The girls and I are at Jill’s. That would be Stephen’s mom. The drive down here was pretty much torture.
It started at home with the “should we go or shouldn’t we?” questions that follow a storm dumping 13″ of snow on my driveway. Around noon, I made the judgement call that it was now or never. And we had to go at some point this weekend otherwise the time with my family and getting back home would have been comprimised. See, it is all about me! An hour later we were on the road. The toughest (daylight) part was the first hour or so. Amelia was cranky (more to follow on that), Ella was wiggly. I am tired.
Amelia coughs, gags and throws up on herself. We stop and change her. Ella claims to need to poop but only pees.
20 minutes later, Ella needs to poop because she didn’t before. Amelia pukes again. We stop. Ella poops, change Amelia.
30 minutes later, we are getting close to where we are meeting friends for supper. Ella starts whining that she needs to pee. Not just general four year old I-want-out-of-the-car complaining but full on humming and holding herself. I’m in 5pm, on the snowy interstate, city driving. The whining suddenly stopped. Amelia throws up on herself.
At the dinner stop (3.5 hours after we left home. Should have taken us right about 2), I change Amelia AND Ella. Nice. We eat and chat. Amelia is quiet. Doesn’t eat but a couple of bites of pancake and drinks some water. We pay and get ready to leave. She throws up on the floor. At least I don’t have to change her.
We continue south but it’s almost dark now. And traffic is awful. And the left lane is sketchy. I find myself behind a small SUV going about 57 mph and I stay there. Many, many cars pass us. Amelia is finally asleep, Ella is quietly watching Tom and Jerry. We start to make decent time once we are out of the city. We drive for little over an hour. And….you guessed it…Amelia throws up again. This time into her coat. I pull over and change her shirt. We have one shirt left. She is begging for water but I can’t sit back there and monitor how fast she’s drinking it so I don’t give her any. We drive some more.
About an hour out, I stop for gas and we go into the gas station for a pee break and to walk around. I buy Carmex because my tube of Burt’s Bees is missing. I swear I had it when I left the house but, at this point, who knows. We get back out to the van. We drive about 500 feet and Amelia throws up. I pull off. Change her into her last shirt and hope for the best. I shut off the dvd player and turned on Christmas music. An hour later (it’s after 9pm at this point…by all rights we should have been there at about 6:45 or so) we pull into the driveway/lane/country road. Amelia’s last shirt is slightly damp and she smells like the morning after freshman hazing. Ella is bouncing off the freaking walls and ends up awake until midnight.
Amelia’s stomach settled down and she’s been eating and drinking all day like nothing happened. Figures.
The girls are having a good time and I know it really does Jill some good to see them and play with them and spoil them. I try to stay out of the way. I try to watch from a distance as Ella talks herself into just about whatever she wants from Grandma. It’s kind of fun, really. Jill is the kind of Grandma I always wanted my kids to have. I wish I could say the same about my own mom but, sadly, she isn’t like that at all and couldn’t be if she tried. Or even if her life depended on it. Not possible.
I will say this…why is it…why? Do the homes of every. one. of. the. grandparents have giagantic mirrors in the bathrooms? There is not a single bathroom of an older relative that does not contain a mirror directly facing the shower and/or the toilet. I never, ever want to see myself taking dump (sorry for that visual), wiping, adjusting the water temperature, getting into she shower or getting out of the shower. In each of these homes, I can see my backside from every possible angle and, at two of them, I can clearly watch myself soap up. Now that may be considered “hot” in some circles but I’m the same person who never looks myself in the eye when I look into mirrors to check out an errant eyebrow hair or to pop a zit (I can’t help myself there…zits are made to be popped)(sorry again for that visual as well). I have definitely not pleased at the mirror situation.
Maybe it’s that generational thing coming back? The “me” thing? It’s all about me even when I’m clipping my toenails in my robe? I like to watch myself pee because it’s all about me and always has been? I don’t know. I’m going to have to do some independent research into the bathrooms of our elders and see what I can find.