Guilty. I remember one year Shawn and I flew home for the holidays and during a layover in one of those middle of the country cities, my mother-in-law called. She tracked us down in pre-cell phone land the old fashioned way and apparently had most of the airport employees all riled up. By the time we heard our names on the loudspeaker and showed up at the appropriate desk, the guy looked surprised, then annoyed, and said, "Wow, you're grown up. I thought you would be more like eight years old." I vowed never to be a mom like that. Never get so worried like that. Stay calm. Raise an independent child and happily wave as she flies off into the world. But, instead, I'm freaking out. Don'tloseyourpassporthere'sthecabconfirmationnumberwhat'syournewfamily'saddress
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