THE SPOON AND THE PEANUT BUTTER

I have a 40 oz jar of peanut butter being consumed by the spoonful. So does Nicholas. It's a habit. Not a bad habit by any means, but a habit nonetheless. When we are sad, stressed, anxious, etc. we reach for a spoon and a jar of peanut butter. It's our "comfort food" if you will.

"Is there anything else you think you may need for college?" I asked him the day before he moved, being the incessantly worried mom that I am.

"No, I'm good," he replied.

"Not even peanut butter?" He HAS to have peanut butter, I thought. Please say yes, so that I know you will have that little bit of comforting that I can't give you for the next year while you are gone.

"Oh wow. Yeah, I can't believe we forgot the peanut butter. I'm going to need something to get me through, ya know?" He tried hard to sound like it was not as big of a deal as it is.

So, off I went to the store to get him a SUPERSIZE jar and packed it away with a spoon.

Isn't it funny how a little thing like a jar of peanut butter can keep me connected to my child while he is off growing up at college? When we unpacked his things, he put the jar in a drawer, and as he closed it, he gave me one of "those" looks and had a smile that said everything. "Thanks mom," he seemed to say without speaking.

As I sit here spooning gobsfull into my mouth, I wonder if he is too. But the tears come anyway. They fall when I think about him, when I hear his voice, when I pray for him...and they come when I recall the last thing he said to me before I drove off yesterday and made my way back home. "I love you mommy. Thank you for everything. You have done so much for me. I wouldn't be here without you." Oh God, help me not bawl. Lord get me through this. How should I feel right now?

I wanted to grab him and throw him back into the Jeep and speed off back to home, where I could just put him in a bubble and spoon-feed peanut butter to him for the rest of his days. But, at 6'4" and about 200 pounds, I'm pretty sure that even my most awesome supermom skills couldn't conquer that mountain. Just tell him you love him and drive off.

"Aaaawwwww mom. Don't cry. I'll see you on Saturday." He says with tears welling in his own eyes.

Yes, I think to myself. That is why I was doing ok, until you said all that. I had been telling myself for the last 10 minutes, Don't cry, you'll see him Saturday. Everything will be fine, you'll see him Saturday.

I couldn't wait to just get home, and open my jar of peanut butter, grab a spoon, and be comforted. But, when I got home, I smelled his cologne he had put on just before we left, saw his empty room and I was suddenly like a crazy woman, running through the kitchen, throwing the cabinet door open, ripping the lid off the jar, and grabbing the biggest spoon I could find.*sigh* ok, I can do this. It's not like he is in a different country, or even a different state. I can go see him anytime I want to. Then I just dropped to my knees with my spoon still in hand and prayed for God to take over and fix anything and everything that I had messed up. He's my baby. My first born, my proto-type model. I know I haven't done everything right but I also know that by the grace of God, he turned out to be a good boy anyway. I have no worries with him. He makes good, sound moral decisions, gets good grades. He is very intelligent and he is going to be an attorney and have a phenominal life and make a difference and ...I need more peanut butter...anyone have a spoon?