Perhaps it was my approach.

"Five words," I said. "Iron. Oven. Candles. Curling Iron."

No verbs were needed. The meaning was in the words. Muddying things up any further was not necessary. The four members of my family knew what I meant. I need say no more.

A couple of them rolled their eyes. One kept eating (guess who?). Another tried to change the subject. And Mrs. P said, "Don't you trust me to take care of things while you're gone?"

I was 12 hours away from boarding an airplane and leaving town on business for five days. Five days when I would not be here to run the family. Five days when Mrs. P would be entrusted with not only her usual responsibilities, but mine, too. Which is why I reiterated.

"Iron. Oven. Candles. Curling iron."

Mrs. P muttered something about how I didn't trust them to turn everything off when they finished with a particular appliance.

"It has nothing to do with trust," I assured her. "It's just that my routine at night is to check and make sure all candles are blown out and that the oven has been turned off. In the morning, it's irons and curling irons. Believe me, I've seen my fair share of curling irons left in the 'on' position in the morning. Three times in three weeks, in fact -- and the responsible party has usually been someone who likes music by Carlos Santana back when he had really LONG hair, if you know what I mean."

Mrs. P told me to stop worrying. She'd take care of everything. Well, those weren't her EXACT words, but for the purposes of this writing, they're close enough.

Five days pass, and miraculously, I made it through my entire trip without our house burning down. The morning I was to return, I called home.

"We miss you and can't wait for you to get here," Mrs. P told me.

I was immediately suspicious.

"Miss me? Why? Who left what on? Was it a curling iron? Did you call the insurance company yet? Someone left the iron on, right? How much of the house is a loss? You forgot the oven, didn't you? What burned? More than candles, I'm guessin'? Did my golf clubs survive?"

"It has nothing to do with that," she assured me. "We just want you to come home because we love you. Through all your weird little quirks, we actually do, very much."

I was relieved. I believed her and was glad to have a loving family that missed me when I was gone. Life was good. I could've kicked myself for not believing she would see to everything while I was gone.

I should've trusted her. She trusts me to take care of everything. So next time I go, I'll trust her, too.

"I'll be home in about five hours," I said. "I need to run and pack my bag for the flight now."

There was a brief pause on the phone. I was sure she was collecting her thoughts to again tell me how hard it was to live without me for a week.

"Oh hey, when you get to the airport, don't forget to check in at the front ticket counter before you go to the gate. You can only have one carry-on bag and it has to fit in that little container so don't try to sneak one on that's too big. When you get to the gate, check in and they'll give you a boarding pass. You'll need to show your I.D. They'll also ask you two questions and you need to answer 'no' to both questions."

"What if I want to answer 'yes'?"

"Then they'll put you in jail and you'll have to trust me to turn off the curling iron and the oven and the candles and the iron a few more days."

"Then 'no' it is."

I couldn't believe she was putting me through this. It was as if ... as if ... as if she didn't trust me to get on an airplane successfully.

"All these rules make it sound like you don't think I'm capable of doing things on my own. This is Houston. If I can make it here, babe, I can make it anywhere."

"That's New York, dear."

"Whatever. Anyway, I HAVE flown before," I said. "I am responsible, y'know?"

Mrs. P said she was just trying to make a point about needlessly going over rules.

"Point taken," I said. "And taken. And taken."

"I can't wait til you get home," she assured.

We wrapped up our conversation and it was gratifying to know that in just a few hours, my neurosis and I would be back home, in the bosom of our loving family.

"Oh," I said before hanging up, "When you come to pick me up, don't forget to lock the back door. Sometimes the kids forget -- Hello? Hello?"

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