Is it a Red Sox cap or a martyr's crown?

We're leaving New Hampshire (wanh!) tomorrow morning at 5:00 a.m. That's Ack Emma, people. Not my best time of day.

This is so we can drive to Chicago in one day--which if you don't stop to eat, put gas in the car, or pee--takes 16 hours.

OK, now, let's be real. That was the plan as devised by That Stud Muffin I Married. The man with a plan. The guy with the maps, AAA guides, and the GPS. Mr. Type-A-About-Travel himself.

But I am his sneaky wife, and I figured that IF by any chance we got a later start than 5:00 in the morning OR hit traffic OR got really tired, THEN we could crash at some hotel ... so I secretly packed a small bag with some overnight stuff for me and the kids.

(But the Stud Muffin was on his own as regards clean underwear and a toothbrush. If he wants to drive all day and night without stopping, that's his bidnis--but he'll get all hairy and smelly and have moss on his teeth, that's all. That will show HIM.)

But then the phone rang. The slumber party that my son was going to on Saturday night? Has been rescheduled for Friday night. Tomorrow night. Which means that we really, actually, in sooth HAVE to make it to Chicago in one day, for real, no shiznit.

Fuck.

So I'm off to bed now. And it's well before midnight--easily the earliest I've gone to bed this entire vacation. I'll be getting up at about 3:30 to put on my martyr mommy crown I mean my Red Sox baseball cap (not to mention the rest of my clothes) and then start driving and driving and driving.

Talk to you soon from the land where the Sox are White.

--P.