really.

i'm sitting in the groton public library, and it is quiet and cool and there are dark skies outside and green trees. this is a moment of happiness.

yesterday at my parents' house i watched as selkie sat on the top of the chair and brushed my mom's hair for money. originally offered fifty cents, selkie had talked her into $5 for 10 minutes of brushing. she had swindled her own grandmother, who, being so desperate for her favorite form of indulgence, gave in and handed the kid a five-spot.

in that second, watching selkie's face gleam with the reward, watching my mother find a bit of laughter amidst her sadness, i had an overwhelming glimpse of pure happiness. it lasted a second long. it was an electric shock of a moment, but it was real and it was alive and the gratitude that hit me afterwards was profound.

ah, this is what it feels like.

last night visiting my dearest, oldest friend (younger than me, though, she'd be sure to point out): she indulged me ol' vegan heart and we found a food truck down the street from her work. we ordered soy blt and rosemary french fries and shared them on a bench in the warm cambridge air, laughing about unmentionables and things that can't be put into print. and there it was again--that brief little glimmer of happy that slapped me across the face and left me giggling long after it had retreated into the evening shadows.

and then this morning, after a fitful night of sleep, curled up in bed with my nine-year old boy next to me, amazed that he still remembers how to put his head on my shoulder and nestle right in, as if he needed me still. another pinch of reality that was nothing but joy.

is this what it is like?

in a little while i will strap on my backpack and take the four-mile walk back to my in-laws house, hopefully getting rained on during the journey. it is a warm rain today. summer rain. nothing smells better than massachusetts summer rain on the streets that i love so much.

its okay if this glow goes away, you know. it will. but for this moment i am just reveling in the grace that has been presented to me, and the awareness that is allowing me to claim it.

scribble

a few things:

teaching my children about the horrible joy of scratching mosquito bites until they almost bleed has been a perverse pleasure of mine this past week. welcome to massachusetts, kids. get out your hairbrush if it's a truly bad one. (this morning on my run i felt a strange sensation on my arm, only to look down 10 seconds later and see a huge skeeter drinking way too much of my blood. when i slapped him i looked like i had cut myself.)

i don't know what it is about new england radio stations and the dave matthews band, but i am going to use this blog to finally admit and stand by the fact that I. Don't. Like. That. Band. its overrated and sappy and bad. go ahead, tell me i'm wrong. if i hear that stupid violin opening to that dumbass song one more time as i'm scanning stations i'm going to lose it.

my accent is back in full force. being around all of my relatives during my pa's funeral just cemented it for me. somehow, i like the sound of my voice better when i'm here, and my r's get all lazy and soft.

playing mini-golf with my son was the highlight of my day. sadly, it seems that was not the case for him. afterwards he told me he'd rather we stayed home, cause it wasn't fair we just played one time through. i am struggling with this new demonic child who has taken over my sweet boy.

maybe he was just mad i got two hole-in-ones.

the clouds were so beautiful today.

but i miss my california family.

i'm melancholy, desperate, worried, exhausted, and at peace, all at the same time. how can one girl keep herself together in this situation?

not sure. doing it anyway.

poem.

poem for pa.

i trolled the internet yesterday

hoping to find words that rang true

or offered some glimpse inside the relationship

of grandfather to grandchild.

i did this

because i could not find my own thoughts

could not find my own way

through the idea

of what it was that you meant to me.

but in truth, there is nothing that's been said

before that can tell this story

the way that it needs to be told.

and in all honesty, i don't know if i possess

the ability to do you justice.

but.

you, pa, the master of potatoes.

how is it that you knew the best way to

prepare them in every conceivable form?

scalloped, fried, mashed

with heavy doses of real cream

even as children we knew that was the

most important ingredient.

you, stubbornly clutching to the idea that

the yankees held your loyalty.

constantly teasing and upbraiding the rest of us

in red sox nation, wearing the NY hat with pride,

perfecting your taunts.

(and yet, old man, when we cleaned out your drawers,

we found commemorative editions of sports magazines,

celebrating boston's historic 2004 world series win.

hidden away, like a treasure for us to discover.)

you, working in cahoots with your grandchildren

since the day we were born.

dressed as santa claus at christmas,

offering bribes for rubbing your feet,

slipping us cash whenever you could.

an art form emerged, whereupon you used your

grandchildren against your daughters, and

in the end we were spoiled rotten because of it.

spoiled above our means. spoiled senseless.

you, telling us stories,

like how long your real name was

Edward William Baxter Balmer Sylvanius

Allowicious Wallace

or how you were a colonel

instead of a sergeant

when really, a sergeant was enough to impress.

you, filled with emotion,

brimmed over the top,

handing down the wallace gene

that insures your grandchildren

will tear up during macy's thanksgiving day parade,

especially for santa and the rockettes.

you, heartbroken for years, missing her everyday,

while we rallied around you and tried

to be enough for you to be happy.

you, doting upon us and giving us nothing but love.

nothing but love and aggravation. nothing but love and

irascible behavior. nothing but love and slammed-door arguments,

cigar in your mouth, driving off in your car

to make your point.

