Every February my parents fly south for the winter. Okay, they don’t actually fly because my mom would have to sedate herself -heavily- in order to get on a plane. They drive. Every year they play golf on the way down (otherwise a 14 hour trip in a strait-shot is very tedious). They stop at BoBo and PopPops… clearly we have a thing for simple grandparent nicknames in my family. This year my brother flew down to join them for a few days.
They always visit my dad’s BFF from kindergarten (or some equally parochial age) and his wife in Miami. This year tom got to drive some very fast car with a very cool engine (I’m told) in it that makes Matt drool a little… if Jack were old enough to have car stats memorized he’d drool too.
They visit their friends who live in OC with them during the year but own or rent for 2-4 months during those unbearable Maryland winters (irony only not applicable to this actually unbearable winter).
Their schedule reads like a college graduate backpacking through Europe; 3 days here, 5 days there… zigzagging across the state. And then there are the phone calls… no I’m not sitting by the pool, it’s not warm and cloudless today, we’re not having cocktails. Jerks.
Miss you! Love you! Come back soon!