Stopping to Smell (and See and Hear) the Coffee

Guys, if you ever want to make an old lady swoon, here's the trick. Head to Starbucks with your seven month old twins, one baby carrier in each arm. Set them up -- one carrier on a big comfy chair, one on a little table, and proceed to lovingly take off each of their hats, smooth down their tufts of fine hair, and lean down to each of them to tell them not to go anywhere.

Shame on him for not considering the possibility that I was a baby stealer, the way I was staring intently at those two little bundles as dad scurried off to get his coffee and newspaper. I suppose he did the math, though, and figured (correctly) that by the time I managed to grab both carriers and maneuver them toward the door I would have made such a commotion that he -- and all the neighboring suburban fire and police departments -- probably would have been alerted to the problem. Funny, though, it reminded me of how neurotic I used to be about those things. Like the time I went to get cash from an ATM and had to climb a few steps to do so; I think I ended up withdrawing $500 rather than $50 because I kept turning away from the screen to make sure the stroller was still there with her in it. That was in the big city, though. Bad things don't happen up here.

I was mesmerized by these two little babies, a girl and a boy (the pink and blue blankets were a dead giveaway). Immobilized by their little infant seat prisons and stuck with whatever view dad decided to give them (and yes, he turned them periodically, be still my heart), the two of them just stared wide-eyed at whatever was in front of them or within their limited peripheral range. They both had mouths that turned down in what seemed to be a permanent frown, but their wide eyes dispelled any notion that they were at all unhappy. At one point, they both turned their heads to stare at each other. I could almost see the telepathic waves of conversation between them. "Hey, I like the smell of the Christmas Blend." "I wish dad would turn me a little cause that woman staring at us is giving me the creeps." "I'm pooping."

Those two probably learned more from their inescapable perches than any of us learns in a year. As far as I could tell, neither one ever blinked. I'm sure their ears and noses were as tuned in as their eyes, taking in all the sights and sounds and smells of this place that most of us who come every day never notice.

Later in the day, I went to a Caribou Coffee. I like to change things up every now and then, and it was a convenient place for me to wait for my daughter. Like the two babies, I sat and stared. And listened and sniffed. And I noticed I was the only person there without head phones in my ears; even folks who had companions were plugged in, their eyes cast downward either at their iphones or their ipads. Weird to think of all the stuff we miss.

I'll bet my bottom dollar that as those babies get older, that dad will be as morally opposed as I was to setting up little movie screens for them on long car rides. He might have to hear "are we there yet?" a few more times than your average twenty-first century parent, but those babies will have a sense of what the world around them looks and sounds and smells like as they venture away from the nest. Can that possibly be a bad thing?

I'm going to pack up my laptop for the day, maybe even put my blackberry out of reach for a while, and pay attention. Who knows? I might learn something.