When you're stuck in a traffic jam in Pittsburgh, you know you're in the wrong place.
"I knew we should have gotten you that GPS for Christmas," said Bob's brother. "But no, you said you didn't need one."
Bob's sister said that too.
But who needs a GPS when all you do is take I-80 straight across Pennsylvania? All the way. All the 8-hours across this state. West to east, no complications. There is no getting lost. Yet there we were, in Pittsburgh, which, by the way, is not on the way to New York City.
I blame it on bad entrance ramp signs in rural Pennsylvania. And the sad thing is, once you're on the wrong road, you stay on the wrong road. By the time you are able to turn around you are -- well -- in a traffic jam in Pittsburgh.
Your kids are all crammed up in the back seat with their blessed electronic diversions. By now, your 10-year-old son has watched "Meet the Fockers" three times and you've quit counting all the ways this movie is inappropriate for your child. You're just glad he's laughing out loud in the privacy of his headphones, even though you've placed him in the incorrect city, wrong state.
Besides that, spring break is swell. And I will tell you more later. Perhaps pictures too. I was trying to take a blogging moratorium, but here I am. Be assured, we're here, in Brooklyn, New York, USA.
The tea is ready so I gotta go. I hope you are all well.
With love, T xoxoxoxxo
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