How I Spent My Summer Vacation

So, um, well. . . how to put this. . . we had an excellent family vacation.

There were issues, but they HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH MILO. And frankly, whose family vacation doesn’t have issues? The flight there was bumpy and I freaked out and cried, and Milo puked but he took it in stride. He even agreed to wear a sweatshirt of mine on the walk to baggage claim even though it looked ridiculous. We left my husband’s briefcase (he was going on from vacation to a conference) at the airport and had a mad dash back to (luckily) find it fully vetted and sniffed in the security office. My teenage daughter pouted and stomped her way through a world class art museum, and Milo took a dim view of nearly every burger he tried.

And yet, it was glorious. We swam in a fresh, cold, northern lake, we swam in a Great Lake, we kayaked, we climbed and ran down massive sand dunes, we took a wild dune buggy ride, we ate too much ice cream, Milo built a lego robot, we saw a major league baseball game (Milo’s first), visited a massive outdoor market, toured America’s first fully post industrial city, picked out a fragrance called “Michelle Obama” from a street vendor, made s’mores, surveyed the pizza offerings in 3 counties and played some serious Uno.

That kid was open hearted, adventurous, thoughtful and patient. It’s like he was possessed, or repossessed.

The best part? the two of us sitting in the cold by the little lake, surveying the stars.

Let’s make up our own constellations.

Okay, what do you see?

Well that bright star with the 4 other stars that zig zag away from it, that’s the little M, and that for me, for Milo.

I see.

And those 9 stars that are all bright and go up and down and up and down, that’s the Big M and you know what that stands for?

Also for Milo?

No, that stands for Mommy, those are your stars.

And just then (I swear, I swear, I swear) a shooting star rocketed across the night sky. We gasped.

Can I kiss you?

Yes, but just because we saw that shooting star together. Because it’s ours.

shooting-star