The Countdown (Leaving on a Jet Plane, Part 5)

Happy Friday-Before-Christmas, Friends!

Are you snug and cozy? The weather here has been cray-cray. Gale force winds. Power outages. Enough rain to float a battleship in the backyard. A little token of remembrance from yesterday’s wind storm:

At least it fell AWAY from the house. No injuries.

In other words, “winter as usual’ in the water-logged Pacific Northwest.

Is this place great or what?

Meanwhile, The Kid & Co. continue on their Pirates of the Caribbean cruise. I mean, their Royal Caribbean cruise. Freudian slip there.

He sent me these pics on Wednesday night (before Thursday’s storm hit):

Costa Maya

Mayan ruins (duh)

You may recall that I wasn’t exactly turning hand-springs over our youngest son, age 19, jetting cross-country all on his lonesome (e.g., sans Mom and Dad). Or flying for the first time. On. His. Own. Ditto catching a week-long cruise among blood-thirsty cannibals, rampaging drug lords, malaria-infested swamps and piranha-packed waterways. (See prior posts starting with Leaving on A Jet Plane, Part I.)

I mean, a Caribbean cruise.

So, while the rest of us are bundled up in hooded jackets, galoshes, mittens, umbrellas, and enough layers to choke a mule, The Kid & Co. are running around in shorts and tank-tops. Not that I’m jealous or anything. (“Tough duty.” But someone’s gotta do it.)

Still, I gotta hand it to The Kid. He’s proven himself reliable, resourceful and responsible. Texting me every night. Just like he said he would.  I still see him  as a kindergartner in a young adult suit. I’m counting down the days until he’s back on U.S. soil and terra firma (You know how moms are).

So even though it’s been pretty quiet around here for the past week and I kind of enjoy the “empty nest” thing, know what? I miss the kid.

I miss hearing him charge through the back door, home from classes with, “Hi Mom! I’m baaaaack!” I miss baking cookies and watching The Homecoming together. I miss, “Mom, I accidentally locked myself out of my truck. Can you bring me my extra set of key?” I even miss his warped sense of humor. (Nobody’s perfect.)

They’re due back on Sunday. Three… two… one…

 

 

A Pocketful of Polka Dots

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