I'm going home tonight to pack a suitcase, and I'll be commuting between the office and my brother's house for the foreseeable future.
The Princess Mom has made her way up to her bedroom on her own steam, but it doesn't look like she'll be coming down on her own again. She's sleeping almost around the clock, and she's hardly eating a thing. She's in that twilight place. We've made sure she's got someone with her all the time (my turn is the night shift), and now we're just trying to make her comfortable.
When we were kids, we made the hikes between Chicago and Cleveland and between Chicago and Boston via the family station wagon. Unlike kids today with their video games and DVD players, we passed the miles by playing "I Spy" and looking for as many different state license plates as we could find and waiving at convoys of Army Reserve troops heading out to weekend maneuvers. And singing, always singing. (Well, Daddy, my sibs and I. TPM couldn't carry a tune in a strongbox.) Here's one that she loved to hear us sing:
Appropriate, I think.