There’s a kind of hush that comes over the house here in the almost wee hours. It’s 12:53AM and Art Bell is harassing some guy who thinks we were “seeded” from sentient life on Mars and a “god-archetype”. Who, um, sprinkled us? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
The boys had a sleepover with some friends last night and then are at the closest thing they have to a doting aunt and uncle here in Bend. It will be Disneyland and they’ll be all shiny and giggly and tired.
When they come back tomorrow. I’ve missed their sweetness and even some of their feisty. But it’s been nice to just be the two of us. It’s been 15 years. He’s amazing.
Tomorrow we have to get it all together, drop the dog off at the sitters, pack the van and mosey our little selves over the river, through the woods, ’round the bend and over the mountains.
Two nights “yurting” on the Central Oregon Coast. You can’t beat $33 a night. And no tents. Or sleeping on the ground.
But tonight… Tonight is the hush and the scamper about of getting the house tidy, the lists written and the floors mopped.
Because that’s what I do. Before we go anywhere.
I probably will not get to bed at all tonight and will run on meal bars and Diet Pepsi tomorrow before crashing into a comatose, albeit uncomfortable, sleep in the van when we hit the road. While the Mr. drives, the children and I will nap.
I confess. My name is Heidi and I am a road trip narcoleptic. Always have been. Too many road trips in the back of a giant, avocado green station wagon. Long trips where Billy & I would, with blankets and pillows and FEET of clear glass windows, watch stars and sunsets and rolling Montana hills. And then we’d sleep.
But that was a thousand years ago and in a different country. It was when cars were made out of arn (or as some would say, Iron) and steel and not recycled pop cans and baling twine. Back when the size of the vehicle was actually a benefit not a liability in the event of an accident… Oh… wait… That’s why we drive the big ‘ol van… And not a three-wheeled pregnant Prius skate. Those things really aren’t much more than really expensive tombstones, folks. Bet’cha won’t care about electricity or gas mileage when it’s you or your loved ones bleeding all over the road while the cyclist walks away.
OK. That was kinda funny, huh?
I’m here on the computer while the dishwasher runs, the dryer dries and the washer buzzes that it’s time to get myself out of my comfy chair and back at it.
It’ll sure feel good when it’s done.
Catch ya later.