November 20th, 2024
A long journey with a small child is by its very nature a challenge. A road trip with a sick little boy increases the difficulty of that trek exponentially. This we learned as Karin and I drove home to Wisconsin from Texas. Our almost-four-year-old grandson, Asher, caught a virus somewhere, and he had been struggling with a head cold and a cough. Now, as we were on the last legs of the trip, he also had bouts of diarrhea. This created problems.
Asher is generally a wonderful boy, but he can be moody and particular about how certain things are done. When he does not feel well, his mood grows worse, and likewise his behavior. It’s this way with adults too, but somehow the tantrums seem more intense coming from a preschooler.
Karin and I had divided the journey home into four bite-sized pieces. Madisonville, Texas to Tulsa, Oklahoma on the first day. Then, Tulsa to Lawrence, Kansas on the second. It should be noted that Lawrence is the home of the Yarn Barn, a pilgrimage site for knitters and weavers. My wife falls into both of those categories. On the third day, we went from Lawrence to Coralville, Iowa. The final day was to be the sprint home. That was the plan anyway.
The night before the last segment of the trip, Asher slept poorly. He rolled around and moaned. His tummy hurt. None of these things were good omens. He refused to eat anything when had breakfast at the hotel. Also, not a good sign. He just wasn’t feeling well.
After breakfast, we emptied out our hotel room and dragged a cart full of bags down to the foyer. I walked to the parking lot to grab the SUV. I drove the RAV4 near the hotel entrance and saw Asher sobbing uncontrollably. Awesome. Now what is going on?
Asher stared at me with tears streaming down his cheeks. He cried,
“I wanted to go with you to the parking lot!”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“But I wanted to! You have to take the car back to the parking lot!”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Yes, you ARE!”
There was a standoff. Karin, the only rational person in our group, suggested we load up the car. I tried to lower my blood pressure. Eventually, after we had all our stuff wedged into the RAV, I told Asher,
“If you get in and be good, I’ll drive back to the parking lot.”
He sniffled, and said, “Okay, but first you got wipe my tears.”
I wiped his tears. He prefers that I use the sleeve of my hoodie to do that. Then we all got into the car, and I slowly drove back to the exact same parking spot I had previously vacated. I asked him,
“We’re here. Is this okay? Can we go now?”
He said softly, “It’s okay, Grandpa.”
I wanted to put some miles behind us, but that was not to be. As we crossed the Mississippi, Asher loudly proclaimed that his tummy hurt. As fate would have it, sitting on a bluff on the riverside was the first rest stop in Illinois. I took the turn off and stopped at the welcome center.
We got out of the car, and Asher informed us, “I pooped.” No surprise there. I took him into the bathroom and dutifully changed his diaper. There wasn’t much in there besides his butt. We went back outside. A few minutes later, the boy told us, “I pooped again.” This time he wanted my wife to change him. So, she took him into her bathroom and did the same that thing that I had done. Just a smidgeon of feces, but it was enough to require a change.
We all went together to the playground a couple hundred feet away from the welcome center. He played for a while and then told us,
“I can’t go down the slide.”
“Why?”
“I pooped.”
I muttered darkly. Once again, he wanted Oma to change his diaper. She asked him if she could do it at the playground. She pointed out that there was a cushiony pad on the surface of the playground. Asher agreed to change outdoors. The was poop, but not a lot.
Asher played some more. I was eager to move on. He announced, “I pooped again.”
Oh well, fourth time is a charm. When Karin opened up the diaper, it was apparent that a shit grenade had exploded in it. She started to clean him up and said,
“We are running out of wipes.”
“That’s no good.”
Seeing as she has a great deal of experience with this sort of thing, she used a clean portion of the contaminated diaper to wipe his ass. She managed to get him sanitary again with what wipes she had available. He felt better.
He played a for another couple minutes. We bundled Asher into the car. He watched monster truck videos and ate an energy bar. After several miles, he dozed off.
I floored the accelerator.
Frank is Emptiness 