Super Powers

by Patti

Last night I attended a book club meeting. The book club is through work, and it's been fun chatting about non-work related things with my coworkers over wine and words. Yes, there is wine. Why? Your book club is wine-free? How sorry I am for you.

Anyway.

So there I am in the throes of the book club meeting, debating whether or not I'd turn my kid in if I thought she had murdered somebody (for the record - I would. Even though I was met with "you are a monster" glares at such a proclomation), when my phone rang. Upon a quick glance, I saw that, speak of the devil! It was my kid! As I was right in the middle if this very important discussion about murder, I slid away the call, making a quick note to self to call her right back. Then: BZZZ! A text. I looked down at my phone and saw the words race across the screen. MOM! HURRY UP AND COME HOME! WE'RE HUNGRY!

Within seconds, my phone rang again. This time I picked it up, more than a little irritated. "Yes, honey?"
"Mom! When are you coming home? Papi and I are hungry and there is nothing to eat here!" I pictured her and my husband staring blankly into the freezer, the one stuffed with frozen pizza, chicken and ravioli, and at that moment I thought perhaps I'd be the one doing time for murder.
"I'm almost done with book club; you guys can figure it out."
"But, MO-OM!"

Click.

Yes. I hung up on my STARVING child. Because, really? I was once again, for the millionth time, awed to pieces at the sheer depth with which my child seemed to be rendered helpless when I wasn't around. It also astounds me how my husband, who is for the most part a true partner in every sense of the word, is suddenly rendered magically invisible when I'm not home. Somehow, only I can manage to rustle up a meal and serve it steaming hot in Chicago when I'm actually in Florida. Somehow, only I can find the left shoe, know what side goes best with a tuna sandwich, brush her hair, and remind her to feed the dog when I am sitting at my desk at work. Most importantly, clearly it is only I that can kiss her good night - right here, on this cheek, mom - when I'm clicking my wineglass against a friend's over the long-ago reserved table at Yolo.

The phenonemon of my amazing super powers continues to stump me. Is it a gift? Or is it a curse?

Something tells me my super powers, instilled in me the day the stick turned blue, the ones who have gotten progressively stronger over the years, will slowly begin to wear away. And, as often as these super powers feel like more of a burden than anything, I have to wonder: Their eventual disappearance - is that a gift? Or a curse?