At the Airport

After the tears at the security line, I get a call half hour later:

O: Mommy, there are a lot of planes here at the airport. Look, I see one in the air.
Me: What colors are they.
O: This one is white. I don’t know which one is our plane. I don’t think it’s here yet.
Me: I’m sure it will get there [UPDATE: it actually doesn’t, but that is not O’s problem. That is Grandma and Papa’s problem.]
O: Grandma, got me cookies. Ok, bye!

I guess the tears where bought away by cookies!


About RidgewoodMom

Thirtysomething mom of a baby girl. First and only baby, possibly. First baby amongst my close friends. These are the trials, frustrations and lessons I have learned in raising a single child in New York.
This entry was posted in International Toddler of Mystery, No longer a baby, Parents, Subway Rides and Bus Stories, What Baby Is Chatting About. Bookmark the permalink.

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