I got an email from my mom this morning in response to “When We Were Wee.” She seems to think that I don’t remember spending any time with her growing up, as everything in that post was related to summer vacations at my dad’s. So in the interest of equality, here is my mostly unedited When We Were Wee, NC-Style, response to her complaint:

You know that I cherish our chicken strips and mashed potatoes moments. Along with trying to build a dam/fish trap in the creek and wandering around in the pastures looking for Indian artifacts and riding bikes around JL’s circle with Justin and seafood nachos and those magical little hot fudge cakes we used to make (did I tell you I made some of those last winter? scrumptious!) and the no-bake chocolate cookies (which I’ve been meaning to ask: What’re in those things?) and walking up to Rickman’s for ice cream. And playing in the carpet rolls at Tastinger’s. And being mystified over Granny’s garden. And eating sausage and biscuits and gravy until I nearly popped. And when you guys were fixing up the old house and I had the bedroom in the back, it was a warm, early spring day, and I opened the windows and laid down on the bed, and between the creek and the birds and the breeze, that was the best nap I’ve ever had.