you, forgiven immediately, and reciprocating. instilling in

your grandchildren the understanding

that no matter what, family harbors only goodwill towards

each other. in the end, we learned, we are the shelter,

the umbrella,

the cabana in the sudden summer rainstorm.

you, pa, you.

from me, from your grandchildren,

there is gratitude. what sweet good fortune

we had to have you around,

to be cradled by you,

to feel our cheeks against yours

in years of embraces,

the scruff of your face a friendly hurt.

wherever you may be

your spirit soaring overhead

Dewar's scotch in one hand

ethel's hand in the other

inevitable cigar in your mouth

i hope you are on your treasure island

full of the knowledge

that you left us with so much love,

filled, satiated, satisfied

by your endless devotion.

air.

early this morning i went out for my run, which is actually a very fast walk accompanied by short bursts of jogging. i took to the streets of my old home town and set my ipod to shuffle.

mumford and sons came on first, which set me to crying, which isn't very conducive to exercising. but i was sorta grateful for the chance, to be honest.

i miss my pa.

the humidity took care of me, wrapped me up good and tight, but there were still some moments of coolness lingering in the air, and i gulped them up like my favorite tap water. i knew the day would turn hot again but for that moment i was so happy to feel that sweet shiver on my skin.

i loved seeing the oak leaves under my sneakers as i ran.

my pa's wake is tomorrow afternoon and funeral is on monday morning. my cousin benjamin is giving the eulogy and i'm saying something as well, although as of this moment i'm not sure what.
i know that i will need to be respectful of my surroundings (ie, church) and so therefore i may find someone else's words to help me along. maybe not, though.

i keep thinking about pa's last moments, and how i inhaled and exhaled and he inhaled and he exhaled and we shared the air together for one last time.

i keep thinking about when i was seven or so and we were walking across his back yard to his neighbor parky's pool where he waited for us and my mom said something sarcastic to him across the way and in response he gave his drink to his friend, reached down in the water and took off his swim trunks and held them all up for us to see. my mom said, "run!" and for some crazy reason we all took off hoping (fearing?) to catch pa with his suit off and he panicked and tried to get them back on as fast as he could but he lost his balance and fell back into the pool as his friend laughed hard with two drinks in his hand.

i keep thinking about playing solitaire, and how he taught me three different ways to play, and how he always said, "another ace, ma!" to my grammie when he was playing at his house.

i keep thinking about his inevitable scratchy stubble on his face when i saw him, and the smell of his cigar, which i always hated but now am nostalgic for, and how he called me "haw-haw".

i keep thinking about the night before he died; how i sat with my cousins and we told stories and i learned things about him that i never knew. i like to think of him having this life i never knew about. i like to think that he had secrets and layers that were just his, because it makes him more like me.

i keep thinking about him. which is what my job is now. this is what i do. i tell stories and reminisce and try and feel him around me as best as i can.

donnie.

diversion.

okay, this one has absolutely nothing to do with my actual state of mind right now, but i figured it was good for me to share.

took the kids to bellingham today to see "zookeeper" which sucked ass, by the way; but here is one of the many reasons why i love this massachusetts:

turns out the quasi-bad guy in the movie is none other than donnie wahlberg, and when he appeared on screen for the first time, the mostly-mom-my-age audience hooted and gasped with appreciation for their hometown boy. while donnie and nkotb never did it for me, i appreciate the enthusiasm. turns out donnie still has quite the fan base.

love this place. love it with all of my sturdy new england heart.

in passing.

today i read a book to my grandfather.

on this 98 degree massachusetts day, i sat in his room at beaumont nursing home, just me and him; curtains drawn, small fan blowing lazily across us, the only sounds other than my voice were the jimmy dorsey music playing on the radio and the shallow breaths of my dear old Pa.

earlier this morning, as i thought about what to read to him today, i perused my dad's books. i wanted to find something that my Pa would like, but not anything too dense. i'm sure he would have been pleased with a quiet reading of patton's biography but i didn't think i could find a way to do that for a few hours. there were lots of mysteries and stuff, tons of books on nature, but my Pa wasn't that kind of guy, really.

when i saw the 1937 copy of "treasure island" i knew i'd found the perfect book.

so there i was, reading it to him. i sat next to his bed and tried to find a comfy position where i could hold the book and hold his hand at the same time. that didn't work so well, so i settled on being able to just touch his arm, which was baby-soft since my aunt carol had spent all morning rubbing lotion into it.

i told Pa that he had to sit back and listen and not interrupt. i believe that kind of joke is what they would classify as "gallows humor". i started with chapter one and realized very quickly that i would have to do various british accents to fully flesh out the story. i wanted him to be riveted.

i gave it all i had.

we were occasionally interrupted by the kind nurses who were checking his breathing and giving him his meds, but other than that, it was just us. Pa's eyes were closed tightly, shut so defiantly, and his skin was a different color than yesterday. his hands were cold.

i knew, from the hospice paperwork, that these were signs that it was almost time to say goodbye.

i kept reading, stopping for drinks of water and lip balm application. i talked to him every once in a while, telling him that i loved him, and that he was doing a really good job.

when i finished chapter eight, he took a deep deep breath and i waited for the next one to come. twenty seconds later a much shorter breath appeared, followed by another in quick succession. the nurse came in and listened with me.

