I’m especially motivated by my cravings for tomato-bread soup. Three tomatoes were sitting on the counter, filling my kitchen with their dusty aroma. My recipe was out, my knife was poised; only one thing stood in my way: bread-less-ness (and, for that matter, basil-less-ness). A quick grocery-store trip was in order.

I didn’t want to add another pound of emissions for a mere mile of walking. But, I didn’t want to slog through the summer heat with a paper bag pasted to my forearm either. I waxed nostalgic about the days my daughter liked her stroller, and I liked the storage basket underneath. But Isabel is 5 now and the stroller long gone. So, what could I use to keep my arms sweat-free?

Being the clever—if somewhat sneaky—mother that I am, I decided on child-labor. After all, Isabel’s doll carriage has it’s own storage basket. Perfect.

Apparently, recruiting the naïve is all about marketing. “Let’s take baby-doll Carrie for a walk in her carriage,” I said, beaming. Wide-eyed, Isabel nodded, rendered speechless momentarily. For Isabel, that’s close to a miracle. Really.

Luckily, the day felt more like spring, with less-than-sweltering temperatures and lily-scented breezes tickling our skin. Isabel opened and closed the carriage’s cover as we passed from shade to sunlight. The sparrows couldn’t get a chirp in edgewise as Isabel cooed ceaselessly to Carrie.

Inside the store, Isabel showed Carrie peppers and corn, while I searched for organic basil and wondered if eggs could survive the bumpy ride back. Homeward-bound, Isabel pushed the stroller that was packed with her drowsy doll inside and a bread-loaf underneath.

As for child labor laws, Isabel did receive fair payment: ice cream. Poor baby-doll Carrie was asleep though, and couldn’t collect on her share.

Swati Avasthi

Minneapolis, MN