Last week I braved the cross-state trip to the Lou, or St. Louis. My sister and her hubby were moving from a chic urban apartment to a not-so-chic, but much more family friendly house.
I opted to drive down on my birthday, which I have mentioned before, holds no magic for me. My hubby was generous enough to supply both my birthday present and my birthday sex the night before. I know what you're thinking: the sacrafices he makes....
The next day I had tons of stuff to accomplish before I could leave town. I had repeatedly put off renewing my driver's license. HAD to do that one. I had also been avoiding a visit to the local LabOne to donate blood for some blood work my doctor ordered. Nothing serious, routine crap for a 30-something woman trapped in a 22-year old's mind.
When we finally hit the road, I was relieved yet anxious about the long drive ahead. And then I saw it... two -- not one, but 2 --- black cats on the side of the road eating something dead. And they weren't together, it was two seperate black cat sightings. I was fucked.
First I got a speeding ticket about a half hour from my mom's house. 75 in a 60. On my birthday. With my son in the car. This may be the definition of SUCKS.
On Friday, when I went to help my sister move, she ended up stuck at work all day. That's right, I unpacked her kitchen, her towels and other items which I won't mention here but sisters should not have to see. (Side note to Jenn: Remind me where you bought that one thing cause I may need to try that ...)
On Saturday, my parents drove over to see the new house with the ball of fire. On the way home, my dad decided to take the long way, i.e. curvy back roads and lots of scenery. I wanted to barf and die.
The black cat curse did not officially end until Sunday, when the ball of fire woke up from his car nap to inform me of an impending movement. I pulled over, took care of business and we were back on the road. Twenty minutes from our house, he throws the poop card again. NOTHING around to service us this time except fields and the occasional all-nude cabaret. I know, it's odd, but it's something we do in Missouri.
I asked him if he could hold it. "No!" he replied. "It's almost coming out."
Great.
"Son, look around you. There is no place to stop. We're almost home. Do you want to poop with the cows?"
"Yes, I want to poop in the cow's potty."
"No, there's no potty. It's a field. And the cow poop is on the ground. Do you want to poop on the ground?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?" I start to pull over, assuming this would call his bluff.
"Yes, hurry mommy, I have to go!"
"Fine!" I pull over, turn off the car and jump out while he pops his seatbelt and stands waiting at his door with a wild grin.
And suddenly, it starts to snow.
"That's it! You're holding it for 15 minutes until we get home. It's snowing!"
I proceeded to drive home at a rapid pace. I pulled into the garage, jumped out and yanked the door open, yelling at the hubby that we had a poop emergency.
The ball of fire jumped out of the car, raced into the house where he saw a partial deflated balloon. He crowed with delight and proceeded to throw the balloon in the air.
"Son," I said. "Don't you need to poop?"
"No," he replied. "You drived very fast and pushed the poop away."
Oh good God....
1 comment:
As a mom, who has gone through potty training with 2 boys, I feel your pain. I remember a time when we (mom, Dawn, and I) were driving to Kansas to go to your wedding and Mike had to pee. We had stopped using diapers and he refused to wear Pull-Ups. That was the most stressful ride I think I've ever had. I was worried more about him peeing in my mom's car than cleaning the mess up. I'm glad to see that you have joined the club of the stessed-out mommies club.
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