Dear Kid,

Oh, the joy of helping children pack for camp.

Actually, I really enjoy spending time with you guys. And I’m fine with helping you choose and organize the 7 thousand things you will need to successfully negotiate the next two months.

The headache from writing your name on everything in permanent markers, not so much.

Time discussing what you should take with you? Fabulous. The pain behind me eyes when Pi wails, “Can you just make the decision for me? No, not THAT!”

The time we spend distracted and chatting about nothing at all? Wonderful. Trying to figure out how to get the silver permanent marker to write on your black socks? Sigh.

Discussing the number of pairs of underwear one needs? I have absolutely no words. Mostly because I can’t count that high.

Overall, enjoyable time well spent.

You guys are well past the age where I can do all the packing for you. And well past the age where I read the list and you fetch the clothes and it goes just that smoothly (I wonder if it ever really was that smooth or if I’m employing selective memory). You’re also well past the age where your clothes are small enough to fit easily into one large bag. And you have diverse interests which come with specialized gear.

Amazingly, we fit everything in one car. Including people.

Have a wonderful summer, kiddo. Keep us posted.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

March has me confused. What happened to Spring? Just yesterday it was warm enough to wear a T-shirt and today it is Winter degrees outside.

Therefore, I am doing the only reasonable thing: burying myself under 17 layers of blankets and cuddling up with the Puppy, my computer, and a cup of coffee. Maybe several cups.

Hopefully, you are staying warm. Personally, I don’t plan to emerge until that silly rodent follows through on his promise of a short winter.

Speaking of absolutely freezing cold, it was absolutely freezing cold in Pittsburgh and we still had a marvelous time.

We toured Fallingwater, the home by Frank Lloyd Wright. Interestingly, it was nominated for the 8^th Wonder of the World (but lost to Manchu Pichu—another place I’d like to go).

Fallingwater is snuggled into the environment, right over a lovely little waterfall.

And we ate our way through Thai food, Greek food, “eclectic” food,

Italian food, and (of course) waffles.

Then we rolled home.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

What a difference a year makes.

Last year (as you may recall) I went to Las Vegas for a conference and got stuck due to charmingly lovely weather. Read about it here and here and here and here if you’ve forgotten all the hysterical details.

This year I went to the same conference (version 2016) in Orlando and travel was uneventful. Which (imho) is exactly how it should be. Thank you Mickey for the excellent weather across the nation.

The flowers that bloom in the spring Tra La!

Meanwhile, crazy weather here in southwest Ohio. One minute it’s warmish, the next minute it’s coldish. One minute people are singing “the cold never bothered me anyway,” and the next they’re searching for shorts and a T-shirt. One minute the frozen vortex of winter is freezing peoples’ vocal chords (causing weird versions of “Let It Go” to leak out of scarf-wrapped heads), and the next minute tulips are waking up.

The hotel we stayed in in Florida was very nice except for their soft drink policy. It is a Pepsi hotel.

You know I believe that Diet Coke is one of the most important food groups on the planet (right up there with the Chocolate food group and the Coffee food group). This hotel had not gotten the memo. They served diet Pepsi. (Fortunately, the bartender was kind enough to squeeze about a hundred limes into mine so I could drink it.) They were savvy enough to offer coffee and Diet Dr. Pepper so the world did not have to come to a crashing halt.

On the other hand, if this is the worst challenge I face this month, I’ve got a pretty good life.

Stay warm. Or cool. Or whatever the weather by you dictates I should be saying at this exact moment.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I was at the airport last night, and while I waited for Pi’s plane to land I thought, “We have a really nice airport.”

This is not a thing one generally thinks at an airport.

Generally, when one is at an airport, one is thinking about where one can find a bank to loan one enough money to buy a small bottle of water. Or one is thinking about how one is going to find a way to get from where one is to where one wishes to go without using the airplane one had originally planned to ride. Or one is thinking about why one is using the word “one” so often.

Whatever one is thinking, it is generally not “Wow, this is a great place.”

But that’s exactly what I was thinking last night.

I think part of the reason was that I wasn’t trying to go anywhere. I was just there to retrieve a child, and I was pretty happy to have her back home. Also the drive to the airport had been easy breezy beautiful (no, Cover Girl did not pay me for that). In the garage, I parked in the Ultimate Parking Spot. And I learned that CVG has a Welcome Center.

“Meeting someone?” asks a sign held by Rosie Red (yes, the airport is mildly decked out for the All Star Game). “Follow the signs to the Welcome Center”

Welcome Center? We have a Welcome Center?

I went inside the terminal. “This way to the Welcome Center” I took the escalator down. “Welcome Center” said another sign with an arrow indicating a U-turn. (I want you to know I executed the U-turn flawlessly.) Then (after walking the length of two escalators) I was there: at the Welcome Center.

The Welcome Center consist of two lovely areas with café tables and chairs where one can wait for whoever it is you feel like waiting for. The walls are glass so you can see who’s coming and decide whether or not to greet them. The food and beverage options consist of several vending machines which is less than chic, but since you don’t have to go through security you can bring as much of your own beverage as you want so it’s not a big deal.

Pi landed and in short order (that is not a height joke) came through to the Welcome Center, where I (being the kind of mother I am) welcomed her.

In a serious breach of union contracts, her luggage arrived quickly and (after hugging everyone six or seven times) we climbed into the car, left the Ultimate Parking Spot, and headed home.

Really, it’s a lovely airport.

Love, Mom

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Dear Kid,

Have you ever noticed that traveling looks wonderful and invigorating in television commercials and magazine ads?

I can only assume that this is because the actors have a) all traveled first class to get to their destination and b) have had several days to rest from said travels.

Or because the ad was filmed on a sound stage which required a commute time of 27 minutes.

Or because there is something magical about the hats the actors wear (you know, the huge brimmed hats that make the women look like movie stars). Of course, the magic called “retouching” and “photoshop” help too.

Real life travel is not advertisement-quality travel. Unless by advertisement-quality you mean it’s flat and tasteless.

Real life travel is tiring. It may mean delayed (or canceled) flights. It may mean driving through rain and hail in places like East Nowhere, PA. It generally involves meals that sit awkwardly in your stomach like a misplaced bowling ball (looking at you, Cracker Barrel). It inevitably means (for me) too much caffeine and too little sleep.

Also it does bad things to my hair. You don’t have this problem, I know. But I do. I don’t know how some women manage to travel with their own cadre of hairdressers, but they look fabulous while I look like mice found lodging near my scalp.

The good news is there is often good stuff at the other end of travel. Like family. And borrowed puppies. And sometimes warm weather.

And travel, no matter how wonderful, always makes us appreciate home just a little bit more.

Love, Mom