Mal and Andrew and I drove up to chilly Chicago over A's spring break to keep him out of the arms of Destin, and to look at colleges. Washington University (St. Louis), Loyola Chicago, and Northwestern (my favorite). And also to go to opening day at Wrigley Field, where they had snow flurries. Pretty watching flakes swirl through the outfield and around the diamond. The drive is 13 hours and change; we found rabbits to tuck in behind, which is like having a fling at 90 mph with someone who will exit before you can say thank you for the time you saved me.

We loaded the car with books I didn't read because regardless of where I'm sitting, I need to concentrate on the road, and salty snacks and bottled water and Diet Cokes, and my beloved iPod. At 8,500 songs collected and compiled over the last five years, I think I have too much music, too many choices, too much wonderfulness in there to enjoy. I mostly listened through headphones to The Roots CD A brought, or to Don Imus' trouble being discussed ad nauseum on the radio. He'd better make one helluva apology and endow Rutgers women's basketball while he's at it.

Damn, Andrew grew.



I'm happy as a clam when M and A are a yard away.



My separation anxiety's not leaving anytime soon. It's not so much them going away from me as it is me going away from them - a playing out of what my mom did when I was little.

Here I am looking at myself looking at the wondrous Anish Kapoor sculpture at Millennium Park. What did she think about instead of missing me? I was an easy baby, hardly even cried or made a mess. I still don't. It's too late to know, but probably time to stop asking.



I hope A misses his dad and me some when he's away at college, but not because we've gone away.

I should probably call my mom today so Andrew remembers to call me.