How do I know you love me?
You gave me food when things were horrible and you knew I was living on french fries and Cheerios.
You bought me rice milk the first time I came over, and continue to do so, even though you love your whole milk like someone in a commercial.
Peanut butter is one of your favorite foods, but you don’t eat it when I’m around because you don’t want me to get sick.
You went out of your way to make foods I liked, even though up until then everyone in my life said cooking for me was difficult. What’s even more meaningful is that you still do it.
You got me to try foods I thought I couldn’t eat, and feel safe enough to do so.
You support my blogging, even though your natural skill in the kitchen far surpasses my creative attempts.