For a season, I hated grocery shopping.  Actually a couple different seasons.

I hated it after Noah died.

I hated it when we were near bankruptcy.

I hated it when I felt fat or didn’t like myself, but would shop because I had to provide food for my family.

Now I don’t hate it.

I kind of like it.

In fact, I really, really like it because I do it with this guy:

…and grocery shopping with him means smooches and giggles and out-of-nowhere hugs and constant “Moo moo’s” as he points to pictures of cows hanging in the dairy department (which we pass by) and “Neigh neigh’s” as he asks with a questioning voice inflection, wondering if there might be pictures of horses at the store…to which I say, “No, Lover, they don’t sell horse at our grocery store…”

“Hooo hooo, ha ha?”

“Yes, Lover, those are bananas.”

And he smiles so proudly at himself, and claps his hands in pure joy.

And I smile at myself, because my shopping cart is full.


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