirts and sell them for scrap. We could give the money to the commissary and they could buy more Monster Carts. And, maybe, if we were really, really lucky, they could find a way to ferret out those inventions that really do make the lives of Navy families easier.

And while we're at it, can anyone figure out a way to get my husband home in time to unload all these groceries?

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