i went to the grocery store on mother's day and was fine with it

Jack and I went to the grocery store  yesterday afternoon.  We were out of dog food and milk and fruit and other things that we need for our survival as a family.  

We are at that awkward stage where Jack is far too "grown up" to sit in the cart like a baby -- but far too distractable and headstrong to walk alongside the cart, particularly if I have a long list of pressing things to buy.

That means that The Plan is to get one of those monstrous carts that looks like a car and drives like an 18-wheeler, and yet, has a pathetically small basket for groceries.  I brazenly promised Jack one, and then couldn't find one.  

However, I did find a bright-eyed HEB employee who was probably 18 but looked 11 to me.  I asked him if there were any car carts left, and he trotted off to the parking lot to find me one.  I breathed a sigh of relief and told Jack to hold tight -- his chariot was coming.

As the 11 year old HEB employee drove the cart back to me, a momma interloper snagged him and asked for it.  He politely explained that he was delivering it to someone else and that he was sorry.  Phew again; Jack and I were saved.

On her way by with her two children, the momma interloper gave me stink eye.  Happy Mother's Day, indeed.

For me, Mother's Day is like my birthday.  I super duper mega love it.  I feel special all day.  I will happily be showered with flowers, cards, gifts and compliments.  I will not turn them down.  You can make me a martini.  You can buy me dessert.  Yes, please.

But, like on my birthday, I also realize that real life calls.  I go to work on my birthday.  It's OK.  

I go to HEB on Mother's Day.  And that's OK, too.

Because you know what?  I would be sad if I didn't have Pablo and Lucy to buy dog food for; Durel to buy fruit for (he loves fruit, man), and Jack to buy milk for.

You know what I mean?

Hope someone needs you today.

Talk soon,

Heather