there were no more breaths. i watched as the pulse in his neck slowed down and stopped. the nurse listened with her stethoscope. she told me he was gone, but i already knew that.

i won't go into the details of what happened afterwards, because that sadness belongs to my mom and my aunt. i can only tell my story here.

all i know is that i felt honored. i was so honored to be there with him, to tell him that he was almost done, that he could go when he wanted to now. as i put my head on his chest and cried a little, i told him how much i loved him and how he was a pain in the ass, but i loved him anyway.

it was our little exchange. tradition. had to be said, even on his deathbed.

i wasn't expecting this, wasn't planning on being the person in the room when he took his last breath. but i feel like i was the luckiest kid alive today. maybe he chose me because he knew i could handle it okay, that i would be strong as i was watching him leave.

it was so beautiful.

now my family begins the process of bereavement, and we call funeral homes and write obituaries and choose clothes and call friends. we pack his clothes and gather photos for the wake. we think about what we will say at the service, who will talk, what stories we can share that don't have too many swear words in them.

in the between time, we swim in my mom's pool and cook dinner and check emails, because that is what you do when you are living. you put your hair up because its so frickin' hot and you hope that your kids go to bed early tonight and you snack on chocolate because if ever you deserved it today would be the day.

this is what i do.

and having spent some time with death today, i am so grateful for this business of being alive.

Billy Joel - Allentown

i remember.

here's one little tip for those of you who are considering a drive cross country:

no matter how strong-willed you are, or how much you have put aside your former bad taste in music, when you enter pennsylvania you will immediately get billy joel's "allentown" in your head and it will not leave for the rest of your journey.

trust me.

extras.

what i should be writing about today is my pa. i spent some more time with him today, and i'm going back later on to read to him for a while.

for now that's all i can say about him.

however, i realized that there is one more aspect of the cross-country trip that i forgot to post about. we kept track of certain things over the week on the road and i wanted to make sure that our statistics were put on the blog for posterity.

so, number of times:

we unbuckled ourselves in the passenger front seat to help in the back while the car was still moving--12 x.

milo asked to use his ipod touch--11x.

we saw billboards for cracker barrel--21x.

selkie asked "when are we going to be there????"--20x + 1 song about it.


that's it. i thought we had more than that but just keeping track of those few seemed like a whole hell of a lot.

and i came up with a list of things to say about traveling by car in general, but now that i am housebound again i have completely forgotten them, as well.

no surprise there.

new day.

name change necessary, now that our little experiment has ended.

i have arrived back in my hometown and am immediately thrust into family difficulties. i spent the afternoon at my grandfather's nursing home yesterday. he's on his way out of this world, and i watched him thrash and grab for invisible hands in the air as if some sort of bed ballet.

it was really scary and really beautiful.

we're not sure how much time he has left; maybe a few days, maybe a couple of weeks. he's stubborn even in his own death, it seems. which makes sense, if you knew my grandfather.

anyway.

it didn't take long for me to fall into my structured role as oldest child, caretaker, organizer, chef, etc. i know what i have to do and i do it. i am the calm voice for my mother as she mourns her father, trying to keep everyone afloat in this house. its my summer job.

last night i went shopping at whole foods and stocked us up for the next week, then made dinner for the kids and my mom, all the while bemoaning the fact that i didn't bring my own knives with me. i was driving, for crissakes. i didn't have to go through security! i could've brought them and made my life so much easier this summer, since the knives in my parents' house are wussies.

probably a better way to describe them out there but i can't come up with it at this point.

oh wait, here it is: they completely suck and make me mental. chopping onions was never so dangerous.

its not that big of deal in the grand scheme of things. but why is it that the little things are the ones that make me lose it? why is it that dull knives could bring me to tears?

so here i am, in the state of my birth. the smells of summer are reminders of my whole life here. the humidity alone is enough to get me nostalgic. and looking outside the window right now--seeing the maple tree's shadow across the street on the pavement giving off that eerie orangey glow that only comes with this kind of new england weather--it seems that i am really home.

le fin.

and we're here.

the road trip is officially over, and it seems that we have survived it all. last night we left jersey city at 9pm and drove to massachusetts, listening to joe castiglione talk us through the endless red sox/rays game. the kids finally fell asleep in the back seat for the first time, until selkie woke up wailing two hours into the trip with her foot asleep.

we pulled over on the highway and i climbed in the back and sat between the two of them, heads resting on my shoulder as i massaged some life back into selkie's foot. we put in the lullaby coldplay cd in hopes it could find her some peace, but really, i think it was just the fact that i was sitting with them back there. quite a novelty.

the three of us were snug in the expansive prius back seat, and i tried to savor every second of the last hours til home. my other home. i listened to the game and tried to whisper comments to alex up front but gave up and closed my eyes.

yesterday, before we left jersey, i went to a funeral for the husband of an old friend from college. i am so glad that i got to be there for her, amidst all of the people who love her so much, and i was amazed at her strength.

i kept thinking that we were all way too young to be attending something like this. it wasn't fair.

i saw people i haven't seen for 17 years; good people who take care of the other side of the country while i toil away on the west coast. i hugged them tightly and marveled at how time had changed us but then again changed nothing. we were still the same.

