She's got my DNA, after all

My daughter loves visiting office supply stores. If you need to buy her a present, a gift card to Office Depot or Office Max would please her to no end. She loves office supplies.

That love is dear and honest and raw, and this weekend is the weekend she looks forward to all year.

School starts on August 12, and this weekend was a sales-tax-free weekend in Tennessee, with school supplies, computers, and clothing being exempt from sales tax. (In Memphis, that's a considerable savings, with our sales tax rate among the highest in the nation at 9.25%.)

Since the kids don't care a whit about selecting their own school uniforms (there are a few options), I got the basic, unisex white polo shirts, while they were at a birthday party on Saturday. And I stocked up on bleach. Whoever devised the school uniform policy obviously never had children or owned stock in Clorox: white shirts? Genius.

I knew better, however, to even look in the direction of the school supplies. Because Susie would have known that I saw pencils. She can sense it. And school supply shopping is her domain.

After being too busy Saturday to commit the time and energy into a proper trip to the office supply store, we decided to go, just the two of us, while the males of the house played racquetball at the gym (which is an adventure worthy of its own post). We dropped the boys at the gym and went to the shopping megalopolis that is the corner of Germantown and Stage.

Susie had requested a particular store (seriously), and we found a great parking space. The store was not terribly crowded, and we found all the items on her list in just a few minutes. As we checked the list over again, she looked crushed. I looked at her and asked what was wrong.

"It didn't take long enough," she complained. "I'm not ready to be done." She looked forlorn.

I wasn't quite sure what to say. Fortunately, I didn't need to.

"Can we just walk around and look at stuff for a few minutes?" she pleaded.

And we did. We wandered the aisles, glancing through the clearance area (um, anyone need a 2007 calendar? They're really cheap....), testing desk chairs, looking at the cute (expensive) notebooks with puppies and kitties and horses. I might have even bought her one, just because she asked so nicely. After we'd looped the store twice, I looked at her. She still didn't look very happy, but she conceded that it was time to leave. I promised a return trip soon (we really are in the market for a new desk chair, and the nearest IKEA is nowhere close).

I wonder if this love of office supplies is telling or predictive in any way. I joke that she'll grow up to own a chain of office supply stores. Or she'll be a teacher. But honestly, I get it. I like that stuff, too. And in August, with the promise of a new year, new teachers, new friends, having those nice clean tablets and pencils and folders is a bit of a thrill.