Why I’d Rather Be Buying Bubble Bath…

 I was sniffing guy deodorant when our eyes met.

She probably hadn’t meant to stare as she squeezed past me in aisle seven, her cart piled high with diapers and baby wipes.

But it’s not every day that you spy a thirty-nine-year-old woman conducting fragrance assessments in Walmart.

It’s crazy what we’ll do for our kids.

Not long ago I grooved a silly dance with my three-year-old and a box of Teddy Grahams in aisle twelve, because Maggie convinced me that the bears in that red box were really boogie bears.

Not unlike my thirteen-year-old had convinced me that I could find him a new scent for his underarms.

 I was gathering up my grocery list on Monday morning when he mumbled that he was out of deodorant.

I’d scribbled his name on my list as a reminder of his need and was heading to the door when he looked up from his Sports Illustrated and mentioned that his best friend used something that smelled really good. 

I’d slowed my hustle, studied my handsome boy’s baby blues, and tried to interpret this bit of new information.

“So, you want me to pick up something different?” I’d asked.

He’d smiled and said something about how it was time to stop smelling like Dad.

I’d laughed and assured him that smelling like his father was far better than smelling like his mother.

 But if he’d rather smell like his best bud, I understood.

Then I’d kissed the top of his blonde head and promised to return with lots of groceries and a stick of marvelous smelling deodorant.

Of course, he couldn’t remember the name of the scent. Just that it was the blue one. 


Who knew that one brand of armpit protection could come in so many fragrances?

Three rows of them to be exact. At least a dozen of those bearing a blue cap.

I felt like a little girl in a Baskin Robbins ice cream store. Except these flavors sounded like the buzz words I might overhear while waiting for an oil change….

Combustion. 


Cool Metal.

Or like the titles of those bad-boy video games that aren’t allowed in our home…


Snake Peel


Anarchy


Or like the name of a head-throbbing heavy metal band…


Phoenix


Ignite


Suddenly I wished I really were in Baskin Robbins. Then at least I could ask for a taste test.


So I did what any good mom would do.

I grabbed all the choices with blue caps and began popping off the lids, snuffling each one in search of a scent that was really good. 

By the time that young mom caught my eye, I was feeling light-headed from the fumes.

I flashed her a weak smile and considered explaining myself.

But her little man sitting in the cart knocked a bar of soap to the floor when he reached for a bottle of Scooby Doo bubble bath, and she quickly dropped my gaze and turned to deal with the shopping challenge at hand.

I pried off the blue lid of a stick labeled fusion and wondered if confusion would have been a more accurate name for the way this thick musky scent made me feel.

That’s when the little guy in the cart began to whine. He wanted the green Scooby Doo bottle.

Sweet mom was trying to patiently explain why they needed to buy the pink one.  Because she had a coupon for that one and it was a dollar and seventy five cents cheaper than Scooby Doo…

But little man wasn’t easily deterred. He begged and cried and refused to surrender his first pick.

Mom was losing patience, her voice growing tight and strained when little guy kicked the cart with an emphatic clank and yelled at the top of his lungs,  “Scooby smells better.”

I grabbed my purse and started digging for loose change.

I wanted to hand that darling mama a dollar and seventy-five cents and throw an arm around her frazzled form and tell her what a great mommy she is- cutting coupons and maintaining her calm in the midst of Walmart warfare.

 And a part of me wanted to tell her that Scooby Doo DOES smell better than Snake Peel or Combustion or any other pretty good smelling guy stuff as far as I can tell .  

And before she knows it her little man won’t smell like fresh baby powder and sticky lollipops but like beef jerky and old gym socks.

And soon, this little guy who’s screaming for bubble bath won’t even want to take a bath at all.

I wanted to warn her that one day she’ll find herself sniffing deodorant in the aisles of Wal Mart and wishing that the only thing her son had asked for was a bright green bottle of bubble bath marked with a goofy brown dog. 

But I didn’t tell her that, of course.

I slipped the coins in my pocket and sent up a few prayers- one for her and one for me and one for all the mamas watching their baby boys transform into men right before their eyes.

As that dear mama scooted away with her screaming toddler, I asked the Lord to give her wisdom and grace to raise a sweet-smelling boy.


And I begged that I might be granted the same gift.

I grabbed the only stick of deodorant I hadn’t yet inspected, and I tossed it in my cart. As far as my tingling nose could tell, all the blue ones smelled the same anyway.

Then I headed to the check-out line, praying still….

Praying that no matter what aroma my mini-man slaps under his arms, his life will be marked by the fragrance of Christ.


And that maybe, just maybe, this mom will smell a bit like her salvation-scented son.

The Overflow:  


In the Messiah, in Christ, God leads us from place to place in one perpetual victory parade. Through us, he brings knowledge of Christ. Everywhere we go, people breathe in the exquisite fragrance. Because of Christ, we give off a sweet scent rising to God, which is recognized by those on the way of salvation—an aroma redolent with life.   
-2 Corinthians 2:14-16, The Message. 

Happily linking with Jennifer at Getting Down With Jesus