We were eating a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and apples. Zizza gobbled up her sandwich right off and, ignoring her apple slices, was staring greedily at the second half of Enzo’s sandwich which was still resting peacefully on the serving plate in the middle of the table.
She’d asked no fewer than three times to be allowed to eat it and every request was met with a solid “no.” She is sometimes allowed to finish up his share but only if he has no interest in eating it himself. Today he was munching steadily along on his first half so her grilled cheese waste management services were not needed.
She finally despaired of my relenting and changed tactics.
“What kind of a person,” she said her sweet voice full of emotion, “wouldn’t give a sandwich to a girl who loves sandwiches?”
My reply was heartless “Me, that’s who,” But she hadn’t stopped to listen and continued on with barely a pause, laying it thicker this time.
“What kind of mama would do that?”
“This kind of mama” I told her, pointing to myself.
Then I couldn’t hold it in anymore and laughed out loud.
She gave up.
Enz ate up the sandwich and she moved on. That’s when Megan, my visiting teacher, showed up with cinnamon rolls.
I’m feeling very visited and taught just about now.
I shared the bounty with Ziz right away before she could question the morals of one who when gifted a pan full of warm cinnamon love, dripping with maple glaze and sunshine would fail to share the delight with her offspring. That’s a guilt trip I’d rather not take.
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