Saturday night we went out to supper,
and at the end of our meal the kids asked to get milkshakes. One out of every
five times Nathaniel drinks a milkshake, it makes him sick, but you have to
admire his perseverance: he ordered one anyway.
As we were pulling
out of the parking lot to drive home, he suddenly said, “I’m gonna be sick. I’m
definitely gonna be sick.”
Internet, we were
four miles from our house. Nine minutes including stoplights. Here’s the
transcript.
Grayson: DO YOU HAVE
SOMETHING TO THROW UP IN.
Nathaniel: Yes.
Grayson: YOU DO?
Nathaniel: YES. [vomit]
Nick: Ohhhhh.
Nathaniel: [vomit]
Nick: Ohhhhh.
Jake: I THINK HE’S THROWIN’ UP. I THINK HE IS!
Me: Yes, Jake, he is. Be quiet.
Nick: Ohhhhh, it
stinks, it stinks. I’m gonna be sick.
Nathaniel: [vomit]
Nick: I’m gonna be sick. I’m only two feet away from
him. [whimper, whimper] KEEP IT AWAY FROM ME, NATHANIEL!
Nathaniel: Uh, it’s kind of getting all over me. Is there
anything else up there I can put this in?
Grayson: WHAT DID YOU THROW UP IN?
Nathaniel: A bag. And it’s leaking.
Me: A BAG? Why didn’t you throw up in the Rubbermaid
trashcan thingie? Is it because it’s full because you guys never cleaned it out
like I asked you to? SO THERE’S AN EMPTY BAG BACK THERE BECAUSE YOU WERE
SUPPOSED TO PUT ALL THE TRASH FROM YOUR TRASHCAN IN IT, AND THAT’S WHAT YOU
THREW UP IN. AND NOW THE BAG IS LEAKING ALL OVER YOU. WELL THAT’S JUST GREAT. I’M
PULLING INTO THIS GAS STATION AND WE’RE GOING TO CLEAN THIS UP.
Grayson: It would be faster to go home. Stopping at a gas
station is just going to take us longer.
Me: [look of death] Hand
me the baby wipes.
Grayson: You need paper towels. There’s two pounds of vomit
on that seat. Baby wipes are just going to smoosh it around.
Me: [mentally drawing
up divorce papers] HAND ME THE BABY
WIPES.
Me: Nathaniel, where’s the bag? … YOU THREW UP IN A PAPER BAG?!
Nathaniel: Yes.
Me: Here. Here’s the Rubbermaid. Hold it. Throw up in this
if you have to do it again.
Nick: [climbing over
two seats and pushing past me to get out of the van] AHHHH, FRESH AIR. Well, it smells like
GASOLINE, but I’ll TAKE IT.
[After four minutes of wiping, swiping and scooping …]
Me: Okay, everybody, back in the car.
Me: Alright, we’re three minutes from home. We can do this.
Nick: ROLL ALL THE WINDOWS DOWN.
Jake: THAT’S COLD. I DON’T WANT THE WINDOWS DOWN.
Amelia: WAAAAAAHHHHHH!
Nick: Roll ONLY Amelia’s window up. She’s freezing.
Jake: I’M FWEEZING TOO!
Amelia: WAAAAAAHHHHHH!
Jake: Ooooh, "Weckin' Ball"! Turn it up, Mommy!
Me: I can't turn it up, buddy. I need to be able to hear everything that's going on.
Jake: Harumph.
Nathaniel: [vomit]
[spit, spit]
Nick: Ohhhhhh, no-no-no-no-no. [gag]
[gag]
Me: Nick, lean up toward the open window. We’re two blocks
from home. You can do this.
Nick: DRIVE FASTER.
Me: I’M GOING AS FAST AS I CAN.
Amelia: WAAAAAAHHHHHH!
Me: Okay. Driveway. We’re here. Everybody out. Nobody touch
Nathaniel, and Nathaniel, don’t touch anything. Do NOT let any of those vomity
clothes brush up against any part of my van. How are you?
Nathaniel: I feel good now!
Me: Great. No more milkshakes for you.
Nathaniel: Aw, man … WHY?
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