We threw the four kids in the car and drove. We drove and drove. There were rules. No stopping (almost). We synchronized our bladders. Food gets eaten in the car while travelling. Did I mention no stopping? No changing seats. Do your reading. Do more reading. Do your french reading. Play car bingo. Okay, maybe a digital device but for a short time only. First day, only one pit stop. Get gas and do everything all at once. We cross into the Oregon State line. My husband says, "kiss." I lean over and kiss him. This is our tradition. Every new state, new province, new country--we cross the line and kiss. Grateful for another day, another breath, another chance to live, see, explore and be with each other. The 8 year old yells, "gross!" Then he qualifies it, "Only if you kiss him on the lips, it's gross!" "How do you know?" I reply. "Maybe your dad likes it on the lips." The 8 year old is unconvinced. We make it to Albany, Oregon. Unfortunately, the kids wake when we got to the motel and everyone has to eat cereal before bed. Lights out near midnight.