We get letters.

I got an email from a regular reader who calls himself "Phil."  He might look something like this:

"I look exactly like this."

I'm still reading your blog, but it's lost its flair for bringing in the non-RVer.  So many shout-outs and links... you've assimilated completely.

Ouch, "Phil."  Ouch.  He goes on to say:

Love you!

Well, maybe that gets you somewhere with other moms, but ... okay, I forgive you.  Just remember the twenty-five hours of labor that spanned this entire day 25 years ago, and you were a big baby.  If there were any hope of my being awake at 12:20 AM, November 12, I'd wish you a Happy Birthday! right then and there.

I know you're not a big celebration guy, so it'll be just a heart-healthy glass of New York State cab with the lovely Katy.  I imagine you'll sleep right through the actual early-morning 25th anniversary of your birth.  That's okay;  you didn't inherit my wild party-animal genes.  You only got my stunning good looks, winning charm,  and razor-edged intellect.  I just hope that's enough.

I love you!  Happy Birthday, "Phil!"