It’s good to be home. Even if the half-decorated house which I left in a mad rush last weekis in a state of disgusting dishevelment due to a family-wide stomach virus which struck while I was gone and caused my daughter and her family to be too weak to make the 17-mile drive back to their home in Ocean View.

As soon as his hospital discharge papers were signed, he was ready to get dressed. One by one we removed items from his bag only to find all his damp clothes shredded. His ski pants were intact but his boxers were nothing but fringe.

Main thing is they looked clean. Just like we always tell our kids. 

No matter the age of your kid - mine’s 27 - this is the call no parent wants to get:

“There’s been a ski accident. Your son has been airlifted to a trauma center. Sorry, but that’s all we know.”