Dear Kid,

I’ve told the story before, but it’s worth repeating.

Many, many years ago when you were a wee tot in second grade, you were in a class show. You had a solo and when it was your turn to sing (which you did beautifully), I cried (silently).

A few months later, Pi was in her first dance recital. She performed in two dance numbers. Sitting in the audience, I cried during both.

That same year was the first year you went to sleep away camp. I drove you to Zionsville, Indiana, got you checked in, unpacked, introduced to your counselors, and said goodbye. Driving home, I called Grandma.

“How are you doing?” she asked. Translation: You are many miles away and I’m not sure how I’ll put you back together from this distance but I’ll certainly tell you to pull over if you are blubbering too hard to see straight.

“I’m fine,” I said (quite truthfully). “Apparently, I can’t watch my kids on stage without falling apart completely, but leaving them with complete strangers—not a problem.”

And so it has been. You get up to sing, I get out a hanky. If I or Pi are going to perform, I wear water-proof mascara. It saves on dry-cleaning bills.

Last night was no exception.

I didn’t think I was going to cry. I really didn’t. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Pi began her speech and I began to dehydrate. Silently. But consistently.

Guess who didn’t wear waterproof mascara? Fortunately, I hear the smudged eye is very “in” this year.

I am so proud of both of you.

Love, Mom