my friend kelley said something in her beautiful eulogy about going home and hugging your kids, your husband, your friends; calling up those you love and telling them directly, telling them today, because you might not have another chance to do so.

today, now that this long trip is finally over and i am sitting on my parents' blue couch while my dad watches cartoons with my kids, my mom sleeps off her night shift and my husband reads the boston globe, i want to say how grateful i am for this ever-loving, crazy-ass journey on this planet. i am grateful to know so many stunning human beings who make this world better just by breathing the air up here. i am grateful to be a part o the messiness and the clutter of this life.

i am so thankful to be loved.

please consider yourself hugged tightly. i am holding you to me right now.

and i want to say thanks to the patron saint of prius-driving, crazy liberal, family-of-four-traveling whackjobs. you got us here safely and i am indebted to your kindness. you did a damn fine job of watching over us.

i would light a candle for you if i knew your name.

good talk, rusty.

jersey city.

here we are.

we got to our dear friends' house today around 5 pm, driving right past NYC and letting milo and selkie get a glimpse of lady liberty and the empire state building before hitting jersey. it seemed fitting. very american. a cap on our trip from coast to coast.

we did it. (i feel very chevy chase saying that).

it was so wonderful to get to a house tonight, to get somewhere full of a family's life, filled with kids' toys and sofas and a kitchen. dear god, a kitchen. i immediately asked for onions and a knife, and caramelized onions for a pasta dinner with my friend kim.

because she loves me so, she bought me kale from the farmer's market today.

i sliced that up and sauteed it with garlic and red hot pepper and salt and beans and we made a red sauce to go with it and it was delicious. it has made me so happy. being here has made me so happy.

here we are, the four of us, best friends since college; now married, now with two kids each. here we are, each family going through its own bedtime routine while intersecting with the other, trying to help the kids adjust to each other, trying to get them to jump past their excitement and close their eyes together. just go to sleep.

and all the while i keep thinking about these people i love so dearly, who knew me when, and how far we've all come. these two people--two of the best actors i have ever seen in my life, back in the day--there was none better--and i think about the times we spent together and the endless college days of debauchery and silliness and how we've all survived everything since.

and how, even now, we jump back into our friendship without a thought to how long its been since we've last seen each other. we effortlessly find ourselves continuing conversations that were started years ago. how is that possible?

i can't help but think of how lucky we are that we made it here in one piece. i won't deny that i had visions of crashes throughout the trip, playing out the accidents in my head, as i often do. i figure if i think of them then i'm covering my bases, and they won't actually happen. its hard work, and its a lot of pressure to take that on, but i'm willing to do that for my family.

coast to coast. we made it.

i am more than grateful tonight, as i'm here with kim and marshall and alex and all the kids. so grateful for this bounty of good things in front of me. so grateful that we made the last stop of the trip be to spend time here in jersey city.

so grateful for a friend who buys me kale as a welcoming gift.

almost gone

my last two mini-mobile posts were intercepted by aliens or something.

we're in pennsylvania, having lucked out and found the last hotel room 40 miles around last night around 11:30 pm. turns out there is natural gas drilling going on around here, and the miners have been living in hotels for over a month now, so rooms are hard to come by.

so here we are in a red roof inn, which feels more appropriate to our family than the luxury of the hilton last night, but sadly, having tasted richness, i want it back, damnit.

is it that hard to vacuum the carpet all the way to the edges of the wall? and just by putting a little placard that says "no smoking room" in the room does not mean no one ever lit up in here.

i'm not even gonna shower. its that gross in the bathroom.

but, my friends, it was a place to sleep, and i am grateful nonetheless.

today we haul ass over the lovely PA countryside in hopes of finding one cool cavern to explore and then we're off to jersey city to see our dear friends.

today, i am so glad that we are almost home. almost there. so close.

indy

i'm sitting in panera bread, downtown indianapolis, just steps away from the state house and the complex of buildings where my dad used to work. alex and the kids are back at the hilton (thank you hotwire) having a swim and i am taking a few minutes to myself to breathe in the good indiana air.

actually, the weber grill restaurant (?) is next door, so all i smell is barbecue, which, upon reflection, is probably what this state always smells like.

we're getting a really late start today, having forgotten yet again about another time change last night. the kids didn't go to sleep until midnight, and we had to wake them at 9:30 this morning. we promised them pool time and we're still going to the kids museum, so we're thinking that today will be our first drive-into-the-night kinda day. if we can make it.

i'm really frickin' tired. i need a massage. i need something else for breakfast other than an apple.

anyway, on our way out of indianapolis later today, chances are we'll drive by the hospital where they opened my back up in 1984, and eight hours later i was wired for sound and straight as an arrow.

sort of.

having that kind of badassss surgery when you are 12 years old does something to a girl. i forget sometimes that i made it through that, you know. i forget sometimes that i have a steel rod implanted by my spine. i forget.

but being here, right in the place where it happened--its hard to forget. being here is a reminder that it was all real.

so. in honor of that scoliosis surgery, april 4th, 1984--today i wear my sexy striped shirt with the cut-open back and no bra. that's right, indiana. can you take it? can you take this amount of almost-40-year-old hotness?

ask me--go ahead--ask me about my scar today.

