Utah is “gorges”
Today is my mother’s birthday, and that makes me both sad and warm inside. It makes me want maccaroons. It makes me want to sniff a bottle of coppertone, and slather it over warm, sun-kissed skin. It makes me want to hug the people closest to me, and make sure they know why and how much I love them. It makes me want to sit in the sunshine and pretend she was here to celebrate with us.
*****
When we’d arrived in Steamboat Springs the night before, I was still reeling from the effects of traveling through curving mountain passes with a sob-muffling pillow shoved in my mouth. We nabbed a room at the Comfort Inn on the second floor — ALL of our rooms this trip were on the second floor, and there are no elevators in budget motels, folks.)
I knew The Hubster’s plan was to get to Jackson, Wyoming that night, and we still had a lot of “scenic routes” (read: scare the crap outta me roads) to cover. So I was none too gentle about getting my guys awake. I made sure my husband was in a shower, and my son was off the air mattress so I could roll it up. Then it was off to the parking lot to do some serious repacking of our luggage. Instead of lugging all the bags in each night, I wanted to only have to grab “overnight bags.” To motivate the guys, I grabbed prepacked cereal and a bowl from the car for The Boy, and then stopped in the courtesy breakfast room to snag breakfast for The Hubster. And some coffee for me — icky, crap coffee that rivaled Disney World for its food court coffee horror.
So… when we saw a Starbucks on our way to get gas, I was glad The Hubster insisted we turn around and drive through to get me properly caffeinated.
I was a happy momma!
