Catherine went grocery shopping with me this afternoon.
I know it sounds inconsequential. However, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times since she was small enough to have a tantrum over a pink ball I wouldn’t buy that she’s accompanied me to the market of her own volition. And by that I mean without my having to employ threats.
The small victory was nearly marred by my knack for being embarrassing. You see, these days, I’m driving around with a magnetic Jazzercise sign on the car. It nearly proved to be a deal-breaker for Catherine.
She begged me for a full 5 minutes to remove the sign from the rear passenger-side door, but I refused.
And imagine: She came with me anyway, grumbles and all.
At ShopRite, she went off with her own basket and gathered up snacks to pack each day for her camp counselor-in-training stint that starts next week. I had the veggies and fruit. She chose fresh salsa, whole-grain pita crackers, single servings of hummus. (And BBQ potato chips.)
Back at home, she helped me unpack the car and put the groceries away. Now she’s in the kitchen mixing up a batch of guacamole.
Not sure whether to run with this as one of those proud Mom moments or worry that the real Catherine was abducted by aliens. …