There I was, ordering my Mothers' Day Subway sandwich, three-year old by the hand. An apathetic teenager was cutting my bread & asking me for the third time what kind of meat I wanted.
Lincoln: "Mom, I want some of these crackers. Your arms are squashy." It was almost a single thought (someone should teach that boy that the way to get a woman to do something for you is flattery, not honesty). Mr. Apathy didn't even blink as I stammered & sputtered in response.
|Me, My Kids & a Mothers' Day Bird|
Thank you for reminding me that I am so blessed to have two healthy, happy kids who love & appreciate me, & if I have to pack a little squish that is resistant to diet & exercise, so be it. I would do it again with full disclosure. I just ask one thing: the next time you drop a truth bomb on me, Sonny Boy, can you do it at home? Or at least not follow your loud proclamations by smacking the butt of the unknown man in front of us? Is that too much to ask? Probably.