I’m back.

While I was away, the oven died. The stove still works, but there will be no baking or roasting in our future.

Today I will take the boy to see the allergist to find out if the nearly two years of shots are making a difference.

On Thursday I will take the girl to the dentist to have some reconstruction done. She will have a toothpaste commercial smile by the end of the week.

Last night, I did some laundry. Yesterday, I bought groceries.

 Ah, how quickly life returns to normal. Was I really away?

I almost forgot to tell you — for lunch today, I had my favorite lunch ever. This particular lunch is only found (in my world) at the airport in Charlotte, N.C. Since only luck and circumstance have me at the airport in Charlotte around lunch or dinnertime, it is not often that I get to have this much-loved meal. When I view my travel itinerary and see that I’ll be in Charlotte around noon, I dance with glee and anticipate lunch for days.

See how boring I am?

The lunch of which I speak is at the Carolina Pit Barbecue joint in the main terminal. Today, I SPRINTED from my plane which entered at an entirely different terminal than my upcoming departure. With joy, I saw that it was impossible to get from point A to point B without passing through the main terminal and therefore procuring my BBQ. Time was short, with just 45 minutes between landing and departure.

I got to the restaurant and with dismay, noted the line. I charmed my way in front of an indecisive guy and ordered the revered pulled pork sandwich. Now, at Carolina Pit, when you order a sandwich, they give you a fried pickle. The fried pickle is the only reason I look forward to traveling. Heaven on Earth, I tell ya! I dream of fried pickles. After begging the counter gal to put my sandwich in a salad box “to go,” I said, “Boy, I sure do like your fried pickles.”

And she gave me four. FOUR.

And then I SPRINTED off to my gate where my plane was already beginning to board. Happy as a pig in a smoker, (wait; that’s not very happy for the pig) I sat on the plane to Miami chompin’ down my fried pickles and thinking about how much I love that darn airport in Charlotte, N.C.

Do you know Dana?

She is a kindred spirit, a blog-or-die gal after my own heart. I’ve long admired her strength and style. Over the years, she’s made me cry, laugh, cheer and worry.

Like me, she blogs about kids and culture. Like me, she writes all over the place. Unlike me, she’s still in her twenties, a devout homeschooler and a fearless trebuchet flinger. (I’m still considering homeschooling the boy for college, so this dissimilarity could disappear.)

I realized today, she’s one of a few bloggers I actually think of when I’m not online. Her family has been in my prayers. Is that creepy?

Dana just scooped up the Best Columnist award from the Riverfront Times in St. Louis. At one time, I pined for such an award. It couldn’t have gone to a better gal.

Are you reading Mamalogues? You really should.

I am here.

I’ll be spending the next few days at the Worldcom Americas meeting.

I’m here the night before the meetings start and so had the loneliest dinner of my life.

Before that, I tried to relax by sitting at the pool for five minutes. I was all fidgety and restless, though.

I took a couple of photos of what is the largest swimming pool in the continental United States.

It really is huge.

(That’s what she said.)

As you can see, there are NO KIDS in the pool.

It’s hot enough. What gives?

Oh, I know; it’s OCTOBER.

 You can’t really see it here, but there’s a waterfall from that platform up above.

I did not swim.

After I fidgeted and photographed, I went to the much touted spa and ordered the least expensive service from the menu.

See my nails on my Morticia Adams hand? That’s Chick Flick Cherry for those playing the at-home game.

As they dried, I sat in the “Relaxation Room” and forced myself to spend 20 minutes just reflecting.

Longest 20 minutes of my life.

I sat next to this dude.

Seriously. He called me “a honey” and said he liked my hair. Without prompting. I swear, y’all. He said he is a comedian, but I was the one cracking wise the entire flight. I’m a riot.

The guy on the other side (yes, I had the dreaded “middle” seat) is a manager for a grocery chain in the southeast. I had LOTS of ideas to share about improvements the chain can make including online shopping, loyalty programs and the like. Readers of this space know all about my grocery store obsession. I shared my ideas right then and there. I really need a grocery chain as a client. Who knew I had all these great ideas? The guy loved them! He will be manager of the year, if he goes back to corporate with all my airplane wisdom.

And yes, I know. I’m traveling again. But you know you love the stories.

I was getting ready for my trip last night when the girl came in my room.

“Why are you packing again?” she asked in a sort-of whiny tone.

“I’m going to Miami tomorrow, remember?”  She had forgotten, even though we’d talked about it in some fashion every day for a week.

This morning, I walked her to school and said goodbye. ”See you Saturday, I said. “Have fun in Miami,” she said. “Take good care of Dad,” I said.

The crossing guard/assistant principal (YES! that’s right, we have a crossing guard!) asked her if she finished her last book and she happily told him yes, and that she earned 44 points for it, putting her in the exclusive 125 point club. He saw me standing, watching her walk the rest of the way to the school and said, “She’s a good kid, isn’t she?”

