So after the Sea Shore we unpacked and repacked. We got into the car to drive to Wisconsin for Alyssa's (Dada's cousin) wedding. You slept in the sun in the back of the car and Dada and I drank mochas in the front. Until you woke and vomited a large amount of egg salad and canned peaches all over your outfit, your winter coat, your large stuffed dog, your small stuffed cat, your car seat, our car seat, and other items I'm not even remembering. Luckily, there was a rest stop 1.5 miles away. I stood you on a shelf in the rest station bathroom and you sobbed (vomit still covering your hands, your face, your front) while I opened our wheeled luggage and dug for clean clothes. There is nothing in the world sadder than a sobbing naked toddler in a rest stop bathroom. Well, OK, that's hyperbole, but it was sad.
Meanwhile, Dada was in a cleaning closet on his knees, using a hose and a swath of paper towels to wash the vomit off your clothes. The maintenance man sat on his swivel chair (in front of his desk in the closet) and would occasionally make a remark ("well, you're not the first folks to wander in here with this kinda situation") or to offer latex gloves. He wore an olive green work suit and a John Deere hat and offered us a yellow trash bag to protect your clean clothes from the vomit we couldn't wash out of the car seat. He was God. Seriously.
I can see that if I describe all of the events of the weekend, this post will become a novel. Other highlights of the weekend included washing explosive diarrhea from your pajamas (twice), drying your apple juice soaked jeans on a hand dryer in the women's bathroom in Perkins, and realizing (as we left the hotel) that the mysterious stains on one of our pillows (one of the pillows at the HEAD of our bed) were poop stains. Not my poop. Not Dada's poop. Your poop.
I know. I'm being such a whiner. There were good times too! You had a blast with your cousin Nora. You raced down the hotel corridors together and practiced simultaneous pool jumps together. You choreographed intricate dances together (as evidenced by the last post) and whined about various food products together. The wedding itself (or what I saw of it--you and I spent half of the wedding in the church basement contemplating a racially dishonest mural of Jesus and the other half in the wedding party's idling Limo Bus admiring various knobs, cup holders, and cushions) was lovely. Alyssa and Jake were lovely. Dada and I got to slow dance at the reception while Grandma Judy napped on the hotel bed next to your Pack and Play. Then (also at the reception) I had a Manhattan and was SHOCKED to learn that your father was not familiar with dance moves such as 1. the running man, 2. the Roger Rabbit, and 3. the lawn mower. Luckily, he is totally familiar with those moves now.
The events were lovely and the people were lovely---it's just that our little family, especially you, well, we were exhausted. We are glad to be home. Today you found three acorn caps and I found three molars, poking their way through your gums. I wish the daffodils would do the same.
(Not through your gums. Through the GROUND).
Love,
Ma
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