On Thursday, following an appointment with my OB/GYN to determine a course of treatment for an unresponsive, treatment-resistant, symptom-causing complex ovarian cyst, I will pick up a rental car and head out for a 10-day trip to New York City with my oldest son.

Sounds charming, right?

Yeah. Until you realize I'm transporting OS (oldest son) to four days of sideshow school at Coney Island, America's oldest amusement park.

What kind of mother takes her child to a school where he will learn how to swallow swords, escape from a straitjacket (info I may need in the near future), breathe fire, and walk on broken glass? This is the question I find myself asking...

This child used to join me in the wee hours of the morning during my prayer time on the couch, curling up in the space behind my bent knees, insisting, "I need my "tensy" (toddler-speak for "attention"). Today, he can't pass through a metal detector or security checkpoint without being interrogated and harassed. And yet, when he asks me to accompany him on a 3,500 mile road trip (round trip) to New York City, how can I possibly say no? I can't.

So, I, who am terrified of travel and currently battling all sorts of physical symptoms that make leaving my house uncomfortable at best, will load up my luggage in the rental car on Thursday and set off across the country on an adventure with my son.

And I'll make the most of it. I'll enjoy it. And I'll do that weird thing I'm not very good at...

I. Will. Have. Fun.

Stay tuned...