Tomorrow morning, long before the sun comes up, we are embarking on a (possibly) ill-conceived Thanksgiving roadtrip to Ohio. My husband is off picking up the rental car now. When he gets home, we’ll pack and load it and then, with any luck, all of us will retire early. Our alarms will go off at a ripe ol’ 3 a.m. and we’ll stumble downstairs, into the car, and onto the highway.
I’m trying my hardest not to be all Bah Humbug about this grand adventure, but it’s hard. Ten hours in the car isn’t my idea of fun under any circumstances, but then you add in a toddler and a baby in utero who likes to play bongos on my bladder and I can’t help but wonder whether we’ve made the right decision.
This will be the first year in ages that we’ve embarked on any major Thanksgiving travel. In recent years past, we’d gone to Boston to see friends but that’s just a few hours away, practically a local trip. This is much bigger than that.