bits n pieces.

some random thoughts/moments:

we lost one of selkie's flipflops. this is a tragedy that took half an hour to emotionally process.

alex is concerned with the lack of wildlife. "where are all the hawks? why are there no hawks around? i would not be surprised if we got back east and found out that the red-tailed hawk population has been decimated by some unknown disease."

selkie was interested for half a day about directions. she kept asking whether we were going north or east. she said, "if we go south, we'll see worms!"

i first yelled at my kids at 3:38 pm, day one.

my kids watched "the price is right" for the first time yesterday. milo says he's now hooked.

during a really great moment, milo said, "this is one of the awesomest experiences i've ever experienced."

he also explained to us what making out was, and as we groaned told us, "this drive just keeps getting better and better."

i told alex he was actually a good driver two days ago.

we keep thinking of really good apps for smart phones. for instance, what about one where it can tell you exactly what kind of landscape you are in at that very moment? as in, hey, here we are in a upper prairie/grasslands motif! isn't that interesting? you click on it and then my family is rich.

milo yesterday: "how did i manage to kick myself in the penis?"

selkie late last night, riffing on nothing with hysterical laughter: "because the pickles are here, and they are magic!"

we drove 28 miles out of the way today for a whole foods. let me just say, i LOVE. WHOLE. FOODS. i got a salad and said in a quiet, adoring voice, "hi kale. how are you? remember me?"

the smell of fast food restaurants' antibacterial bathroom soap is enough to make me gag at this point. i rubbed my hands in dirt the other day after i went pee, just so i wouldn't have to wash up with that stuff.

we have six license plates left to find. c'mon, hawai'i, c'mon.

now that my daughter has discovered the joy of pee-wee's playhouse episodes, i feel that my love for her is cemented, and i will no longer think about sending her away when she's a jerk.

the landscapes have changed so much. this is pretty country, y'all.

except for kansas.

this morning we got out of the hotel right across from the kansas city royals stadium and the humidity was so powerful i felt i had to push it apart with two hands, as if parting some heavy curtains. "see, selkie? this is humidity. get used to how this feels."

there is nothing more blessed right now than when the kids are either singing together at the top of their lungs or when the entire car is silent, each person thinking her or his own thoughts. quiet contemplation. beautiful.

already i'm a little bit sad to think its going to end this weekend. just a little bit. but then i can't wait to get off my ass and run around for a while.

current gas mileage: 44.6 MPG. pretty sucky for a prius, but we can't complain.

tonight we're staying in indianapolis, and tomorrow we're hitting the indianapolis children's museum, where i spent many a day as a kid milo's age. i haven't been to indy since alex and i first drove out to california, and i'm a little nervous about being there again. it is a veritable freak-out moment to bring my own children to the place where i played as a child.

we're driving through st. elmo, illinois right now. all i hear is the theme song.

rob lowe sax solo, anyone?

last kansas thought.

i'm feeling a little guilty about my anti-kansas post.

i have nothing against the good people of kansas, such as the kind gentleman with the breathing tube who greeted us warmly at Dillon's supermarket, or the family we talked to who prayed before eating at Wendy's, or even the state trooper that gave us the speeding ticket without any nasty comment about nailing the out-of-state, foreign-made, hybrid car.

they were all very pleasant.

no, my grudge is against the institution of kansas. you know the one. i can best sum it up and foist all my anger onto it when i think of the countless anti-choice billboards we went by yesterday, along with the ronald reagan quote signs and, my favorite: a super close-up of president obama with the words "wannabe socialist/terrorist" that was big enough to see from half a mile away.

that's the kansas that can kiss my liberal ass.

kansas be true?

these pictures are not kansas.

they are of the glorious aforementioned arches national park from yesterday. they deserve to be put in this blog.

kansas, however, doesn't.

as my good friend aki wrote to me, "why does kansas exist anyway? is it really a state? why?"

the only thing kansas did for us today was give us a north dakota license plate. it gaveth, and then it took the fuck away.

i'm really zonked now, and so frickin' glad to be out of that state and into the beautiful missouri. going to crash on yet another crappy hotel mattress with one of my children inevitably kicking me and stealing covers all night long.

we're going to take another detour tomorrow, cause on our way through kansas city we saw a sign for the negro league museum, and milo's dream excursion is less than five miles away.

so now we know what we're doing in the morning. hell, the east coast will be there waiting for us, no matter how late we show up.

goodnight, all. thanks for reading, by the way--i like to think of all of you watching over us as we drive and drive and drive . . .

Kansas haiku #3:

The only cure for
Kansas is to read Bossy-
pants to each other.

Kansas haiku 2:

Kansas takes away
One hundred sixty-three bucks
Where is the state line?

A Kansas haiku:

Hot dry endless drive
Nothing for me to eat here
We get pulled over.

last night.

barely made it over the rockies last night.

mother nature decided to show off and threw a lightning show into the mix as we crept over the mountains. that, plus the pouring rain, made for a very exciting drive.

my knuckles hurt from clenching the wheel too hard.

we also had to deal with flooding in denver itself, and we basically swam through the lakes of puddles and prayed the prius battery wouldn't die.

it didn't. lucky us.

exhausted today, and going out to breakfast before we hit the road and the inevitable band of storms that await us on the plains.

tuesday #1.

