Since our kids have been in school, I've been lucky enough to get their spring break off from work. Yes, it is pushing things to refer to what I do, on a daily basis, as "work." (That last sentence was brought to you by my employer, KMBC-TV...and my union. Leave it to me to bring them together on this issue.) Just the same, I am off when the kids are, and, as they would point out, I am off, period. When they were all very little, I always felt a responsibility to DO something. Sometimes that meant going to a museum in town or bowling or miniature golfing. Occasionally all at the same time which explains my family's permanent suspension from the Nelson Art Gallery. As mentioned in the previous e-pistle, it also might mean a trip to Wisconsin. Having grown up there, I really think they should consider changing the name of the month from March to Slog, since that is what you tend to do...slog through the mud and slush and lingering patches of dirty snow. Sometimes, in parking lots, where the snow has been plowed into giant mountains, with the help of a Sherpa, you can find gloves, hats, purses, small goats, as the piles start to melt away. These messy monuments to winter are usually entirely gone no later than Labor Day.

As the kids have gotten older, the pressure to DO something has lessened. This is due in part to the fact that the kids all have their own friends, jobs, responsibilities that demand their attention. Also, especially for the 16 and 17 year old sons, staying in bed until noonish...then, staying in what they wore to bed for the rest of the day seems to qualify as prime use of vacation time. They were able to sort of accomplish that at grandma's house. When they were little they would all sleep in the same fold-out sofa bed downstairs there. Back then they looked all cute and cuddly. Now, Samantha sleeps upstairs in her own room. Harrison curls up just about anywhere and the big boys take over the lower level. After a couple days, their area smells like the Jolly Green Giant's Nikes, after a long, vigorously contested tennis match held on the hottest, muggiest July day.

This year, after heading home from Wisconsin, the two little kids, my wife and I decided to spend the tail-end of the break at Silver Dollar City in Branson. The big boys had to work so they stayed put. The house was in one piece when we got back but the dog did hand me a list of rules infractions which I am still taking under advisement. By the way, speaking of the dog. He is an absolutely excellent rider in the van. He actually is a great navigator...truly gifted at reading maps. Although, we do seem to end up at a lot of fire hydrants and he insists we drive around the block three times before parking.

Saturday night, in Branson, there was smoke in the air from a controlled burn in Arkansas. It was probably unhealthy to breathe but it smelled nice and added to the beauty of the sunset. I mention this "controlled burn" mainly because I'm pretty sure there is a joke in there somewhere...involving Preparation H...but it would probably be too naughty to use even if I could think of it. Like the one about the guy who accidentally grabbed the wrong tube to brush his teeth. His gums shrunk and they all fell out.

The little kids had the usual fun at the park. The big kids had the usual fun of not having parents hovering. My wife had the usual fun watching the kids have fun. As for me, I feel I was driving for a week. Up to Wisconsin...back and forth from town to lake to town and back...return to Kansas City...down to Branson...to the park...to the room...to the Landing downtown...back to the room ...back to the park....back to downtown....back to the room...return trip to Kansas City. I really don't mind it. It does give me time to ponder important things. Like how to make a joke out of the phrase "controlled burn."