I set up my new username on what used to be our shared online mortgage account, YouGotThis, before hitting the road mid-afternoon on a Friday. The last Friday in May. My ex-mother-in-law’s birthday. Do in-laws become ex’s too? I’m not sure. I find myself questioning a lot these days. As we finally make it up to LA, sitting in stalled traffic as we pass a broken down bus one car at a time, I’m questioning the decision to hit the road, too.

Van thanks me for taking them; says he’s having the best time. I’m feeling victorious and we haven’t even made it out of LA yet. Sonny requests for his window to be rolled down, the soon-to-be-summer air fills the car and the LA skyline stretches the length of the horizon. We pass the Hollywood Bowl and Hooper recalls when we went to see Paul Simon. I’m glad it wasn’t a waste, that he remembers.

I think about my time with them. My role with them. And how grateful I am. How it’s a privilege to guide them and raise them and show them and, well, be with them.

Sonny throws his toy car for the umpteenth time leaving Hooper, sandwiched between his brothers, left to fish it out under now-hardened fast food, sandy blankets, and the boneyard of discarded shoes. I can tell he’s getting frustrated; having to help out more than usual. Sonny, as relentless as ever. Somehow it morphs into Van thinking everyone hates him and he’s screaming and I’m so lost in my own thoughts and frustrations I don’t really even know why. Sonny demands that I turn the music up; he listens to “Sail” on repeat. A song I never really cared for ever but now can say I truly despise. Van’s asking a question I can’t hear and I have to turn down the music I was just demanded to turn up to play a torturously ambiguous game of “guess what I’m thinking?”.

A wave of resentment comes over me. I should have help. I shouldn’t have to do this alone.

I remind myself that I chose it to be this way. But then I question if it’s truly a choice when the alternative is as futile as banging your head against a wall in an effort to relieve a headache.

We pull off the freeway in the Valley to eat and stretch and hit the old proverbial “reset” button. I find comfort in showing the boys parts of the valley; I point to the exit that we used to live off of. Our first home; the home both Hooper and Van were brought home to for the first time. Where we lived next door to a cracked out woman who incessantly swept the leafs out of the street. She had biceps that would make you believe she spent her days lifting weights but all I ever saw her do was sweep. I recall the time her husband, who was equally unique, helped me following back surgery when I was home alone, unable to lift a gallon of milk, and had to clean up after Van who had pooped following his nap and had taken his diaper off, effectively spreading poop all over his crib and himself. He got the bath started and lifted my poop-filled kid into it.

By the time we get back on the road, traffic has totally cleared and we’re smooth sailing. Hours to go, but still, smooth sailing. We all have our moments of highs and lows and tears and screams. I start to think that I’m not really any different than them right now; my own emotions keeping the pace with their swings. It’s the same as it is everyday but it’s met with a new awareness, a new relatability. It’s not until the sun begins to set that we all seem to settle into the same rhythm. We stop to stretch on the side of the road, nothing but road stretching before us, fields on both sides, the setting sun glistening in the distance. I know we only have a little over an hour to go but the break feels so needed. I have one of those moments that make all the dreaded moments before it worth it. I text my mom, “no regrets”. Sonny chases Van with a piece of a busted tire and they laugh. They’re happy and so am I.

It’s after dark by the time we roll into a small motel just north of Cambria. The towel rack breaks immediately, the water comes out in spurts, and everyone is beyond tired but we settle in. I start to fall asleep with Sonny curled into my side and notice that Hooper and Van, in bed together, are both fast asleep before I even have the lights out.

We’ll be okay, I think. I’ll be okay.

You got this, I remind myself.