Insecurity Strikes Again

A Comment from a Stranger Transported Me to Sixth Grade

It was not a fun trip.

Photo by author. It’s always fun until someone gets burned.

I squinted at the saleswoman. Did I hear her correctly? Did she really say that to me?

The Pacific Ocean tossed my daughters back and forth in the Kauai waves. Laughter filled the air, and I snapped a few photos. Then I froze.

How had my kids turned such vibrant shades of red after I slathered them with buckets of sunscreen?

Would their Irish-English skin survive five more days of sunshine? Is that cancer already forming on their skin?

I frowned, and mom-anxiety swept me.

“How about we go to the mall?” I yelled at three lobsters jumping in the waves.

“Can we get souvenirs and ice cream?” my youngest asked. My other two daughters looked at me hopefully. I glanced at my husband, Patrick, and we nodded. Sometimes, bribery was required.

We threw on beach cover-ups and headed to our car.

After parking at the mall, I frantically searched the trunk. Where was it? I was sure I had a hat in the trunk.

“Patrick, have you seen my hat?” He shook his head and herded the kids toward ice cream. Since perimenopause had descended I never…