grocery run

They're all mine

I was at Walmart the other day — I can’t say exactly which day, but it was probably a Tuesday morning. Tuesday mornings have become my grocery run days. When I buy groceries, I aim to get us from one Tuesday to the next. That doesn't always work out because usually as Tuesday next comes around, we’re, as Serenity likes to say, “out of everything.”

I generally disagree with that sentiment, because I’m quite certain we could survive another week without a single new morsel of food entering the house. But I get her point — we’re out of the *fun* stuff to eat.

Anyway, Tuesday has turned into grocery day, and most of the time the girls are with me. One Tuesday, I ran into a fella I used to drive buses with years ago — pre-COVID years ago. Pre-baby years ago. He was always nice. A tall, heavy-set guy somewhere between a dad with grown kids and a grandpa. He’d never known me as a dad, let alone seen my kids.

We talked for a minute about whatever, and as we wrapped up, he said,

“They sure don’t look like you. You look more like the babysitter.

I laughed pretty hard at that — still do, to this day.

I’m not the babysitter.

The tall, green-eyed, dirty blonde one is mine. The little red-headed, starry blue-eyed one is also mine. The the other little blonde one is mine.