An Exorcism in Our Minivan

We were driving out-of-town, down a divided highway, to visit Alex’s mom for the weekend with Alex behind the wheel.  I realized that Alex was driving a bit erratically – weaving in and out of traffic, stopping suddenly, and gunning it.  I asked him why he was driving like a madman, and then asked him to stop.  I looked back to check on the kids at the exact same time that Luke started projectile vomiting all over himself, his car seat, and the mini van.  I swear I saw his head spin completely around.  I told Alex to pull over … NOW.  Flustered, he pulled over on the shoulder of the highway.  I told him to keep going until he found somewhere safer.  He went about half a mile up while Luke continued to puke everywhere.  A street came up on the right to turn in.  I told Alex to stop the car. What we didn’t realize was that we were actually pulling into the entrance of a waste management facility.  We didn’t care.  The van reeked of vomit.  Anna was gagging and screaming that Luke was choking (she says that someone is choking when they are vomiting).  Luke was crying.

Alex stopped the car and we both sprung into action.  I opened the back hatch while Alex unhooked Luke and brought him back to me.  I grabbed a bag of wipes and tried to figure out where to start.  He was caked in vomit.  I just kept repeating, ‘oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh’.  I took Luke’s hearing aids out and took his shirt over his head, smearing puke all over his face and hair.  Alex said he looked back and saw strings of puke hanging from Luke’s face.  We were both gagging. While Alex attempted to mop up the puddles of puke from the car seat, I stripped Luke down and gave him a ‘bath’ with baby wipes.  I changed his diaper and decided to put him in the front seat (wearing only a diaper) until Alex was done cleaning his chair.  As I went to the passenger side to open the door, I noticed about 48 mosquitos sitting on the side of the car.  Apparently, we parked in the middle of a swarm of them.  I immediately backtracked.  Luke was only in a diaper – it would have been a skin buffet for those little blood suckers. I swung around to the other side and stashed Luke in the driver’s seat.

Nothing to see here – just up to our elbows in puke and mosquitos at a waste management plant.

Hey Mom, what the hell is going on?

Apparently, mosquitos are smarter than I gave them credit for.  As we were cleaning everything up so we could attempt to get back on the road, those little bastards were making their way to the inside of the van. By the time we were hitting the road with Luke back in his seat, there were about 27 mosquitos that had taken up residence inside our van.  We spent the next 90 miles swatting mosquitos and trying to ignore the lingering puke smell.  I made it my personal mission to murder any mosquito that came anywhere within arms length of me.  My efforts inspired Alex to start singing ‘Danger Zone’.  Luke slept through it all.  Apparently being exorcised is an exhausting experience.

The Power of Christ compels you!

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The Day We Were Banned from Tommy Hilfiger

This past August, we decided to make a trip to a local Tommy Hilfiger so that we could buy some new pants for Alex.  Apparently Tommy Hilfiger pants are the best fit for him.  So, the four of us loaded up and headed to the mall.  After making our way to the store, I attempted to keep Luke happy and Anna entertained while Alex tried on pants.  It was a futile effort.  Luke was sick of being strapped in the stroller and Anna was running around and hiding behind racks of clothes.  I’m sure the sales clerks were annoyed.

Eventually Alex made his choices and we made our way to the cash register so we could pay and get the heck out of dodge.  Luke was on the verge of a complete meltdown and Anna was all but tearing the store apart.  I asked Alex to man the kids while I stood at the register.  Alex was trying to tide Luke over with a bottle, and Anna started twirling around one of poles that they use to create lines.  Apparently they are called stanchions.  Anyway, she was happy so I was fine with her dancing on a pole – just this once.  While I was trying to concentrate on what the cashier was doing, Anna loudly tells me that she has pooped.  I explained that she has a Pull-Up on (this was before she was potty trained) and that we would go to the bathroom once I was done.  She kept spinning around the pole, I mean, stanchion while yelling that she had pooped.  Without looking, I again reminded her that we would go to the bathroom in a minute.  A sales clerk walked by and gave us the most disgusted look she could muster.  I made a mental note that she must not have children and secretly thought she was a witch.  The next thing I know, Anna walked over to me and was asking me to hold something.  Now, I was in the process of getting my coupon out and handing over my debit card, so out of habit I put my hand down to grab whatever it was that Anna had.  I hear her say, ‘there’s poop on my shoe’ as she places the shoe in my hand.  The statement (and the realization that it was her shoe that was in my hand) finally made me snap to.  My eyes were as big as dinner plates from shock.

I looked at Alex.  Holding Anna’s poop-cased shoe, I loudly asked him ‘WHO’S POOP IS THIS??’ – as if someone else had taken a dump on the floor.  I was secretly hoping it was someone else’s fecal matter, someone else’s problem.  As I scanned the situation, it became obvious that it was our problem.  It was our mess.  It was my child’s fecal matter.  Anna had pooped, and the Pull-Up in all its inefficient glory had leaked.  Poo had run down Anna’s legs and was all over her feet and shoes.  Looking closer, we realized that while she was twirling around the pole she was spreading poop all over the place.  That poor, poor stanchion.

Alex and I sprang into action.  The cashier was STILL not finished, so Alex told me to take Anna to the bathroom to clean her up and he would finish paying and clean up the floor.  I agreed that it sounded like a plan, so I grabbed another Pull-Up and the bag of wipes.  Knowing that Alex would need some wipes so he could clean the floor, I opened the bag to grab a handful to take with me.  Turns out, we only had two wipes left.  Why is it that whenever you most need them, you only have two wipes left?  I looked at Alex with panic.  I gave him one wipe and grabbed Anna.

Anna had poop on her shoes and all over her legs.  I wasn’t about to carry her on my hip, and I couldn’t let her walk and spread more poop.  So, I grabbed her under her armpits and ran with her at arm’s-length to the nearest bathroom (which was about 4.68 miles away, or so it seemed).  We got several laughs from people as we passed. I’m sure it was hilarious.  Anna and I made it to the bathroom.  I put her in a sink and washed her off.  I made the executive decision and threw her shorts away – there was no coming back from this one.  I rinsed off her shoes (luckily they were Crocs, so cleaning them was easy).  Meanwhile, Alex finished paying (freaking FINALLY) and proceeded to clean the floor of Tommy Hilfiger with one wipe.  He told me later that the sales clerks were watching in total disgust as he would wipe, fold the wipe in half, wipe again, and fold again.  He was left with a wipe that was completely layered with poop in one hand, a bag of pants, and a double stroller with an angry baby.  As he was leaving the store, the alarms started ringing.  The clerk came to attempt to check his bag.  She came dangerously close to touching the poopy wipe and decided to just let him go.  Probably the best choice on her part.  Alex found us by the bathroom.  Anna was pant less and standing in wet shoes.  My face was hot from embarrassment.  We quickly headed toward the car and spent the ride home laughing so hard we were crying.  Tommy Hilfiger will never be the same.

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