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. 

Baby on Board

A few years ago, my priorities were different.  I was car shopping and a little bird was sitting on my shoulder trying to persuade me to consider the super fly cadillac that was going to speed the bird and I into the sunset.  Sure, I wanted to speed into the sunset, happily ever after, but being the eternally practical gal that I am; I had but one concern of my future car:  Could it respectably hold a baby seat?  Now, most cars will accommodate a car seat, I know.  Call me snobby, but I find it slightly depressing to see a car seat in the back of a mustang.  That tells me, someone didn't plan ahead.  A car seat in the back of a Delta 88 makes me even sadder.  I see that car seat and I can imagine the sticky carpet, the broken window units, the too many pets.  A Corolla holding a car seat makes me feel a little better, sensible parents, frugal with money...unless said Corolla has a light kit on the bottom; then I see that car seat sitting in the litter scattered front yard of their meth house.  But a car seat in the back of a Cadillac, somehow just didn't fit.  Luxury doesn't go with parenthood.  The cavernous backseat of the sedan should see formal wear, not garanimals.  Designer bags, not binkies.  Sequins, not crumbs.

But, in the interest of that sunset, I chose the Cadillac anyway.  Unfortunately, that sunset I was speeding towards turned into a giant ball of fire and I had to change directions.  Luckily, the V8 engine got me away in a hurry!  On my way out of Dodge, my backseat held taped together moving boxes.  As I furnished my new nest, it held awkwardly shaped furniture.  As I made a home, the backseat housed flat upon flat of petunias and large bags of soil (with a protective sheet, of course).  That backseat has even held a mental patient.  Pretty much the only two things I never dreamed would be in that seat were several bags of cash and a babyseat.

Until now.  Irony is funny.  I learned yesterday that in the course of my job, it would be necessary for me to transport kids at times.  When this was going around the meeting table, I quickly stated that I could not transport anyone under the age of 8, because I had no safety apparatus.  No car seat.  No booster seat (as a side note:  boy, times sure have changed! I would have DIED if my mom had strapped me into a "booster seat" when I was eight.  Of course, the whole idea is preventing death, but I came up in a time when children were being thrown all over the station wagon).   "Oh, no problem!", I was informed.  My social service agency has PLENTY of car seats available for my use. 

So, it has come to this.  Three years to the month of purchasing my happy fun time luxury vehicle, I am once again revisited by the car seat dilemma.  Just when you think you can relax and quit worrying, the same old niggling issues come back...in altered form.  It seems to be the universe's way of saying, "Look, you can't go your whole life without coming into contact with small humans...if you keep putting this off, the situations are just going to get weirder."  What's next?  If I avoid this brush with babies, the next thing will be that I take to selling used car seats on the side of the road?  Why can't the car seats just leave me alone?  I made my choice, right?  I chose instant happiness (yeah, that worked out) over long range planning.  Yet, it seems that if something is supposed to happen, it is going to happen so I might as well take my medicine now to stave off even more bizarre scenarios.  It would appear that my control over a situation seems to subside the more I put it off. 

Not to mention the fact that I have no idea how to transport kids.  All I have to draw on is my own experience.  Positioning myself on the little hump in the back so that I could rest my elbows on the front seat armrest; thereby not missing one second of conversation between the front seat riders (my mom and my older brother).  Singing into the speakers housed above the backseat because I believed that if I sung loud enough it would come through the radio and I would be "discovered" for the amazingly talented child star that I believed myself to be.  Biting the soft/hard dashboard because I liked to see my teeth indentions and because it upset my mother.  What do kids listen to on the radio?  What do we talk about?  Do we talk at all?  What if someone pees?  What if I am transporting older kids and I glance into the mirror to catch them rolling their eyes at me?  What if I accidentally let a "MOVE YOUR ASS MORON!" slip?? 

If this brush with carseats has taught me anything, it has taught me not to be so quick to judge.  Maybe that Mustang driver is a social worker, like me, carting some kids away from Hell.  One way to tell is to check the front passenger seat for overstuffed notebooks and loose papers.  Maybe a mileage form.  And while I am browsing other people's rides, I may have forgotten my own cargo.  I will now have that weird moment of panic whenever I leave my car, "WHERE'S THE BABY? DID I LEAVE THE BABY?".  

The Baby on Board just spit up all over my neat little well planned life.