Dear Kid,

There is a bat in the house. More specifically, there is a bat in our house.

Even more specifically, there is a bat somewhere in our house, but we don’t know where.

He or she has been flying around and then disappearing as soon as we manage to fling the door open. Dad’s doing his imitation of a tarmac worker at the airport (you know, the guys with the lighted flashlight things who guide the planes to the gate).

The bat does not understand the signals.

We don’t know how the bat got into the house or exactly how long he or she has been here.

We checked, and the bat did not make an advanced reservation. I typically do not keep a stock of insects in the house, so a breakfast buffet for the bat is out of the question. I’m pretty sure that will not make the bat happy.

Says Dad, “Who needs a bat house outside when we have a bat in the house?” I’m pretty sure that didn’t make the bat any happier.

I think I shall name the bat Vlad. Or Trixy. It would help if I knew how the bat identified.

The big problem with the bat is that every time we see the Black Shadow of Silence , we jump up and open the front door. This is the universal signal to the Puppy to go On Alert and see who is invading. The compound tragedy is that A) he’s exhausted and would really rather be sleeping than popping up every fifteen minutes and B) there is nothing for him to do when faced with an empty threshold. It’s tough being him.

Stay tuned for batty updates.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

You know I’ve been traveling, right?

While I’ve been away, Dad has fallen in love with the BBC show Blue Planet II.

So for the past several evenings, that’s what we’ve been watching (after all, the Olympics are over).

Blue Planet II moves at about the speed of a tired dirge, with about as much storyline. But it is strangely addictive. There was a great segment about daddy clownfish moving a half a coconut shell over to the anemone so that there’s a hard surface for momma clownfish to lay her eggs. I’m excited to see the birth of baby clownfish! But we cut to different fish who are about to throw themselves into a pod of sharks.

I want to know about the baby clownfish (who hatch 11 days after the eggs are fertilized).

The music is soothing, the narrator is Britishly soothing, and the cinematography is beyond spectacular. HOW do they get these shots? I think they must have GoPros on marine life.

I still want to know what happens to the baby clownfish.

How do they get the time-lapse photography? Most fish won’t hold still long enough for their GoPro to capture time-lapse.

The show ends. We’re surprisingly calm. Even though we never found out what happened to the baby clownfish. Swim little fishies!!

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Sometimes one wonders. Sometimes one knows for sure. I know that Dad and I are Sweeties. But sometimes it’s not easy to remember.

Then he goes and pulls a Grand Gesture and reminds me all over again why he’s such a great hubby.

Just for the record, trying to pilot a tandem kayak when it is clearly my job to pilot the craft is not what I’m talking about.

Having our cabin on the cruise decorated for our anniversary and a cake waiting when we boarded is.

So is sneaking up to the art auction to buy a Romero Britto. (I felt quite comfortable investing in three Britto magnets for about $6 each when we were in Miami. He surprised me with a limited edition piece of art for me. Grand Gesture!)

Here’s the fun part. He didn’t tell me he’d purchased it. During dinner (Valentine’s Day, no less) he told me about the auction, described some of the pieces for sale, told me about some of the sky-high and waist-high prices, and talked about some of the auctioneer’s antics. After dinner, he wanted to show me some of the pieces he described, so we went by the art gallery. He pointed to a Britto that I’d previously admired and said, “Oh look. It sold.” (There was a sold sign on the frame.)

I looked at the Britto. I looked at him.

The penny dropped. I whispered, “You didn’t.” He nodded. I squealed.

Then I squealed a couple more times for good measure.

(I’m still squealing. But on the inside. Where it counts.)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I have now kayaked in the ocean.

One of the excursions we took was an adventure in a tandem clear-bottom kayak which – as the name implies – involved kayaking in a vessel with a clear bottom.

We made three stops along the reef in Costa Maya, Mexico. It was amazing how much we could see through the bottom of the boat.

Unfortunately, early, early, early in the morning as we approached Costa Maya, there was Weather. I slept through it, but it must have been pretty significant because the ship actually missed the dock and had to go out and try again. (Three points for exhaustion!) The Weather bothered me not at all since I was fast asleep. But it washed a ton of sea grass up onto the shore (which according to our excursion operator is usually pristine).

Up and down the coast, people were raking up the sea grass and hauling it away by the wheelbarrow-full. Up and down the excursion, guides were apologizing for Mother Nature. It was gorgeous (even with the sea grass) and it was adorable that the locals felt so badly that Mama N had misbehaved for our visit.

Personally, I felt that if she had to throw a fit it was very kind of her to get it done with before we went ashore.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Part of being on the cruise (as an anniversary present to ourselves) involved pampering ourselves.

Not only did we eat and drink to our happy hearts content, we indulged in pampering activities.

We had a couple’s massage which basically meant we got a massage at the same time and they had us hold hands at the very end. It was Dad’s first massage ever. He seems unscathed. Maybe even content.

I went to the Fish Spa in Costa Maya. Do you remember the episode from Victorious where they all go to the place where you put your feet in water and tiny little fish nibble away all your calluses? This was like that except not.

First they scrubbed my feet and shins (clearly this was all about taking off enough skin ahead of time so that the fish would be safe and healthy). Once they’d scrubbed down to sinew, I got to put my feet into the fish-quarium. It felt like tiny vibrations. (I was assured that they fish were not piranhas and wouldn’t bite, just kiss.) It tickled.

The fishies did not get rid of all my callouses. (But it’s not clear that a buzz saw could get rid of my calluses, so I consider it a win.)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Turn off your phone! (Well, turn it off after you read this.)

We know people have become highly addicted to their phones and other electronic devices. (Tip o’ the hat to your parents who insisted that dinner was an electronic-device-free zone.)

Apparently, it has gotten so bad that there are now studies about how often people check their phones (conclusion: too often) and apps that can help you avoid using apps. I just read about one where you can set a timer and if you avoid using your phone for that amount of time, you grow a virtual tree (and I think they plant one IRL).

I haven’t decided if I’m more amused or disturbed.

I can remember a time (back in the age of dinosaurs) when meals were a book-free zone. The message was the same (although the data usage a bit different): interacting face-to-face, voice-to-voice with other humans is important.

I am not downplaying the addictive power of The Phone (Word Cookies anyone? I just made it to Cassis level if you’re interested.) Nor am I poo-poo-ing the value of electronic communication, instant photos, or keeping up on Instagram (although I have to admit I’m a little stumped by SnapChat).

However, I sincerely (a word I learned to spell in 4^th grade—grandma and grandpa will appreciate that fact even if no one else will) believe that There Is a Time and Place. And I worry about people who are unable to disconnect even for the shortest of times.

So put down your phone and go turn on the TV for a while.

JK.

Love, Mom