Mom’s voice got even more ecstatic. “If you write Dear Me letters to yourself while we’re in Florida, recording all your memorable moments with Gram, I’ll include the letters in my Dear Me proposal presentation next month!”

I gave Mom the you-have-to-be-out-of-your-mind look.

But she continued anyway, telling me it would be an authentic example of just how fun and versatile these Dear Me Journals could be.

To that I said, “What?! No way! I’m not letting a bunch of strangers read what I write. I’m using it for a journal, Mom! A journal is private. As in, personal. As in, not public. Forget it!”

But you know how full of optimistic enthusiasm Mom is. My objections didn’t even dampen her exuberance one little bit.

She told me to use the Dear Me Journal she’d already given me for my personal journal, and she’d give me another one to write letters in.

“It’s a win-win situation, Sam,” she said, sounding super excited.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Win-win?

For who?

But I kept my mouth shut. I hoped my silence was enough to let Mom know her little plan was not going to happen.

But we both know Mom. Later, when I was in the shower, she put another Dear Me Journal on my bed with a lightbulb-shaped sticky note stuck to it that read, “Just think about it!”

So, that’s how I ended up writing Dear Me letters.

But I’m not doing it for Mom.

Or the executives at Make It, Take It.

I’m doing it for me.

And for you.

So, you’re the only one who’s going to get to read them.

I don’t plan on letting Mom even know I’m writing them.

Love,

Me

Dear Me,

So, according to Mom’s product description, these letters are supposed to be chock-full of cherish-worthy memories. But don’t get your hopes up, because here’s the thing… Mom’s pretending this is a friendly visit to spend time with Gram at her new condo and that it will be nothing but a memory-making fun-fest for the three of us. But Operation Sunny Sandy Shores, or OSSS (that’s what I’m going to start calling it because I can’t keep writing out that long name every single time) is all about Mom making her case that Gram should’ve never even moved to Florida.

Mom had the perfect little condo—which was exactly eight and a half minutes from our house without traffic—all picked out for Gram after Grandpa died. But Gram said she’d always wanted to live in Florida and had never had the chance, so that was what she was going to do.

Does this seem like a problem to you?

No. Of course not.