It’s service the car day which, really, only means that we are one step closer to embarking on this grand adventure. It also means I have some uninterrupted time sitting quietly in a lonely waiting room—a most excellent time for feeling myself shrink under the weight of All That Must Get Done.

The car was first. Safety and all that jazz. Oil change, kick the tires, check the spare, see if anyone can figure out what that weird ‘click’ I keep hearing in the center console might be. Next up is any one of 47 things on my list.

Some people get the heeby-jeebies when considering travel, especially an extended road trip. Me, though? Aside from that crushing sensation of stuff I never considered until just this very minute, I’m good. We have a pretty decent plan. Earl and I have written our respective lists of what we want to see. I have a general idea of what we’re packing and a working list of weird stuff we need or want to take. Atlases, yes, real, physical atlases, have been purchased, and card games have been procured.

A couple of days ago, we sat down to develop our 7 Roadtrip Agreements. Ideas were considered and nixed (no, this is not an “Earl can do whatever she wants” trip, my child) with lightning speed, but there was, through some small miracle, no disagreement. Some discussion, of course, but no discord. This bodes well. We came up with 2-7 as they sit on the list, but #1 was the last one to be put into place:

1. Be true to yourself. Be who you are, fearlessly and relentlessly.

I talked about how important this was to me, and why I thought we should bump it from its original #7 slot to the top.

“But what does it mean?” Earl asked.

“It means that I don’t want you thinking, ‘I can’t do this or say this because what will Mama think.’ It means that, while being respectful of me and of others, I want you to not be afraid to be who you are. And I’ll do the same,” I explained.

“So what if we want to dance in the Jungle Room at Graceland?”

“Then we dance.”

“But what if we get kicked out for dancing?”

“Then, my child, we have an even better story to tell.”

Just like that, “Be true to yourself” sailed to its rightful spot at the top of our list. Earl is gung-ho. Also perhaps a little afraid to see what happens when Mama decides to cut loose. And I will. It may take me a little bit; it won’t be easy at all. But I will.

After all, that’s kinda the point of this whole journey, no?

The next few days are about taking care of the minutiae that must be handled so we can put Rule #1 into effect full force, without worries that there’s something else we should be attending to. The weird ‘click’ has been identified as a rogue screw, oil has been changed, and the tires are being checked as we speak. Momentarily, I can mark “Service car” off of list and move on to “Find black laptop bag” and “Figure out how to use GoPro.”

You know. The important, mission critical stuff.

…Has my brain gotten us into?

Welcome to Harvey & Earl: The Totally True Adventures of a Mom and Daughter on The Mother of All Roadtrips.

(I’m sure there have been bigger, more motherly roadtrips, but 7,500 miles is pretty gosh darn huge, so just go with me here.)

I’m Harvey, The Mom. Because once you have a kid, that’s what you become. Earl is said kid, my mini-me fresh out of fourth grade and on the cusp of that big evil “P” word we dare not speak aloud.

There is a devoted husband and father, too, El Jefe, but as he has oft lamented since the inception of this cockamamie idea, somebody has to stay at home and work. But that’s why there’s Facetime. Plus he may pop in and join us from time to time along the way. You really never know.

This whole venture started as a fleeting thought, an impulsive toe dip into a tamped-down wanderlust. I picked Earl up from school one day and thought, “You know, it would be really great to just throw our suitcases in the car and GO for a while.”

The idea kindled in my head like someone had Rickrolled me. It would not turn loose, but it didn’t really ignite either.

Over the next couple of days, I had a series of revelations.

1. Everyone I know gets a different version of me, catered to their expectations and desires. I am fully myself with no one.

2. My child is a completely different person depending on who she’s around.

3. Those things are incredibly interrelated.

4. This is Very Very Wrong.

The truth hit me as squarely as a Pacquiao punch to the gut.

I am a hypocrite. I encourage my child to be herself, to not be ashamed of who she is or what she loves, to take pride in her smart, funny, quirky self and to respect her body and her feelings always. Meanwhile, I concoct versions of myself based on circumstances. She catches me giving myself sideways glances in the mirror. She sees me shift when certain people are around. She hears me self-consciously question myself after an evening out with friends. And there are moments where I look into those big blue eyes and know without a doubt that she’s trying to suss which version of mommy she’s talking to in that moment.

I preach authenticity to her, but I am anything but. There is nothing fair or right about that.

Earl is at a point in her life where she needs the example of a mother who will meet her fears head on. Who will jump up and down and squeal with delight when something really cool happens. Who will cry instead of squashing emotions. Who will get upset with people and then work it out and move on like nothing ever happened. Who will sing so loud at a Garth Brooks concert that she’s hoarse for days.

She needs me to be brave enough to Just Be Me so that she has the confidence to Just Be Her.

What sealed the deal was the latest addition to my quirky collection of random stuff—a beat up tambourine. For me, it’s a reminder that it’s okay to be myself, no matter what, no apologies necessary. I didn’t think there was any way she could understand the concept of percussion instrument as talisman, but when she asked, I couldn’t lie. Oh, I thought about it, but I checked myself. And then I told her that sometimes, Mommy needs a little encouragement to feel good in her own skin.

There was a moment where we looked at each other. I was wondering if I had shared too much. She was processing.

She took the tambourine then, cradled it, beamed at me with the most wondrous look on her face, and said, “This is amazing.”

In that instant, I knew what we both needed. I suggested a road trip, she suggested we write a book about it. The deal was sealed. It’s time for us to get to know each other better. It’s time to take the leap and let Earl meet Harvey, warts and all. And Harvey would sure love to get to know Earl better. It’s time to leave behind the masks and doubts and let our own wonderful, remarkable selves sparkle.

In a little over a week, we will set out on our own odyssey. This whole thing could go really well, or it could be a total disaster. Can a mother and child survive for weeks on end in a car together without killing each other? Will we be absolutely sick of each other by Day 3? Or will we make it through this trip and come out closer than we ever imagined?

Who knows. But at least it will be an adventure!