Vacation? Day 1?

It's 9:05 p.m. I have just gotten The Boy into his crib, I am drinking a Bud Light because it's the only beer in the house, and this is not the travel journal it was supposed to be.

I'm by myself. Two of my favorite boys are gone, one of them forever, and the other favorite boy is asleep. Pete is somewhere in the air between Seattle and Vancouver, and his cell phone won't work when he arrives. It's just me. Mama duty for the work week.

I could have used his Sandman skills tonight, as Finn, though very tired, did not want to be asleep in his crib. He did not want me to leave him, and he probably wanted his daddy, who often gets him to sleep at night after The Routine begins to cast the bedtime spell. It took me an hour and three rounds of nursing, but he's in his bed, and I have a few minutes to catch up.

Well, not entirely. I am not ready to write in detail about the events of the past two days. I am still in disbelief. 20 years... no. I can't think about it right now.

My travel journal should have been about otters, mountains, and excellent shoe stores. We had decided to use disposables for this trip, and I am sure there would have been much confessing about that on my part. I was dreading parts of the vacation, but still looking forward to it. It wasn't what we wanted, being separated like this, and especially for this reason, but here we are. So my travel journal is going to be about staying home and working through this. It will be here to tell Pete what we did while he was away.

We played.

Drank some water.

He also ate some food. It was a wasteland of pasta and sauce that I will clean up tomorrow. No pictures. Too messy.

One of us posed.

And one of us had a bath.

One of the remaining cats is sleeping in one of Fritz's spots, and the other seems to be watching for something.

The other human in the house is trying to wind down to "The Two Towers" (sorry darlin', I had to) while the second wash runs on the diapers.

This beer is warm.

And it's in a can.