Transportation FAIL

Last night was my debut as the child hauler.  I chuckle to myself now when I think back to a couple of days ago when I was all stressed out about what we would listen to on the radio.  How naive I was.  How clueless I was to the hidden danger.   I showed up with my brood at the designated destination at the designated time, walking into a room of no less than 30 people, sweat pouring down my green face, a toddler covered in radioactive material, and two mortified pre teen girls, and exclaimed "WE NEED A BATHROOM NOW!!!"  Yeah, the radio was the LEAST of my concern.

I budgeted my time and arrived at the home with a couple of minutes to spare.  These spare minutes were quickly consumed with trying to figure out which children would actually be riding with me.  Once the children were chosen (like choosing puppies out of a box), we were on our way.  The two teens got into my car with no problem.  The little blond tater who was so eager to go...not so much.  I had no idea how to secure the car seat, but I figured it out, or a close approximation of secure.  And away we went!

I was so preoccupied with making sure my passengers were happy, that I made a wrong turn and drove us 5 miles in the wrong direction before realizing my mistake.  That set off the alarm on my internal stress clock, and I began to worry that we would be late.  Normally, being late is no big deal for me, I'm late for everything.  But this situation was loaded.  Being late meant walking into a room full of people who were all there waiting on me, which violates my need to sneak into crowded situations, unnoticed.  I did not drive recklessly, I just refused to linger behind the slow pokes for longer than 2 minutes. 

Amazingly, we were all getting along fairly easy.  The girls were chatty and discussing the last day of school and I was actually enjoying the conversation.  I marveled at how some things never change with time or circumstance.  The last day of school for a 7th grader is like, seriously, the best thing ever.  The fair haired baby in the back was rubbing her eyes and appeared to be drifiting in and out of a nap; something I recognized that children do on tv.  We didn't even play the radio.  I breathed a sigh of relief as we got closer to town.  When I saw the water tower on the horizon, which signified that we were almost there, I exclaimed, "Yay! We won't be late, there's the water tower!"

And at that, something so evil was brought forth, almost unspeakable.  A sound came from the car seat that was filled with absolute cuteness.  The sound was unmistakeable, even for a greenhorn.  It was the sound of vomit.  The teen in the backseat exclaimed, "Oh my God!!! She threw up!!!".  I was 5 minutes away with 3 minutes to spare.  I put on my grown up hat and calmly said, "Is she okay? Yes? We're almost there."  I bought my own lie and felt reassured that small kids usually throw up a clear substance.  Then, the smell wafted into the front of the car.  Oh. My. God. 

We careened into the parking lot and the chaos began.  The Chinese fire drill that ensued had to have been comical to passerby, and also in retrospect.  The teenagers exited the car and assumed a safe distance (from the smell as well as the responsibility).  I threw open the car door to find a distressed formerly adorable four year old covered in a substance that can only be described as raw ground beef milkshake with cheerios.  I felt my own stomach contents lurch.  Here I am, dressed in a cute spring dress, with cute wedge heels, and a smart sensible hairstyle.  In any other setting, I would have been described as carefree, stylish, even hip.  In this setting, I was ill equipped.  In a matter of seconds, I had to make some very difficult decisions

There was no beef shake actually in my car, it was all contained within the car seat.  This sounds really selfish of me, but people, I have perforated leather seats that are vented.  I accidentally spilled some coffee on the seat last summer and I swear for the rest of the season, everytime I hit the cooled seats options, I thought I was in Starbuck's.  The implications of this are unimaginable and far reaching.  I noted that there was no surface on either the child or the car seat that was untainted.  It was then clear that I would have to extract the now guilty faced tater from this Hell, by touching puke.  I could have dealt with snot.  Pee.  Poop.  Even Blood.  I basically had to dissociate myself from the situation and shed my human form.  I shut down my sensory system and removed the child, my fingers squishing through the bad stuff as I fumbled with the complicated buckling system.  To distract myself from what was happening, I mentally sang a happy cheer for Ortho Evra birth control pills.  Once the baby was out and secured on the sidewalk, I removed the car seat and slung it into the street as if it were covered in cockroaches.  It might as well have been.  Next dilemma, do I escort a vomit covered child into the building, or would it be better if she was naked?  Those really were the only two options at hand.  Remembering that I had a door prize in the trunk, because I'm a good social worker, I popped the trunk and extracted two towels from the "linen basket happy fun time prize".  Oh well, we need this far worse than the winner will.   I made the quick judgement call to escort the child in all her vomitous glory.  Due to the nature of my work, I figured a naked baby would cost me my job. 

As we made our way into the building, the tater raised her little hand up, to remind me (the irresponsible non mother) that her hand was to be held while going up big girl steps.  As you can guess, that hand was not in good condition.  I returned to my human form at this time and I saw the reality of the situation.  This child was about to enter a room of strangers, including several children, while wearing a vomit costume and the only source of comfort and guidance she had was me.  She was a skirt hider, much like my bashful 4 year old self.  I remembered how shy and anxious I was as a kid and I knew if this was me, I simply wouldn't have exited the car.  So, if this baby can summon the gumption to arrive on the scene in the worst possible circumstances without an absolute meltdown...then I can grab her little vomit crusted hand and escort her. 

All eyes were on us as we entered the room.  I also remembered my 13 year old self, and so wasn't at all surprised that the two teens in my charge were hurredly trying to separate themselves from our motley crew.  I understood their need for coolness, so I let them go.  I can think of a million more things I would rather exclaim upon entering a room filled with people, but "WE NEED A BATHROOM, NOW!!" is nowhere on that list.  I'm the kid who was too embarrassed to ask the teacher for a bathroom pass.  We were directed to the nearest facility and I set about trying to transform the child back into the adorable toddler that I picked up half an hour ago.

I put in a valiant effort, but after all was said and done, she stood on the toilet with a wet tshirt and wet jeans, still reeking of puke.  She looked as if she had been caught by an unexpected rainstorm, which wouldn't have been a big deal, except I know kids.  No kid was going to come within 3 feet of her smelling like that, except to make fun of her.  Well, I was having none of that.  I did the only thing I could. 

I instructed the tater to raise her arms and I uncapped the economy sized can of Lysol that I spied on the floor beside the toilet.  "It's perfume!" I exclaimed as I covered her little face with my hand and encased her in a fog of antiseptic spray.  She twirled around as I continued to sanitize.  We exited the bathroom in a haze of springtime freshness and I sent her off to her peers.  She lingered for a moment, looking at me as if to say, "Are you sure it's ok?" 

I bent down and pecked her chubby cheek and whispered, "You Go Girl!" and off she went.  I tucked my now limp and sweaty hair behind my ear, stood up, surveyed the crowd and announed, "Alright folks, let's get started!"

I got this.