Every summer, he leaves me for four weeks to spend time with his bio-dad. I spend the first few days manically trying to stay busy so I don’t think about it, and then the next two weeks pretty much fly by, with few phone calls or text messages from either side. I know he’s having fun, and I want him to have fun, so I let him do his thing. Plus, he’s getting older and maybe doesn’t need to be called by his mom three times a day.

Then, somewhere around the “two week” mark, his voice changes. He’s no longer barely speaking because he’s watching TV or playing a video game… he’s barely speaking because he’s sad. He’s homesick. He’s ready to come home… and it kills me that he can’t be here with us.

In 12 days, I get my boy back. I once heard a woman say that having her child go away for an extended period of time was like having her arm cut off. Every summer, I am reminded of that feeling. Sure, we can live without an arm, but it hurts… and why would we want to live that way? Call me a dork, but I am literally counting down the days now.

As his visitation ends, I’m hauling the other three kids through 10 states including Ohio, Tennessee, Arkansas, Illinois and Michigan. Crazy? Yes. But, there’s not much else to do around here and its always nice to see other parts of the country and spend time with family and friends along the way. Plus, I get out of cleaning and cooking for three weeks, which is fabulous in its own right.

Dedicated to The Talker -- some of his favorite songs…