The other day I stopped at the convenience mart by my house to pick up a couple of sodas, and of course, Maycee wanted to get something for a treat. Is there ever a time I visit any kind of quick ‘n’ easy, stop ‘n’ go, 7-Eleven, gas station snack bar that she doesn’t want a special snack? And all the parents said, “Nooooooo.” When we got inside, she meandered over to the area where Hostess claims homestead. She looked at the Snowballs, she looked at the Twinkies, the Cupcakes; then, she asked, “Mommy, where are the Zingers?” Nestled at the bottom of the rack we found ’em. I asked her back, “Have you had Zingers before?” She said “no” but she wanted to try them. “Oh, you are going to love Zingers! All the frosting on top and the creamy-filled middle. Mmmmmmmm.” So, she picked the raspberry coconut and the vanilla, and home we went. She could hardly wait to get the wrappers off…this….not my best mommy moment….as I let her try the sweetreat right before dinner. But, you CANNOT be motheroftheyear day in and day out, really, right?! As she took the first bite (raspberry coconut) I could see the look on her face-a bit twisted-not so much of the eyes lighting up with delight-more of the frown that appears when eating brussel sprouts or smelling liver. She continued chewing, and I prayed she wouldn’t spit it out. Then, she said it: I DON’T LIKE THEM.
Well, I was going to write a nice long post about the insanity of not TOTALLY LOVING ZINGERS OR ANYTHING HOSTESS-RELATED, and how incredibly ridiculous this is, and she cannot possibly in any way be my child, my flesh and blood, and not like the perfectly shaped rectangles with the 1/4 inch thick frosting across the top that tickles your throat as you swallow [the vanilla ones at least], the fluffy white cream that magically fills the center and leaves a grown woman wondering “just how do they get that cream filling inside”? I intended to make a profound relation of Maycee’s lack of Zinger loving to the other idiosyncrasies that are totally opposite from mine, but instead, as is very much Kasey fashion, I’ve changed my mind.
Rather, The Closet Monster has changed my mind…
And, therefore, I’ve chosen a nice warm cup of double dutch chocolate cocoa with marshmallows to mesmerize my taste buds as I write…and I know I won’t finish writing this before it’s time for bed because, well, that is now…and…it’s okay because I must share this experience.
When Maycee and I arrived home tonight it was dark–6:20PM; so, yep, it was dark. Arms full with my work bag, purse, and various other items that I didn’t want left in the car, fumbling for my keys, one foot going through the door to keep the dogs in, Maycee squeezing by me in a hurry to get inside whilst I try desperately to hold on to my “stuff” I noticed a flat box-type item against the outside of my house by the front door. I figured it was perhaps an early Christmas present sent by some long-lost relative who nearly had forgotten us, but ultimately figured out where we lived, hunted us down, and decided they’d pass on Christmas cheer this year out of the clear blue sky. I dismissed the package for the moment, just long enough so I could set down my “stuff” without tripping.
After the typical fifteen minutes of meet and greet with the pups, including a couple of ball tosses to Percy, I remembered the package and figured I’d better see who was so on the ball with gift-giving this early. As I picked up the box, labeled from Amazon, flat as a pancake, I still held on to a moment of un-clarity. Then…”Oh, my gosh! It’s my book! The book Deb said she was going to send me! I forgot it was coming this week. Oh, my gosh! How cool!”
Deborah had written a post about a beloved book titled, Someday by Alison McGhee. She loves this book so much that she offered to give one to the first three people who asked in their comments. I finally got to reading this wonderful post much too late, or so I thought, to be on the “I want one” list, but I did comment that I would try to find a copy at some point as it sounded like something I would love as much as she. Well, if my life was inching its way to being more and more and more blessed, Deb emailed me last week and asked me if I would like a copy of the book because only two people asked for one! Me! I was chosen! This felt like winning Lotto…or something (I don’t play Lotto)…because Deb’s blog is like….well…huge…and out of hundreds of people she thought to email me. ME! I was grateful beyond words.
Just as she said would happen, as I turned the pages, tears immediately streamed down my face. The words were mine, the pictures like photographs into my heart, and it seemed as if the author was writing from a single mom’s point of view. Mom and daughter. Watching a child grow, sending her off, and then the child following in mom’s footsteps. I read the book to Maycee last night (oops, yep, it’s today now). I thought tears might form in her little eyes, as well. But, she was contemplating, listening, and loving like Deborah, like me, like I’m certain thousands of others. And, when it ended she hugged me, and in her smallest of baby voices she said, “It’s you and me, Mommy. It’s you…and me.”
Thank you so much, Deb, for choosing me, for reading my blog, for not being that long-lost strange relative, but for being the pay-it-forward woman you are. You have a keen instinct for what fits people, and you most definitely have the gift of bringing all walks of life into one room, arm ‘n’ arm. This book is everything you described, and for Maycee and me, completely special. I’m even keeping the Amazon invoice as my bookmark. I can be weird. It’s true, but in a good way (I think).
Zingers, I love ’em, but good grief, I’m glad I was diverted from dedicating the entirety of my 40th post to the joys of cream filling and the bizarre nature of my child who doesn’t get it. What she does get: Mommy loves her, no matter what, and someday if she’s lucky she will “feel a small weight against [her] strong back”¹ as I have many times over.
All of you with whom’s paths I cross in writing and sharing, I smile.
¹Taken from the book Someday by Alison McGhee