Road trip

I tend to worry too much about big trips.

I have always loved travel and always took in stride the long hours - either in flight or in cars - required to get to my destination. But I worry too much these days, since I've got a 4-year-old to entertain.

My son did well during our Portland trip but now we were embarking on a different journey - an 8-hour drive to see his cousins for Thanksgiving.

So we did just as my parents did, and left most of the driving for the night, so that keeping the kid happy during waking hours wouldn't be a problem.

We left home 10:30 p.m. last night, departing from the bizarre winter chill in Florida (48 degrees!) in a spitting rain. My boy was already very excited to see his cousins, so he tolerated being woken up and strapped into the car. Within 5 minutes, he was asleep, as was my husband, leaving me the night owl to take the first driving shift.

Some three hours later, somewhere south of Savannah, Ga., my boy woke up and started cracking jokes.

Do you smell a smell?

It's ditch water!

I laughed at him quoting one of his favorite Thomas the Tank Engine goofs. And he barked his heartiest laugh, a sign that he was wide awake. Which was all good because I felt myself starting to fade.

We stopped for gas and for potty breaks and switched drivers. It was a half hour more of jokes before he could finally get back to sleep.

There is nothing more surreal than quoting Thomas the Tank Engine at 2 a.m. in the rain, driving through the Peach State.

Then he had to ask: "Are we there yet?"

I almost burst into tears, it was so funny.

"Don't you start that now, mister!" I teased him. "Go back to sleep."

Attachment

The first conversation came about two months ago, as my son played with a stuffed dog in his room.

"I'm going to have my own doggy one day," he told me.

Knowing his love for animals, I wasn't surprised that he would want a pet. I was a little taken aback, but also touched, by how strongly he knew he wanted his own dog.

Still, we have resisted, knowing the work and responsibility of having a dog in the house, and knowing that a 4-year-old boy really isn't ready to taken on any kind of role with raising a dog. And I know I'm not ready to do it by myself.

Over the weekend, we picked up a gopher tortoise, not as a pet, but as an extension of my husband's environmental work. The tortoise was losing his burrow to a new housing development and he came to live with us for a couple of days until my husband could finalize all the state paperwork for its permanent relocation.

My little boy had little interaction with the reptile. A few moments to satisfy his curiosity and to make sure that the turtle had some food in his little box.

With our Thanksgiving vacation, the turtle needed to be relocated. We never realized what trauma this would cause.

Just before leaving work Monday night, I called the house to check if we needed any groceries. I could hear my son bawling in the back.

My Darling Redhead explained: "He's upset because the turtle is gone."

A little while later, I came home and a sad face greeted me at the garage door. He waited until I closed my car door.

"Mommy, the turtle is gone and I'm missing the turtle." His face erupted in tears again.

I did what I could to comfort him and I tried to explain why the turtle had to go. He understood, I think but still had a little trouble accepting it.

Revolution

Though I still live in a red state, at least my new governor is a moderate, and I cannot WAIT to see how this country remakes itself with the new power structure in Washington.

The truth shall set us free.