I’ve been thinking about all the fine Mother’s Days I’ve had with the kid. I value her for a thousand reasons, not the least of which is this: She has always been highly portable.
When Kate was a tiny baby, my grandmother scolded me mildly for the way I dragged the kid around so casually – on my hip, over my arm, under my arm. "You sling that baby around like a sack of potatoes," she said.
I can’t deny it. She was just two months old when I slung her on a plane to San Diego; two years old when we flew to Washington; four years old, Jamaica; five, Costa Rica. She got so she could fall asleep in any position and she became so blase about flying that she would fall asleep during the takeoff.
We couldn’t always afford to travel far, but we could always afford to go somewhere.
On Mother’s Day in 2004, we flew back from Mexico City together. On that trip I realized that I was no longer really leading these expeditions. Kate, at 19, was taking care of herself.
Now she gets to go places without me. And that’s what it’s all about.