This week I’ve been preparing for an epic road trip through the western U.S., involving a grand total of almost thirty hours of driving (split up over the course of about a week) with my seven year old son. Daddy will join us for the last leg and by then, I’m sure I’ll be more than ready for his help. Heck, I’m always ready for his help!
I haven’t been on a journey like this since my free-spirited early twenties, when I thought nothing of driving from Vermont, all the way down the east coast, over to Texas, through Arizona and California and on up to Seattle where I semi-settled down for three years. Armed with a AAA map, my ornery cat and her four nursing kittens nestled in a box and everything I owned crammed into my tiny Jetta, I fearlessly zipped down the highway jamming out to my favorite tunes on the cassette player (yep, I’m dating myself here). I was exhilaratingly free and life was so full of possibilities.