I agreed and walked back home with a HUGE LUMP IN MY THROAT.

“When you coming home, Mom?”

“I don’t know when, but we’ll have a good time then. Yeah. We’re going to have a good time then.”

Harry Chapin, eat my shorts.

Since I treated y’all to a photo essay of my hairstyles back in June, I’ve heard from a few of you, imploring me not to go back to (for the sake of all that is good and holy) short hair again. A few have also wondered what happened since that post, now a good three months ago.

I finally went to see Heidi for a haircut! And look how serious I am about it!

For the five minutes that my hair looked pretty darn awesome, I managed to take one decent shot to share with you so you can now stop worrying about the state of my hair.

Because, like me, that’s what you’ve been doing since June.

It all started in A.P. Government, where the boy and his friend B.K. enjoyed lemon poppyseed muffins with lemon icing.

“It’s a cupcake.”

“No, it’s a muffin.”

They argued, one taking the position that there is no difference; that a muffin and a cupcake are the same food item; the other debated that a cupcake has frosting; a muffin, by definition, is healthy, containing fruit or grains, generally meant as a breakfast food. 

The giant muffins available at certain wholesale food warehouses settled the case. Anyone familiar with the giant, sometimes chocolate (with chocolate chips) muffins can see that they are neither healthy nor necessarily a breakfast food. Icing does not a cupcake make.

In agreement once again, the boys treated themselves to Starbucks where the debate over caf vs. decaf was sure to rage into the night.

I share this tale of baked goods to direct your attention to the Cupcake Project, a delightful blog for foodies and those fond of both cupcakes and muffins (the same thing, I believe). I dare your mouth not to water, reading of cupcakes of pineapple, coffee or even rum and coke. Only the adventurous will try the tomato or the evilly green avacado. Props to Stef, the cupcake creator. She has me dreaming of tiny pleated wrappers, and the taste of buttercream and birthdays.

The boy is doing time. As a senior in high school, he’s required to provide some hours of community service. He’s not picking up trash on the side of the road or painting picnic benches. He’s doing what he loves and what I believe he will do the rest of his life. He’s teaching kids to play music. Once a week he’s heading to a city middle school to boss around hang out with kids in the band and show them how to play, or how to play better. Today, his band director gave him the Leadership Toast Award. Yes. A piece of toast. With jam.

The boy is plotting a way to join an international drum and bugle corps, “It’s the chance of a lifetime,” he tells us. And he has to do it while he’s young because it’s like Menudo; if he waits, he’ll “age out.” When I mentioned Menudo to the boy I had to explain. Naturally he’d never heard of the band; I’m ashamed I had to say that Ricky Martin used to be cutest Puerto Rican boy star, ever. I said, “He was what Michael Jackson was to the Jackson Five. But he turned out a lot less weird.” Another pop culture teaching moment in our household.

Hey, I figure if you’re going to teach music, you’ve got to know the whole sordid backstory. What music pop culture moments should we throw on the pile? Debbie Gibson and the shopping mall tour? That time that Eddie Murphy thought he could sing (before Dreamgirls, of course)? Milli Vanilli?

*Update: Jason stopped by the house and told me that it was Tiffany, not Debbie Gibson who did the mall tour. (Yes, it’s weird when readers leave comments in person instead of on the blog.) Apparently I have eighties alzheimer’s because I forgot that completely until he said it. Also, thank you to Susan, for giving me an earworm by singing “I Think We’re Alone Now” on the phone.

Bet that got your attention.

Last night, my husband and I attended the VPTC + CVG Charlottesville Business Innovation Council launch party. I’m on the communications committee for the organization and we were celebrating, along with a few hundred friends, the MUCH BETTER new name, also known as CBIC or C’ville BIC.

So we were chatting along with folks we knew and new people we introduced ourselves to, including Dave Keller, chairman of CBIC and Tom Thompson, the organization’s new executive director, when we came upon Charlottesville Mayor David Brown.

We introduced ourselves to the mayor and he looked at me closely and said, “Wait. How do I know you?” I knew the answer before he even said it. “You’re the St. Louis Working Mom!”

“That’s right!” I said, “You’re a blogger, I’m a blogger — look at that, we already know one another.” Since the very beginning of my life as a blogger, it’s always been a particular thrill to be recognized in person for the presence I have online. We went on to have a lovely discussion about St. Louis, our kids and a little bit of politics.

Mayor Brown is an admirable blogging mayor. He may not post often, but, I told him, “It’s really YOU writing. It’s your voice and I appreciate that.” As a voter, I have to admit, I’d rather vote for a blogger than not.

(Disclosure: I’m not a Charlottesville city resident so I can’t even vote in city elections, but I sure can be friends with candidates!)