Monday, July 2nd, 2012
Damn, three weeks in a row and I’m still writing about my own milestones. I hope this means I’m vastly improving myself. Either that or I’m getting dumber and need more fixing.
Sometimes I really think we suck as parents. We decided to take a last minute mini-vacation. Saturday we started looking for hotels and cool places within a 6-hour drive from Los Angeles. We’re hotel snobs and all the places we wanted to stay were sold out. After exhausting the morning, we gave up. Then Phil had an idea.
“How about Sequoia National Forest?” he shouted from the office.
“How far?” I shouted back.
“Looks like only 3 hours. I found a cabin with a private pool.”
Done. We threw ourselves into a packing frenzy and headed out the door.
As soon as we were on the road, our old-life, (pre-kids) started knocking. We have always loved going off the beaten path. We’ve trashed many a rental car by finding dirt roads and rural routes to ding up the paint and ruin the shocks. Once in Hawaii we went off-roading so badly that we nearly rolled our rental jeep. With kids, we don’t take dangerous driving risks. But taking a scenic route with what looks like a 2-hour detour to see an old ghost town? Totally within the realm of reason.
A few weeks ago, we went to Palm Desert. On the way home we took “the scenic route” through Joshua tree. A 2.5 hour drive turned into a 7-hour one, with temperatures hitting 102-degrees. Poor Fia and Emmett were troopers, but by the time we got home, we were hot, exhausted, and dirty. Whatever “rested vacation feeling” we had was left behind on a cactus. You’d think we would have learned our lesson.
We take off on our detour towards Silver City. Turns out it’s a ghost town made up of relics from other ghost towns. In short, a tourist site. Having said that, it was still pretty cool to see all these old buildings and let Fia run around obsessing over spider webs from the 1800s.
Pre-Barf Ghost Town
I looked at the map and told Phil that the shortest route appeared to be through the mountains. You can’t tell on the iPhone how twisty the roads are. But you can guess where this is going. Two hours later, with each turn getting sharper, I start to feel sick. No sooner did I say to Phil, “I’m feeling queasy” did the projectile barf of Fia go splatting all over the back of my seat.
We had a half-pack of baby wipes and one small bottle of water and about a gallon of barf. There wasn’t a house, a store, or a gas station within an hour of us. Yup. We definitely got our wish. We were in the middle of nowhere.
We pulled out Fia, getting covered in barf ourselves, reassuring her through her tears that it was okay. We tried to wipe the barf off the car seat bedding, the safety straps (where vomit was stuck in all the grooves), and of course Fia, all the while cursing that we should always have paper towels in the car. Or at least napkins. Or maybe a better f–king plan where our own selfishness doesn’t dictate. We used all the baby wipes but 3. We saved those for Emmett. (Oh right, nearly forgot about him. He slept through it all. God, he’s good.)
We got Fia as clean as we could, promising her the pool in a mere 90 minutes. That’s like 90 years to a kid. Nothing we could do but forge on at about 5 mph with Phil practically walking the car at each turn. The windy road ended 3 miles (30 minutes) later.
At the cabin we all jumped in the pool, letting the residue of barf and guilt wash away. The water was heaven and all the playing made up for our stupidity. But seriously, no more of this ridiculous decision making. We have to remind ourselves that with babies it’s not about YOU. I think after this trip we finally acknowledge that.
Image: Windy Road via Shutterstock
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baby barf, carsick, ghost town, milestone, milestone monday, milestones, parenting, Sequoia, silver city, travel, travel advice, travel fiasco, travel with baby, travel with toddler, traveling, traveling advice, vacation, vomit | Categories:
Fearless Feisty Mama, Milestone Monday
Wednesday, October 26th, 2011
We Broke All The Rules. TV. Pacifier.
When we got to JFK I saw 2 signs: one for the chapel and the other for the restroom. I wasn’t sure which one I needed more. Divine intervention or soap.
We had just left Brooklyn at 7 a.m. to begin our new life in LA. We looked like the Brooklyn-to-Beverly Hillbillies. We had Wayne Sanchez as one carry on, 4 other carry-ons, 4 pieces of luggage, her stroller, and of course we three humans.
The driver, like most of them in New York, kept hitting the gas and brake. Stop and go. Stop and go. I was getting worried, but just hoped we’d make it. No such luck. 10 minutes from the airport, Fia whispered, “uh oh” and out came the barf. It went everywhere. Luckily for us, I had asked to use the driver’s car seat, because I didn’t feel like dealing with installing ours at that hour.
I won’t go into the stench. All parents know how horrendous it is. Make that double horrid when you’re 7 months pregnant and your sense of smell is heightened.
Poor Fia was crying. The driver didn’t say a word. I’m sure he was furious. I told him we’d give him extra for the cleaning. Phil and I were dealing with the aftermath, trying to clean up Fia with wipes, but really there was no point. She just had to sit in her vomit. And we all had to sit in the smelly van with her vomit. The only person who wasn’t rattled was Wayne.
I rushed Fia to the bathroom and the kind TSA women who saw us rushed over some plastic bags for her clothes. Thank god for national security.
I gave her a bath in the sink and managed to get off the smell. Slightly redeemed, we rushed to our gate, the last to board, looking like the 3-ring circus we were.
The plane was packed. All our carry-ons had to go under the seat. Wayne took up so much space we were literally scrunched with our knees to our chest. Fia fell sleep on takeoff and landing. The remaining, oh, 5 hours or so, was sheer entertainment and avoiding the ambush. Wayne didn’t make a peep.
This may have been the worse travel day of my life. Oh, but it gets better.
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addiction to television, barfing baby, car seat, car sick, driving, Elmo, moving to LA, plane, sleep, sleep deprivation, television, toddler addiction, travel, travel with baby, travel with toddler, traveling, traveling with toddler, vomit, Wa, Wayne, Wayne Sanchez | Categories:
Have Baby, Will Travel, Mom Situations, Moving to Los Angeles, Must Read
Wednesday, August 24th, 2011
Fia at camp-- post barf
It’s not everyday I get to walk down the streets of Soho smelling like baby barf. In fact, I’m not even in Soho very often. But as luck would have it, the one day I decided to take Fia into the fashionable hip area of New York City, she let loose.
My friend Courtney and I were taking the babes to a mom-tot camp. I recently got a car, so we decided to drive. Being pregnant and hot in the subways isn’t real appealing.
As I pulled into the parking garage, I heard the gurgling sound. And then smelled it. Phil had given her both milk and yogurt that morning. Fetid. It was everywhere.
The parking attendant dudes were amazing. They gave me paper towels, cleaning supplies, the works. In a scenario like this you find out quickly how good—or useless—your mom friends are. Courtney got right in there and helped me with the mess as her son Teddy slept blissfully in the car seat next to Fia’s. How he didn’t wake up from the stench is beyond me.
Poor Fi was crying at first but then got her happy face on. Especially when I took her in the grubby parking lot bathroom and tried to give her a sink shower. She thought it was bath time.
“No, don’t touch the faucet,” I yelled as I dangled her over the dirty sink. “No, not the paper towels either.” I was trying to hold her away from me as I cleaned her. It was a good core and arm workout. The floor was covered with water and dirt and her vomit. It was just a royal mess. (I did mop up the mess after.)
Of course it was one of those times when I didn’t bring a full back up outfit. I had a kimono-top, but that was it. Poor baby had her first experience in Soho looking more homeless than high fashion.
But now I get the badge of barf honor and know even more how imperative friends and family are. It takes a village—especially with vomit.
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