idaho, day 1

(Andrew blurrily drinking something from Bucers)

There were a lot of questions on the way up to Moscow last night, the biggest one being: Will we ever get there?

I heard a woman encourage a pregnant woman once. She said, "I know. It's so rough in the last two months. Just remember, it's impossible to be pregnant forever." For the last two hours of the drive to Moscow, I kept telling myself that and then I wondered, "But what if it is possible?" Specifically: "What if it's possible to drive and drive and drive and die before you ever get to Moscow?"

But we made it. We're here. Laura's off gadding, something to do with school or responsibilities. Andrew was napping on the living room floor and I was having a writing crisis and feeling the weight of my exhaustion. The WOME (weight of my exhaustion) currently feels like two twin beds plus a great dane piled on top of an insubstantial plastic chair.

So far it's been a lovely trip, though I do have a few concerns. The top concern goes under the heading of "Traveling with Teenage Boys" and that concern is called "What do you feed them? And how often?" Laura ruled breakfast and I have successfully delivered lunch, but dinner is looming and I don't know what to do. Living alone means I don't really do those things called meals. I eat toast and salad and apples and I eat at weird times of the day or I don't eat at all and I just drink a lot of water because it seems like a smart thing to do or I drink coffee. Meals? What the....? I bake bread, totally an adult that way, but bread doesn't qualify as a real meal, I think, unless you're French and poor and starving and a character in a Victor Hugo novel.