The thing about sending your kid back to college after spending an extended spring / summer / COVID break with him is… well, I don’t wanna.

Loud, exaggerated HMPF. Er, maybe even supersonic SIGH.

OK, fine, big old snotty SNIFF. All right, ya got me already — heaving SOBS of sadness, a’ight?

Are you people happy now? Sheesh!

I mean, sure, he’s been bored out of his gourd since his summer job ended.

And yes, he didn’t have that much time for me while he was busy coaching swimming.

Or hanging out with buddies he only sees when he’s home.

Or jet-skiing. Or writing music. Or playing “Rocket League” until 3:45 a.m., and, you know, being all 21 and whatnot. #MomIsBoring

And obviously, he’d rather kick back with his buddies up in Buffalo than sit watching a “Christmas in July” Hallmark movie marathon with his boring Mombo, yo.

What? Hallmark is my happy channel. Don’t judge.

I mean, where else can you spend an entire weekend watching heartwarming stories about a hero / heroine heading home after being away in the big city for years — you know, because they were uber-busy becoming fabulously successful — only to pop back into, um, small-town Mayberyville, where he / she returns only kicking and screaming but in which he / she will ultimately wind up taking over the family cafe or vineyard or bookstore or hotel.

Why, you ask?

Because it is, of course, about to be foreclosed-upon or otherwise devoured by some big, evil corporate empire.

This recurring scenario puts the cafe / vineyard / bookstore / hotel in desperate need of being rescued by a slick attorney … which our hero / heroine just happens to be, coincidentally.

Did I mention that the “at-risk” cafe / vineyard / bookstore / hotel is also ironically located just down the road apiece from a bakery owned and operated by none other than our protagonist’s long-lost childhood sweetheart? This proprietor, of course, is the hometown honey the main character left behind right out of high school or college — quite regretfully, under much duress and with great angst.

Their separation was only due to circumstance, by the by, since neither one of them has ever loved (or dated or kissed or even noticed the mere existence of, apparently?) anyone else on planet earth.

The reunited lovebirds join wings, er, forces to save the Mayberyville institution in question, and they all end up being gazillionaires.

After ample filler film time, the family cafe / vineyard / bookstore / hotel ends up winning a humongoid national competition — which is, naturally, of all the cities of all the states of all the random old, teeny-tiny one-horse towns, is hosted in, yup, right there in Mayberyville.

The cookies or wine or books instantaneously become the iPhone of the day.

Indeed, our huggable, lovable main characters are now the proud co-owners of the hottest-selling product in these United States. This makes our dynamic duo gazillionaires and allows them to celebrate their success at their perfect wedding held in the center of … That’s right, little old Mayberyville, that idyllic little spot which just so happens to also be covert outpost location of the North Pole, run by Santa and his elves, obvi.

When it’s all said and done, Hallmark delivers its signature ending — duh, the living of the happily ever after for all.

Well, almost all.

Because, even after all that warm, fuzzy, ooey, gooey, happyfullness, my Kyle is still back in the Empire State today, capisce?

Dumb old time, making kids grow up … sniff.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to grab a box of tissues, the remote control — and some of Mayberyville’s finest chardonnay, ‘kay?

— Kimerer is a columnist / sad Mom researching nonfictional cities entitled Mayberyville. If you know where it is, send her directions via www.patriciakimerer.com.