This week I received the first phone call from my daughter (twelve hours away at college) with those tears of “I want to come home.”

So, I opened up the drawer of things I have stashed to send to her each week.  Things I collect when I see something that makes me think of her.

I had her brothers write some notes to their sister (Mom, can’t I just text her?….NO!)

I sealed it in those flat rate shipping boxes and sent it off.

She texted me and I told her to look for something in the mail.

Her response was, “Does it have a spoon?”

Does it have a spoon?  Oh, right, she had asked for a spoon a few weeks ago. I forgot.  Lots of other things, but no spoon.

I chucked.  “Does it have a spoon?” says so much:

  • Will you take care of me?
  • Did you send something from home.  Real home.  Not plastic.
  • I’m your child that likes those extra things.  Like a spoon sent from home.
I told her she could buy a real spoon for like a dollar at Target.  We went back and forth as to whether you really could or not.   I know you can because 10 of our 15+ spoons disappeared last year with four kids in the house, and I bought 10 individuals at Target for a little over a dollar.

I told her I could sent her one if she didn’t want to buy one.

Her response was as expected, “Ok, send me one from home.”

Just as I expected.

There’s no place like home.

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