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see the word "Lincoln" or "log" or "cabin" or the number "three" or "eight." Entering Indiana, we stopped, urinated like fire hoses (Jacob, of course, choosing to use the bushes, so I had him urinate towards the direction of Illinois, hoping the stream of yellow would run downhill for thirty-eight miles and swamp a certain historic site), and resumed our drive. Indiana didn't seem to offer the roadside attractions as did Illinois, and the thought of visiting my Grandmother's home town crossed my mind. Unfortunately, she tends to ramble and for most of my life I have just nodded politely at her mumblings and never really paid attention to the stories of her childhood, so there was no real way of telling where in Indiana she had lived. No big loss. I needed to make up time spent in finding the, er, well...let's not relive that anymore!

Crossing into Ohio, the thought of finding a motel steadily took over my sense of purpose. For some odd reason, most motels will be visible only once you have passed the exit that would lead to them. I decided to just get off at the next exit and face whatever the goddess or patron saint of travel would provide. Simply entitled "MOT L," the structure in the shape of a giant wigwam would have to do. I paid the gentleman at the desk $50 for a room with two queen sized beds and we pulled around the side to find our lodging for the night. Decorated in earthy, modern, retro filth, it was a sight for sore bodies. I bathed the kids, put them in their pajamas and ordered a pizza from a local establishment.

When the pizza arrived, I noticed the word "Hut" of the box had been crossed out and replaced by the word "Mutt," written in under "Pizza" and a sticker of some cartoon "beach-dude" dog was stuck over the logo of the better known corporate franchise. A perfect ending to a perfect day! The kids sat and watched the Cartoon Network while munching on their dinner and I sat in an uneven arm chair that rocked at the shifting of my weight, or tremors actually, with a zombie-like stare, not really focusing on anything, and mumbling, "past the point of no return, past the point of no return..." over and over again.

When I awoke the next morning, the kids had gotten out of their bed and were cuddled to me like leaches. The temperature had dropped from the upper 70's into the thirties and it seems daddy was the nearest and only heat source in our wigwam section. After peeling them off me, I took a quick, very hot shower, still shivering...more from

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