I can’t believe that I was at the Type-A Mom conference at this time last week. I spent most of last Thursday feeling anxious about my impending flight to Asheville, North Carolina.
My anxiety had nothing at all to do with the conference or speaking in front of a large group of people. I was okay with all of that, and I was really excited and looking forward to seeing my blogging friends, many for the first time.
I was afraid of another tearful good bye. I was afraid of being away from home. I was afraid that I would not enjoy myself because I missed my family so much. I was afraid that I would – again – have to send Joe and Grace away too soon because I felt an imminent breakdown.
I was afraid that something terrible would happen to my airplane, and that I’d never come home.
I felt sick.
And I felt weepy.
When my work day over, I bolted for the door. Before long, my mom, my sister, Joe, Grace, and I were sitting in the airport, waiting.
Knowing that I would not arrive in Asheville until after 9 pm, I bought a very large cheese and berry turnover and a cherry Coke.
I still felt sick, and the pastry was the only thing that sounded even remotely appetizing.
Apparently, it sounded appetizing to Grace, too.
Mommy, I have bite? She asked me with eyebrows raised.
“Sure,” I replied, holding the pastry out for her to bite.
No, my hold it myself! She informed me.
After she got one bite, she took another. I asked for a bite of my own turnover.
She handed it over, but quickly took it back for another bite.
We take turns, Mommy. We take turns! Grace was very matter-of-fact in her assessment of the situation.
Everyone laughed. “You’re taking turns, all right,” my sister told Grace.
When I extended my hand to ask for another bite of my turnover, Grace gave me a disapproving look and said, I break off your own piece. For Mommy.
My own piece?!?! of my own pastry? I was hungry and nauseous and starting to feel a little grumpy, but I kept my comments to myself.
“Sure, Grace. That would be nice.”
She broke off my own piece, all right. A sliver. A morsel. A single bite of berry and cheese turnover. She kept the rest for herself.
Everyone laughed as I stared at my piece, dumbfounded. “That’s my own piece, huh?”
Yep. That’s you piece.
I popped my piece into my mouth and asked for another.
With her eyes, Grace told me that I was asking a bit much. So I did the only logical thing. I snatched the pastry back.
We take turns, Mommy, Grace reminded me, snatching it back after I had one bite.
We take turns.
Fortunately for me, I had time for a snack in Atlanta.
© 2009 – 2018, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.