Like clockwork, the first weeks of October always plague me with a sense of homesickness: for my bed; for a house that doesn't have a keg in the kitchen; and for my parents. Of late, especially my Mom. See, sitting the other day talking the car insurance company (another story for another time), I realize I owe my Mom an apology or two or forty.

Sorry about that time I locked the babysitter in the garage, on purpose. Sorry about breaking the crystal candle sticks. And the other set of crystal candle sticks. And that other thing. Sorry about locking myself in the bathroom and crying so hard I couldn't get myself out. Sorry for never getting out of bed. Sorry for getting stuck in the baby swing, and sorry you had to saw it in half. Sorry for that one time I made you miss the exit in Virginia, and sorry for not telling you how grateful I am that you're my Mom. 

Here's the playlist you asked me to make you for our trip in May. Sorry it's late.