A Woman, A Van & Three Kids

Last week was spring break for my kids.  I insisted to Jeremy that he take a few days off to do something fun.  Washington DC is one of our favorite spots to head for a long weekend and we haven't been there since Lucy was itty-bitty, so that is where we headed.

Our plan was to leave immediately after school on Friday, spend the weekend in DC and then I would drive with the kids to Ohio and Jeremy would fly home to work.  It sounded like a good plan.

On Monday morning, while we were sitting and eating breakfast at the hotel, Ross (who had been refusing to eat, but did drink a large glass of milk) projectile vomited all over the table.  Fortunately, the man at the table next to us was very gracious about the whole thing -- he jumped up to retrieve an entire dispenser of napkins for us and attempted to help us out as much as he could (to that kind man:  thank you).  I quickly grabbed Ross and bolted up stairs, leaving Jeremy to deal with the mess and the other two kids.

Now, keep in mind, the plan was to eat breakfast and then put the three kids in the van & drive to Ohio.  I considered staying an extra night, but didn't really want to be in DC with a sick kid without Jeremy either.  We're pretty sure it was food poisoning, because he showed no other signs of illness than vomiting -- no fever, no lethargy, no achiness or any other complaints.  So, I decided to risk it, pilfered a plastic bag from the hotel to give to Ross, in case of further incident, and hit the road.

(Maybe this is where I should mention that when the valet brought our van up and opened the trunk to help us, he pulled off the decorative shield that covers the latch for the door -- the shield that has been repaired too many times to count.  Sigh.)

As I was pulling onto I-270 from I-495 (after only about 15 minutes in the van), Ross loudly vomited into the bag.  Now, this is a very busy area.  Even at 10:00 in the morning it was 4 or 5 lanes of densely packed cars (and you would have to have a death wish to pull over on the side of the road here).  And these were not the kind of exits with gas stations at the end of them...they were busy streets with businesses and no good place to stop.  I told Ross to hold on and I would stop at the first exit with a gas station.

Ten minutes after the puking, Ross started screaming that the bag had a hole and vomit was leaking all over the place.

Fifteen minutes after the puking, I finally came to the first exit with a gas station indicated.  Guess what...there was no gas station.  I drove 2 miles down the road before I got ticked and turned around and went back to the highway.

Twenty minutes after the puking, we came to an exit where we could see the gas station signs...hallelujah!  There were two of them...one a run down looking Marathon, the other a sparkly new 711.  I took the sparkly new one, because I figured the bathrooms would be in better order.  I pulled in to get gas, intending to fill the tank while I was both calming my frazzled nerves and cleaning the gunk up in the backseat.  I went to remove the gas cap and realized that it WOULD NOT COME OFF.  I twisted it and the familiar clicking noise was missing.  I wiggled it.  I started swearing.  I felt tears starting to well up, but the stupid little gas cap won't come off.  That is when I considered sitting down on the cold, dirty ground by the pump and having a good cry.  Could there be any stupider reason to have to call AAA to come rescue you than because your gas cap won't come off?

So, I gave it one more try, pushed just right and it came off.  I filled the van, making a mental note to find an auto parts store before I run out of gas again (though, luckily, I had figured out just the right way to push the cap so that it would open).  My dad was kind enough to take care of replacing the cap for me when we got to their house.

I cleaned the carseat and van carpeting as best as anyone could with wet wipes and then headed in to use the facilities and to try to get Ross in order.  And you know what?  That sparkly, new looking 711 had the DIRTIEST gas stations bathrooms I have seen in years.

We went in the bathroom and found that there was no toilet paper --  NO FREAKING TOILET PAPER!!!  I told Reid to head over to the men's room to get some, but he stood in the middle of the hall with a puzzled look on his face like I was speaking Greek to him, so I walked around and went into the men's room myself (single use type thing, so no I didn't just barge into a room full of men).  If I thought the women's room was bad, I apparently had no clue what real dirt is -- the men's room made me what to douse myself with a can of lysol.

So we headed back to the (slightly less dirty) ladies room, took care of everyone, only to realize the paper towel dispenser doesn't work.  Oh, the paper towels are in there all right -- sitting there mocking me, but they WOULD NOT COME OUT.  Fortunately, there was a roll on a really high shelf that I managed to tip off with my finger and catch.  This was NOT the place to stop with three small kids.

The good news about the 711, however, was that they had gallon sized ziploc bags.  No more leaky puke bags for us, man.

For a while after this, the trip was very uneventful.  Reid can now reach the DVD player to swap movies out, which is so helpful. After 2 hours of movies they all passed out.  I must have drove about 4 hours without stopping, which was a God send.

Lunch at the McDonalds in a small Pennsylvania town would have been okay, if not for the group of 6 or so very loud and obscene old men ranting about politics.  I am sure my kids learned some new words from them and I pray they never repeat them.

I had been planning an alternate route, but decided to follow Bossy (our very old GPS) instead.  BAD IDEA!  She took me THROUGH Pittsburgh and down 13 miles of heavy city surface street traffic and then dumped me out on a freeway in the middle of the city.  I almost tossed her out the window, but decided instead to replace her when I got to Toledo.  I didn't do it...I should have, but I didn't.

In the end, I got there, but it was one of those trips that cures you of any desire for another road trip for a long LONG time.  The week that followed wasn't much better, but I'll tell you about that later (I'll give a hint, though -- there is plenty of puking in the story.)