road rules.

Five o'clock on Monday afternoon, sitting on a road somewhere in Wyoming, taking deep breaths and trying not to want to open the door and escape. The brush looks inviting. There are baby deer around. Maybe I could become a wild woman of the west; I could buy a shirt that says, “Ride a cowgirl, not a horse.” Maybe if I just left this car right now and ran off, jumped over the barbed wire fence and into the hills, maybe then I would find some peace and quiet within myself.

Not very likely, but if I have to listen to my daughter complain about the computer being too dark or her seat being too hot, or if I have to hear my son whine about how his itouch is messing up his game, I just might have to try it. Let them try and catch me. Let them run after me calling my name, and just see if I come back.

Can you tell we're on the fifth day of our trip?

It has actually been lovely. We've laughed a lot, and listened to our kids cracking themselves up. There has been much more of that than of the aforementioned drama. We've driven through some frickin' amazing scenery; watched all kinds of deer find their way across the landscape, begged the signs that say “Be Bear Aware” actually produce a bear, bribed our kids to look out the window by telling them we'll give them five bucks if they see a fox, ten for bald eagles, bears were 20, and moose are worth $50 in cold, hard cash. So far we are out no money.

There are farm animals everywhere, and it must be calf/foal/lamb season, 'cause there are so many babies with their moms out there, drinking the milk they were meant to have and enjoying their families. “Hi, beauties!” we all say.

The ukelele is in the front seat, along with a huge cooler, my camera, the road atlas, my purse and various other stuff. There is not too much room for my legs, to be honest.

I can't get over how lucky I am to be doing this trip, to be taking this ride with these people. I love seeing all of the bikers in their full-on americana gear. Yelling at the Halliburton trucks as we pass them by. Taking the chance and passing the slower cars while we watch the incoming traffic getting closer and closer, and even though we know we have lots of time and can make it no problem, there is always that feeling just under the surface that says, “Oh shit, we're dead meat.”

So far, so good, though.

We're heading towards Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse, staying in Rapid City, South Dakota tonight. The next day we're taking the kids to the country's largest indoor water park, god help us. I can only imagine what that will be like.

We stretch every chance we get, but its all negated by the fact that we are sleeping with our children. Last night Selkie kicked me in the head with her feet, which I sleepily swatted away as if they were flies. She is happy most of the time, brushing her doll's hair in the backseat, drawing little scenes that she then animates in her head.

Milo is more interested in stuff this year, making a point to tell us when he is looking out the window. He is affectionate and happy when he's with us in private, but in public he puts on his aloof costume, and pretends that he just doesn't give a shit. Therefore, when he says things like, “Those deer are so beautiful!” I want to squeeze him tight and tell him how much I love him but instead I just ruffle his hair a bit, which is all he'll give me in front of other people.

So far I still love my family, which after about 1500 miles seems pretty damn good. Except for the moment that just happened, when I asked Alex how far we've gone and he said, “I'm not sure,” and I said, “Well, just give me an estimate,” and he said, “Well, if you'll just look at my notes I can give you a more accurate--” “I'm just writing this for the blog!! I don't need the actual number—just give me a ballpark!!!”

That was a tense moment.

Anyway, things are good. We have about 34 license plates recorded. Hawaii is still our holy grail.

I'll leave you with a quote from Selkie. When discussing the fact that we were not going to get a speeding ticket this year, she said, “Well, then you better not drive, Daddy.”

South Dakota, here we come.