The text was terse: “Don’t ever send me to the store again when I’m hungry.”

My daughter had offered to pick up a few things for me at the market, and by a few, I mean fewer than 10 items.

We’re still unpacking the car.

“These are for when I visit,” Sara said, popping a box of frozen waffles in the freezer.

“Did you remember my English breakfast tea?” I asked.

“Mom, anyone who knows you would not forget your tea.”

At least one of the items on my list had been checked off, but what was in the other six bags?

Sara thought it would be a great day for an onion soup and sour cream dip. Maybe a little white wine to go with.

“Is this for lunch or dinner?” I asked. She replied with one of those “Really, Mom?” looks that meant, of course, it was for an in-between-meal snack.

She went on to tell me that she had fun memories of when I’d make the dip for her and her friends when she was growing up.

“I thought you’d be happy that I’m reliving my childhood memories.”

When I expressed surprise that she hadn’t bought anything chocolate, she looked at me with an impish smile.

My daughter, who is a perpetual Size 2, reached into the sixth shopping bag and retrieved a half gallon of double fudge chocolate ice cream. It’s nice to know some things never change.

Leaving her to unpack the rest of the surprise groceries, I wandered into the living room library where, without planning it, I tucked myself into the little wooden rocking chair she used as a child. It sits next to the bottom shelves of a bookcase housing children’s stories that are reachable for visiting little ones.

Wedged between “A Child’s Garden of Verse” and Dr. Seuss was my daughter’s all-time favorite book for bedtime stories, “The Witch in the Cherry Tree.”

It is a charming story about a naughty witch who tries to steal freshly baked cakes and the smart little boy who foils her intentions.

To this day, whenever one of us burns muffins or cookies we are baking, Sara and I call them witch cakes. There was a time when I knew the story by heart and didn’t even look at the pages as I told it to Sara as she was falling asleep.

Time has dimmed that, so I opened the book and had the joy of reading it as if I didn’t already know the story.

“Want to make some witch cakes?” I called out to my daughter.

I’m so glad some things never change.

Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her at Patriciabunin.com.