From backroad detours and toothbrush mishaps to a college pickup reunion that made every mile count.

This post is part of my Reunion Series—a collection of stories exploring the winding roads (literally and emotionally) we travel to reconnect with the people we love. In this chapter, I’m diving into the college pickup reunion—that bittersweet, often chaotic road trip that marks another milestone in motherhood. From bathroom mishaps to unexpected detours, this story isn’t just about getting home—it’s about navigating the unplanned routes we take during life’s biggest transitions.

We stopped at Panera in Clarksville, West Virginia. Map checking time.

Skylar wanted the cheaper route. Just 5 minutes longer.

Alex and I immediately objected. “We’re not taking that weird way just to save a few bucks.” Too windy. Too backassward.

No way.

Before long, I find myself on this county road, not a highway. I’m wondering what happened to the main route. Alex calls from the road, not too far ahead, “We’re going that weird way.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “So am I.”

Sometimes you can’t help but take the weird way, even when all you’re trying to do is get home.

Road-tripping to Nashville brings unexpected encounters that pull me from my thoughts. I don’t write them down and capture them when Alex is driving. I let them fly free.

I remember checking in and the girl behind the desk asking me, “Do you dye your hair?” It was so cool until she found out I didn’t. Then, I left my Oral-B electric toothbrush in room 323 in Huntington, West Virginia.

I called and asked about it so many times that when we returned to the same hotel, the staff recognized me. Not for the hair, though.

“Oh, you’re toothbrush lady!”

From cool hair to losing my weapon to fight gingivitis!

Moms are everywhere in college towns. Some wearing university sweatshirts. Others are in homely “Mother” shirts next to their model-gorgeous daughters.

Me? Just carrying my daughter’s ID around my wrist with my oversized college sweatshirt. They didn’t have my size. I swear!

We mothers have our place. These college kids would have nothing to do with us otherwise.

At least with Alex along this year, I won’t repeat last year’s performance of locking the keys in the trunk when fully packed.

I can leave the thinking to him, except when we decide to make a pit stop and go college crashing at the University of Kentucky. We both want to take credit for that idea. How fun to show up at a random campus without our kid.

It’s College Tours Wine Tasting all over again—only this time minus the kid. We tour the campus anyway. We act like alumni since it’s too weird to say we left our daughter in Spain.

Then there were the bathroom mishaps. Walked in on two different people–both in women’s restrooms.

A man, don’t ask me how I know, in the woman’s bathroom, in rubber boots (flood preparation?).

A woman apologizing, “I’m so sorry. The door wouldn’t lock.”

Different states. Different restaurants. Same mortification.

Trust me, I triple-checked doors after that. Sometimes skipped bathrooms entirely.

Nashville. Daughter retrieved.

I cannot lie—road trips send me down Memory Lane–when I’m driving, that is.

First two years: holding back tears knowing she’d leave again by summer’s end.

Junior year: holding back tears knowing she won’t come home after graduation.

Ed Sheeran singing “Thinking Out Loud” filters through my thoughts. The words “til we’re seventy” catch me off-guard because I think he said seventeen.

Usually it’s “Dancing Queen”—”young and sweet, only seventeen.”

The thought of seventeen reminds me of my younger daughter in Spain. Her exchange program feels like dress rehearsal for empty nesting.

Next year, both daughters graduate. One from college, one from high school.

Sometimes it’s a bit much.

Three years of Taylor Swift accompanying us through five states. When my daughter finishes her favorites, I get my choice—always Mamma Mia.

This trip, Skylar wanted sleep. I drove her car without my musical navigator.

Found myself playing my first-ever playlist from when the girls were in grade school.

Not one song I still liked. When Ed Sheeran replaced ABBA, I knew I was in trouble.

Different age reference. Different artist. Different daughter. Different transition.

Gas stops perfectly choreographed with Alex and Skylar.

I inspect our bumper’s roadkill collection. Hundreds of bugs gave their lives to our journey.

Notebook out. Writing while driving. (Don’t try this at home.)

Red SUVs everywhere. Each one potentially Alex. I follow them, imagining father-daughter conversations inside. They’re already home, I can see Alex making dinner.

Life is but a bunch of mementos. We’re looking backward while trying to reconstruct the details we should be savoring.

Home stretch. Spotted Alex ahead! Thank goodness—I almost missed our exit while writing.

Wait. He’s taking the wrong exit. One too soon. Strange.

I follow him anyway. Must have his reasons.

Fifteen minutes later, I realize my mistake. Not Alex at all. Just a stranger in a similar car.

There should be a law against writing and driving. Delirium sets in after too many miles.

Finally home.

The dog’s welcome: moans and yells that sound like, “Where were you?”

Can’t exactly yelp back, “I took the weird way!”

A few days later we pick up Alexandra from Newark. She’s back from Spain.

The dog yelps again, “Where were you?”

Everyone home now. All girls together again. One unit under one roof.

A mother’s peace.

I can dream again. I only dream when we’re all together. Too painful otherwise.

These drives home with my daughter have patches of rain and sun. But when I’ve just dropped her off and the hole in my heart has me feeling like I’ll never get out of the sinkhole, I see a rainbow bringing me hope. But that hope hides behind another cloud, for another rainy day when I’m looking for the sun again.

Picking her up and bringing her home makes me lose myself in thought. Being together again grounds me. I can piece together the past without getting lost in it.

The weird way home has its charm. Campus crashing without kids, chasing red SUVs, and misplacing toothbrushes all blend into one great reunion when we are together again. And maybe that’s what these memories are about—testing out new roles, revisiting old routes, and knowing that with or without the rainbow, we’re still finding our way home.

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For every joyful pickup reunion, there’s tears at drop-off waiting down the road. If today’s story resonated with you, check out my piece “Universitears” at Philly Flair.