We're driving in pouring rain right now. There's a big thunderstorm all around us. This is how Colorado has chosen to welcome us. Its pretty righteous.

The kids are in front of screens, as am I, and Alex is driving. It isn't easy for me to let him drive. First of all, I get sorta carsick if I'm not driving. Secondly, he tends to look at the scenery first and the road second. Not all the time, but enough that it makes me nervous.

Right now he's doing a good job, though. I'll give him that.

We went to Arches National Park today. I don't believe in much, other than avocados and the power of homebirth, but I do believe that there is some kind of majesty in those red rock walls. I've never seen anything like it. It was a cathedral. I was in awe.

The kids, however, said things like, "Is this it?" and "This is so BORING." Which officially makes this a real roadtrip. As if it wasn't already.

The backseat organization is a pain in my ass. There is constant drama surrounding lost items, and I am amazed at my children's inability to actually look for things. They cry and say "It's NOT THERE!" with accusation in their voice and then inevitably it's just underneath the first thing on top of their pile.

When do kids start actually looking and finding their own stuff?

Backseat song right now from Milo: "Your butt has never smelled that good . . ."

Selkie is immersed in watching "Mary Poppins". For the sixteenth time in her life.

We've already found 42 state license plates. I long to see Hawaii.

We really are doing okay so far. I think we're all tired. We're weary of some aspects of the road life, like trying to find restaurants. It doesn't help when one member of the family is vegan. But we're doing okay.

When I was a kid and we lived in Indiana for a while, my family would take road trips a few times a year to Massachusetts to see relatives. I remember these so well, almost as well as I can remember anything. My brothers and I would lay down in the back of our station wagon, with all the seats completely flat, and we'd have sleeping bags and pillows and blankets and our dog Mindy. We never ever wore seatbelts.

My parents drove practically non-stop for 1000 miles. They took turns, switching in rest areas. They bought these ugly brown square pillows that took two D batteries, and we're supposed to give you a butt massage as you drove. They made a lot of noise, those pillows.

My brothers and I would argue and fight but we'd also play astronaut, and lay on our backs and press buttons up on the ceiling. We often thought about mooning people in the other cars. I can't be certain that my brother Jarrod didn't moon anyone. It wouldn't surprise me if he actually did.

I slept a lot, and especially remember driving back for Christmas, feeling the freezing windows and being scared about my dad driving in the ice and snow. It was thrilling.

Now I'm in the front seat, co-pilot style, and my kids are strapped down for safety behind me. My kids. How can it be that I have my own kids? How can it be?

Sigh.

We just drove by a gas station called "Kum and Go."

Come to think of it, I'm so glad that I am an adult now and can appreciate that sign.

living the good life in utah.

grand canyon.

quotes from my children regarding this amazing wonder:

milo: "wow. that's really a grand canyon."

selkie: "i can't see it."

monday.

Here is a sample conversation from the car today:

"C'mon, Selkie, it's time to go into the restaurant to eat dinner."

(crying, wailing) "But there are TOO MANY STUFFED ANIMALS TO CHOOSE FROM!!"

"But Selkie, you were the one who decided to take all three of your Build-a-Bears . . ."

(anger, indignation) "But YOU BROUGHT THE OTHER LITTLE ONES AND I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO AND NOW THERE ARE TOO MANY TO CHOOSE FROM!"

"So don't bring anyone into the restaurant, then. Leave them all in the car and just come in to have some food."

"I DON'T WANT ANY FOOD I DON'T WANT TO GO EAT I HATE THAT RESTAURANT..."

(blood sugar dropping quickly, temperature rising) "Selkie, we all have to eat. Get your shoes on and get out of the car NOW."

(flailing, prone on seat) "NOOOOOOOOOO."

Cut to inside the restaurant once Alex switches with me and tries with Selkie. I go inside and sit with Milo. The following conversation ensues:

"What are you gonna get, buddy?"

(insert nine-year old attitude, tone) "Where are the sandwiches? They don't have ANY sandwiches! GOD!"

"Well, let's look . . . um, yes, you're right, there aren't any--oh wait, there's a grilled cheese--"

"I HATE grilled cheese. GOD!"

"Well, there's other stuff here. Like chicken caesar salad--you like that--"

(frustration growing, blinking back angry tears) "But I don't WANT that--I want a sandwich--don't they just have a sandwich? GOD!!!"

At this point I tell the server that we will be leaving, due to breakdown status for the entire family. She is kind, but obviously child-free, and therefore not as compassionate as I want her to be.

At this point I am seriously wondering why in the good goddamn hell we thought this was a great idea.

At this point I am taking breaths, ER 911 sprays, swigs of water that I wish were wine.

At this point I am here, living this life that I have chosen.

Later, as we are driving through the valleys of Utah, with the green and red rocks around us, the little streams following us and every farm creature available right outside the windows, I am happy. They are in the backseat, having eaten heartily. They have serenaded us with improvised recorder playing to the Beatles. They are drawing and reading and seem to be happy.

