Propane

Back when I first found myself a single Dad, Mo was not generally an easy kid to shop with. She'd try to run away, jerking her held hand so hard it was moderately painful, like an Indian burn done palm to palm. She'd grab fragile things, open packages, and trying to write a check, well, really. So I basically did as much of my shopping as I could when I was sans children.



But of course, there was always some needful thing and a weekend was long. It wasn't instantaneous, but in pretty short order, we started to find our level. She got better about the pulling away and grabbing stuff, and I got better about not being so obtuse about what store or section of a store was an obvious avoid. I also got to where I could figure out what she was straining to get at and sometimes that meant I could find an acceptable outlet for her.



I realized as I took her to buy the propane refill I needed for Sunday's brewing activities, this was something I would never, ever have contemplated doing with her a year and a half ago.

She had fun sitting on the posts they put up to keep errant cars from blowing up the service station, and feeling the weight of the tank before and after 20 lbs of liquid propane was put in it.