Last year, my son had to write a poem about me for Mother’s Day. My kids have been dealt an assignment like this before, so I braced myself for the sure-to-be-eye-opening experience of reading his unvarnished thoughts regarding my private life. The observations both he and his sister had made about me in the past highlighted things I didn’t even know about myself. This new work of art proved no different. The stanza “My mom goes to the grocery store every day / It doesn’t matter if we need anything, she always finds a way” couldn’t be more accurate. But what Theo fails to mention is that I actually going to the grocery store for (wasn’t I just here?), I rush through the aisles as if I’m on a game show. That, my Theo, is how I find myself having to return daily to Food Lion, Piggly Wiggly, or Walmart for items I’ve forgotten.