At this point, I am forgetting that Selkie threw a righteous fit earlier in the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary parking lot because the gift shop did not carry any stuffed animals. At this point I am forgetting that Milo no longer listens to any of my gentle-voice requests, and seems to eventually respond with complete and utter disdain for the sound of my voice.

I'm just here enjoying the ride right now. What else is there for me to do? We are all trapped inside these four doors by choice, and we live with our decision.

For the most part, it is a beautiful thing thus far.

sunday drive.

highlights of today:

selkie screaming and crying before we even pulled out of the driveway.

waving goodbye to jessica and clay and hearing him say, "have fun storming the castle!"

seeing a baby foal running with her mom in arizona. seeing a brief glimpse of a elk through the woods.

rainstorm, lightning, rainbow.

me and milo pushing the car while alex steered it in neutral into the gas station at the nick of time.

the smell of flagstaff, arizona. pure delicious pine, enough clean air to make me happy for a lifetime.

also, just realizing that we will never be driving into the sunset on this trip. glorious.

a scene from today.

could four people be more excited about a little rain?

i think not.

milo's pictures from today.

scenes from day one.

up and at 'em

i've been awake since 4:45, can't sleep past the feeling of I'VE GOT SHIT TO DO.

the birds are waking me up, making me think of my dad. morning songs are one of his favorite sounds in the world. its nice to think i will be with him soon, and smelling his coffee brewing.

wait a minute, i think he just brews pots in the winter. these days he just goes to honeydew donuts and gets iced coffee while he talks with the regulars on main street.

anyway.

thinking ahead, but i should be thinking, focusing on what's in front of me. like the food that needs to be organized. like the shower i need to have. like cleaning my house.

but one more thing before i really start this day.

waking up this early always, always reminds me of when i was in fourth grade, and my dad took me on a birding trip to point pelee national park. its somewhere in canada; i think its the southernmost tip, actually. and it has fantastic birdwatching, so my dad planned a trip with his friends back when we lived in indiana, and i got to go with him. it was very special.

i had to wake up in the dead of night, and i think it was fall or winter--cold either way--and i remember sitting at the kitchen table, much like i'm doing right now, hunched over some food that my mom made for me and trying to get my stomach to be ready to eat breakfast when all i wanted to do was to keep sleeping. except that the excitement was too much for me, and all i wanted to do was to get on the road.

and the adults were in the front seats and i was in the hatchback ("backety-back") of a white station wagon, bundled up with blankets and no seatbelt and a box of new granola bars. i ate way too many of these, and felt sick along the way. that i remember clearly.

also, i don't think they make the aforementioned granola bars anymore. they were discontinued soon afterwards. for good reason.

i remember the hotel room shared with my dad, and walking out to the point with heavy binoculars around my neck, hoping to look really special and like i knew what i was doing.

"who is that young prodigy of a birdwatcher there? that is one special child. . ." this is the kind of comment that i wished to hear. even then, always searching for validation of some kind.

and now i'm packing my own car, granola bars for my own kids, off to drive our asses off into the sunrise.

time flies, and then comes back to slap you across the face gently in the early morning light, to help wake you up just a little bit more.

in brief

utter madness. chaos. wackadoodle.

the night before, and all is exactly as it should be.

cali

i wanted to take a moment today to talk about what i will miss about california while i'm gone.

first, i have given this state a bad rap more than once in the blogisphere. specifically los angeles, because i have not yet ventured into the more beautiful regions up north and beyond. i live in the city, in the suburbs of the city, and there is yuckyness on my corners and smog in my lungs. there are prostitutes just down the street who are out at 9 am on sunday mornings.

everyone has to worship somewhere.

anyway, this post is not about what i don't like about los angeles. its about what i will miss.

specifically, avocados.

this is avocado season in these here parts, and although i don't have a tree in my backyard (like some lucky people) i can walk into any local store or farmer's market and find the little oval-shaped piece of holiness anytime i want. i can get them cheap, cheap enough that i can make my own guacamole. cheap enough that selkie eats "avocado bowls" for dinner sometimes. they are cheap and good and fatty and luscious in all the right ways, and i am pining for them already.

because, in massachusetts, of course, those suckers are wicked expensive. like, $3 a fruit. i don't know if i can bring myself to spend that much money on one of 'em, considering i know how far they had to be driven to get into the bellingham, mass. whole foods. who knows. i may get desperate, but that's a lot of cash for such a little thing that traveled so far.

three thousand miles, yo. me and the 'cado. (i don't really call them that. does anyone?)

anyway. i will sit in my houses in massachusetts and long for the perfectness that are avocados. and i will also miss sharky's, the best take-out mexican that caters to vegans. and i will miss kind creme, which, although pricey, kicks some major regular-ice-cream ass in all of its non-dairy goodness.

wait, are all my misses about food? what does that say about me?

i will miss the near and dear to my heart, the people around me here who are my family. they generally love me dearly and think i fit in pretty well around here and don't comment about my tattoos or the fact that my hair changes color a lot. they take care of me. i will miss them.

i will miss arclight theatres, which have reserved seating and no commercials. i will miss crossroads used clothing. i will miss my ymca and the abuelitas who come in and use the treadmills next to me. i will miss telemundo in the mornings while i'm with them.

i will miss the comforts of this home, the first home here in california that i feel proud to walk into and call mine. sort of mine. as long as i pay the rent, this baby is mine.

i will miss my dogs. so much.

but not my cat.

i will miss the pomegranate tree in my back yard bursting with fruit, damnit, cause that's gonna happen in early august, i bet.

there's a lot to miss. there really is. sometimes it helps to write it all down to remind myself of what i'm doing here, in this home away from home.

