Well, we made it to West Virginia. It's been a very long day, so you'll forgive me if this entry is short. Everybody else in this house is already asleep, leaving me to quietly type on our laptop in my assigned bedroom before joining them in slumber.

The flights were surprisingly, amazingly easy. Sam threw no tantrums; Gabe probably fussed for a cumulative ten minutes or less all day. There was no turbulence beyond the expected little bumps you get when going up through or down through the clouds. We even made it here, with a layover and everything, more or less on time. Frankly, I'm a little worried that we blew all our "airplane karma" on the trip here, and going home will be National Lampoon movie-worthy.

Not, of course, that I didn't get nervous during takeoffs and landings, grabbing Eric's hand from across the aisle and squeezing it to pieces. I especially hate the sensation you get when the plane touches down, and suddenly you remember just how fast you've been going, and you are hit with the notion that the brakes couldn't possibly slow down something this heavy that's going this fast, and you're just waiting for the sound of a wheel assembly breaking off the plane, sending you all flying head over heels in a flaming ball of metal. Or is that just me?

One of these days, I'm going to get to fly on one of the huge airplanes you see people riding in movies, where it's so big that you can barely tell you're moving at all. You know, something reminiscent of an airborne house. That might change my mind about the whole mode of transportation. For now, it's firmly on my list of "things I do only when I absolutely have to," right underneath barium swallows and pap smears.

Sam's hit a stage where he's very curious about illness, death and the afterlife. It hasn't been such a big deal before now, but since we've been here, he's already asked Ronnie whether he "lives in heaven" and Rita whether she's very sick. I don't know whether taking him aside and trying to talk to him about it would help or hurt right now. I've just told them it's a phase he's in, and I just pray he doesn't decide to start tomorrow off by asking Rita when she's going to die.