If you’re wondering why I write a blog called “Misadventures in Mommyhood,” read on.
Today we had plans to drive up to New Hampshire to stay at our neighbor’s ski house for the weekend. Miss P. had skied a couple times last year but she was booked for her first ski school tomorrow morning and we were excited. We had only been talking about it for two weeks. I packed the car this morning with enough gear to last us through Winter. In Antarctica. I made the kids run their faces off at “Playdipity” so they would be exhausted for the 3 hour car ride. We finally get in the car to drive the 40 minutes to Boston to pick up Daddy before making the trek up North. The traffic is horrific and it’s putting us there at 7:00pm. About 40 minutes past Boston Miss P. says her tummy hurts. We tell her to look out the window. Ten minutes later we hear the sound. I’m driving and Hubby jumps out of his seat to try and do something, but it’s too late. We pull over and scramble to get her clothes off in the frozen tundra we call the NorthEast. The poor thing is shaking and covered in vomit. I want to cry and also want to vomit from the smell. Thankfully I have enough clothing options to dress a small village. We put her in the front seat and assess the damage; the carseat is not salvageable. We had just so happened to pull into a Target off the exit and it looks like Noah’s Arc to me. No seriously it’s shooting rainbows out of its roof. I run in and buy a carseat. Thank goodness carseats are so inexpensive! (Not.) After putting her back in the seat (and installing it PERFECTLY, people) we make the decision to trek on since we are in the heart of rush hour and she tells us she still wants to ski. 20 more minutes in the car and we start to hear moaning. This time Daddy is on it and catches (most of) it in a bag. She looks green. My heart is aching for her. The D Man starts to scream. He’s now not napped and been in the car for over two hours.
So let’s assess the situation, it’s a numbers game: We have a hungry, tired 1 year old and a 3 year old time bomb in outfit change numero 2, stuck in horrible rush hour traffic 2 hours away from our destination and 2 hours away from home. Daddy suggests we get her out of the car. We pull into a Chili’s and walk around. Miss P. says she feels better so we decide to go in and get The D Man something to eat. She falls asleep cuddled in my lap. A small part of me loves the cuddle and a large part of me still wants to cry. After we feed The D Man I wake her up and she vomits all over me. Soooo we’ve offically overstayed our welcome at Chili’s. Check, please.
We make the decision to drive back home (Ya think?) As traffic dissipates, we have one more small “episode” but an hour and a half later Miss P. seems to have turned a corner, trying to get The D Man to stop crying by making funny faces at him. We finally get home and she’s singing Let It Go, happy as a pig in shit. Literally.
Please excuse any typos. I’m drunk.