I know ya'll think I'm a bit of a know-it-all bossypants, and I'll concede to a bit of that, but honestly, isn't there a higher tech way to close a jet door than the hand of a middle-aged female flight attendant?
I used my tiny little mother mind (and I'm thinking about trademarking that phrase) to send stern warnings to the pilots of the plane about the precious cargo onboard. I could see them sipping Starbucks coffee as they pushed their controls and waited for the flight attendant to finish locking the door, so between my tiny little mother mind and my large, glaring eyes, I am certain they got the message.
The boys are off to the east coast to stay with my parents. I ambled back through the airport and into my sexy white Mazda already missing them. It's quiet here, and I've got a lot to do, but some of it will have to wait until they've safely arrived in Atlanta, and I hear their voices. Tiny little mother minds can handle only so much at once.
