Back to Bellingham: A Post-Thanksgiving Drop-Off Run

The Sunday after Thanksgiving has its own quiet rhythm. The leftovers are dwindling, the dishwasher is finally catching its breath, and every parent of a college kid knows the routine: time to shuttle them back to campus. So at 18, my son was packed up, hoodie on, earbuds dangling, ready for the familiar Snoqualmie-to-Bellingham run back to Western Washington University.

It’s funny how fast a week goes. It feels like he just walked in the door last Saturday—dumping laundry, raiding the pantry, doing the classic college-kid shuffle between sleeping, catching up with us, and sleeping again. And then suddenly it’s time to reverse the route.

The drive north was classic late-November Pacific Northwest: low clouds hanging like a wet wool blanket, the kind of gray that makes you wonder if the sun took a personal day. But the roads were clear, the conversation easy, and there’s something oddly comforting about that familiar two-hour stretch. I know every bend well enough now to narrate the route like a nature documentary, but I spare him that—he’s 18, after all.

Lunch at Saigon Cafe

We rolled into Bellingham around 11 a.m., stomachs fully aligned in agreement that it was definitely time to eat. Saigon Café was the choice—one of those reliable spots that always hits the mark. It’s warm, unfussy, and exactly what you want on a chilly late-fall morning.

There’s something special about sharing a meal before drop-off: that small pause between home and campus life. I went for something comforting and savory, and he dove into his plate like only an 18-year-old with a week of “real food” under his belt can. The steam rising from the bowls, the clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation—Bellingham doing what Bellingham does best.

For a moment it felt less like a goodbye meal and more like any other lunch together. That’s the trick, I think: these little rituals soften the edges.

The Drop-Off

Campus was calm, that in-between period where students trickle back and the energy hasn’t quite snapped to full speed yet. So quite the racoons felt emboldened to stroll about in the mid day sun. We parked, unloaded the bag filled with clean laundry and Thanksgiving leftovers he’ll probably forget in the dorm fridge, and made our way to his building.

These drop-offs get easier, but they never get easy. I’m proud of him—deeply—but I’d be lying if I said the walk back to the van doesn’t feel a little hollow. That’s the quiet part of parenting no one warns you about.

The drive home was a solo one, but there’s a certain satisfaction to the trip: another safe delivery, another chance to share a meal, another week of stories added to the family archive.

Thanksgiving break may be short, but it delivers what matters: a full house, a full table, and just enough time to remember what it’s like to have everyone under one roof again.

And now the countdown begins to winter break—when the laundry bag will be bigger, the appetite unstoppable, and the house just a little livelier once more.