Dear Maxx,

Ok, so if you were trying to make me feel guilty this morning as the taxi was outside waiting to take me to the airport, and you were hacking and coughing in bed, unable to get up for football practice, it worked.

And it hasn’t helped, calling from the Chicago airport to hear you coughing even louder than you were when I tried to assure you that it would all be ok, your dad would be there in a few hours to take care of you.


That umbilical cord runs deep, deep, deep.

I wonder if I’ll EVER be able to hear you cough without automatically feeling as though I should be handing you kleenex, a bowl of homemade (NOT canned) chicken soup and a nice, steaming cup of tea.  …and maybe some organic ginger ale.

I have the feeling that even when you’re long gone out of our home, married to some loving woman and making soup for your OWN kids I’ll STILL have that inbred impulse.

Anyway, hope you feel better and that you enjoy your week without your step-dad breathing down your neck.

Even if you have your dad breathing down your neck instead 🙂

Love you.

More from Milan (or maybe from the Frankfurt airport in the morning).

Mom – enroute to Marrakech (and hey, would you PLEASE look it up on a map so at least you know where in the world I am??)