What, me worry?

Dinnertime and I was so worried. We were eating in a big group, what if Aissa misbehaved? What if she couldn’t eat the food? What if she didn’t like it? What if she began to reach out and grab what she wanted instead of being patient? What if she screamed and threw a fit? Would she and Jean know how to eat with silverware?

Then, to my horror, the meal was served in courses, with the soup and salad first. Not fast enough! If we didn’t get food into Aissa right away she would turn into a monster! And what did Jean know about the soup bowl, the salad plate, the silverware, the serve-yourself table of food?

I needn’t have worried. Aissa made a face at the salad, but ate a piece of bread happily enough, and Jean handled his soup and bread like a pro, with all the delicacy of the king of England. The entrée was served soon thereafter, and Aissa dug in to the rice and meat, which is something she LOVES, with her spoon. She cautiously scooped into her mouth, which opens only partially due to her wound, losing almost not a single grain of rice and waving me over to clean away those strays that dared to land on the tablecloth in front of her…

The Catholic sisters, having heard Aissa’s story called her ‘beautiful’, cooed and smiled at her while she obligingly acted cute. We had a nice table conversation and as they finished their meal they wished us well on our journey.

What, me worry? Never.