W.

dreams, dreams, crazy-ass dreams all morning; grabbing children and running from dinosaurs--trying to hide in the bathroom from velociraptors, watching cars drive by faster and faster while i grip the wheel until my knuckles hurt.

there is a knot in my tummy that won't loosen.

i go back and forth between feeling really excited about the journey and really worried that things aren't going to come together. that i won't clean my house enough for my darling housesitters. that we won't be able to stay kind to each other for 3000 miles. that i will lose my shit too often, and cement my children's memory of me as "yelling mommy".

today is worry day.

(and i say "worry" with a massachusetts accent, so imagine that in your heads).

incredible hulk

cleaned out my car today. not the one we're taking across the country, but my car, the 2001 little green echo with the ghetto rusted front hood.

i found petrified apple cores under the seats.

i decided long ago that this car would be driven into the ground, so that i could do with it what i wanted to. this was cemented by a fender-bender three years ago and the fact that we had no money to get the fancy matching front hood. so i went with it.

now i hot glue things onto the dashboard. things that make me happy. lots of beach rocks, especially the heart-shaped ones, and sea glass. various sculpey creatures that milo has made through the years. a whale shark. miss piggy.

you get the idea.

it was so hot today in los angeles that the cemented hot glue started to melt, and the aforementioned creatures started to slide down a wee bit, like they were just walking home from the bars and were sleepy and drunk. it made me curse and smile at the same time.

i'm cleaning the car so my friend can borrow it while we're gone, but the truth is clearly that it cannot be cleaned, nor can it be brought back to its former glory as a zippy little pissant car that i love so dearly. no, this baby is loud and raucous and needs a lot of work which we won't pay.

i have a four-minute commute to my job. its the perfect car for this.

the cross-country car is a gray prius, pretty boring and nothing special. i'll be sure to boast of insane gas mileage if it happens, but other than that i can't make it fancy with hot-glueing. we have to have at least one car that's in decent shape.

if i had my way, i'd pepper the back bumper with all of my favorite stickers, like "eating meat is fucking up the planet" and "honk if you collect baby doll heads". but its not all mine, like my echo. oh hell, neither one of them is all mine. i have to share, so i can't put my imprint on them completely.

today i scored a major purchase at pepboys auto, where i walked around in complete and utter bafflement until two lovely gentlemen asked if i needed help. i told them that i was looking for something that i wasn't sure existed--some sort of tray for kids that was specifically for the back of the car.

the first guy rubbed his head and said, "uh, yeah, i never heard of anything like that" to which i replied, "see? i told you!" (having decided that i was going to be all chummy and cute now that they were helping me). the other guy said there might be something in aisle four, "kinda like an airplane tray thing" and i screamed out, "get OUT of here!!!" because, of course, that's exactly what we need.

i would've pushed his chest with two hands, a la elaine from seinfeld, had he been closer to me.

i'm pretty sure they were excited for me to leave the store.

anyway, i got the tray table things, which go on the back of the front seat chairs, and the laptops will fit on them and the kids have places to put drinks and markers and stuff. so its good. its good so far.

the only other new development today is that my neck hurts, giant crick, can't fully turn my head to the left. i'm pretty sure that turning my head in that direction is a requirement for driving in general.

tell it like it is.

hung out with some lovely people on the beach today, got a wicked sunburn on my back, ate some good cupcakes, watched some dolphins go wild while we all cheered.

every. single. person. thinks we're crazy to take this trip.

listed.

its 101 today here in lovely van nuys. spent the day baking 60 cupcakes for the girl's sixth birthday beach party, made from scratch, and full of vegan love. hoping the brother's tiny fever reduces to nothing so that we can all enjoy the day tomorrow.

meanwhile, we worked out our itinerary. sort of.

right now it's written on a notepad that my husband stole from disney back in the day. i wrote each day out--where we're starting out and where we're ending, with a couple of notes on the side about things we might do on the way. here's what it looks like so far:

day one. van nuys to flagstaff: 467 miles, 7+ hours.

day two. flagstaff to grand canyon: 78.6 miles, 1 1/2 hours.

grand canyon to kanab: 203 miles, 4 hours.

day three. kanab to denver: 609 miles, 10 hours.

day four. denver to columbia, missouri: 723 miles, 12 hours.

day five. columbia, mo to indianapolis: 358 miles, 6 hours.

day six. indianapolis to hoboken: 708 miles, 12+ hours.

who the heck do we think we're kidding? 12 hours? for reals? have we met our children?

it goes without saying that this is a "working itinerary". i have every intention of changing things and adding a day if i have to, because my sanity is way more important than making good time.

anyway. that's what we've got so far. its sort of feels more real now. definitely scarier. more exciting.

almost every single person we've told that we're driving across with our kids has said, "are you out of your frickin' minds?" to which i always simply reply "yes".

as if any of you had any doubt about that anyway.