Friends, I’ve recently returned from a mother-daughter trip that went surprisingly well. But please don’t tell my sisters! They’ve been applauding my “sacrifice” and showering me with comments like “We owe you!” and “God bless you.” It’s been lovely.
Much like the aforementioned jaunt Mom and I took to New York and Boston. She’s always wanted to see the presidential sites up there, and since I’m the lone history teacher of her five daughters, I volunteered as tribute. I steeled myself for moments of annoyance and hours of stories that I’ve already heard and accepted the fact that the week would be emotionally exhausting. But I focused on the opportunity for spending 1-on-1 time with my mom and the chance to eat some outstanding North End cannoli.
Was there impressive eye rolling on my part? Absolutely. Mom frequently commented on the horrendous traffic, eventually declaring, “I don’t need to come back to this city.” How dare you, madam! Boston is awesome! And was I annoyed that we had to cut the Freedom Trail short, right before Paul Revere’s house (and Mike’s Pastry), because her allergies were acting up? Yes. Yes, I was.
But we shared great laughs when a tourist tried to run onto The Plain at West Point — only to be vigorously sworn at by our expatriate German tour guide, and we made quite the pair traipsing around Eleanor Roosevelt’s estate at 8 a.m., not a soul in sight. I’ll forever cherish our 30 minutes in the Hancock Cemetery, failing miserably to keep track of the prolific Adams family. “Who’s this guy again?” So fun.
But please don’t tell my sisters!
Peace out.
