Just Another Friday Night in the Rabbit Hole

On Friday Mr. Wicke and I took the kids to see the daughter of a friend in a dance recital. One might naturally assume that it was during the nearly two hour show when things fell apart, but that isn't so. Everything considered, the kids behaved themselves very well; only afterward did we fall down the rabbit hole.

During our long journey to the parking lot I noticed Griffin looking a bit upset. "What's the matter, buddy? Are you okay?"

"I don't feel good."

"What's the matter?"

Logan interrupted. "Mom, can I run down that hill?"

"Okay."

Griffin suddenly perked up. "Can I go, too?"

"Sure."

Funny how kids turn on a dime. The sudden highs and lows of childhood constantly amaze me, and they just keep coming. After Logan returned from her brief hike she wailed, "I have to go potty!"

"Logan! Are you serious? Why didn't you say something inside?"

"Because I didn't need to go potty then."

"Well, look around. There's no potty in sight."

"I could go in a bush or something."

"I think you are getting a little too old for that," her daddy quickly explained.

"Can you hold it until we get to the restaurant?" I asked.

"Um...I'll try."

Minutes later she is in the back of the van doing the potty shuffle. "Logan, are you doing okay?" I'm familiar enough with her walnut-sized bladder to worry.

"I'm trying to hold it."

"We're almost there."

"Daddy, can you stop somewhere?"

"Honey, I don't think she's going to make it," I agree.

Thomas finds a Circle K, and Logan and I run inside. Too late. She's already peed her pants. Ugh. I pull off her underwear and throw them away.

"Mommy! What are you doing? Those were my favorite!"

"You have favorite underwear? C'mon."

"But I love those."

"Logan, they are soaked! I'm not carrying around pee-peed panties in my purse."

"I tried to hold it!"

"I know, but honey you can not wait until the last possible minute to tell us you need to go potty."

"I didn't!"

"Logan, you wait so long that you can't hold it. You need to tell us sooner--the minute you think you might need to go--so we can find a place without you peeing in your pants." I never seem to make myself clear in these conversations. I did not major in Potty Education, and I am pretty certain I am missing some key elements of the course. I just can't seem to communicate the basics.

Finally we get back in the car where Griffin has been contentedly watching The Incredibles. "Well, she didn't make it," I inform Mr. Wicke.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, it's alright. Let's just get something to eat. We're all hungry and tired."

By the time we drive to Cafe Rio, Griffin has fallen asleep, or at least I think so. It's hard to tell as his current favorite activity is pretending to be asleep so we will carry him.

"Oh, brother. C'mon, little man," I soothe as I pick him up to carry him inside. "Let's get something to eat and then we'll go home, okay?"

"I don't want to eat."

"What? You don't want a quesadilla?" They are usually his favorite. "Would you like a taco instead?"

"I don't want anything."

I can't seem to catch a break. "Griffin, I know you're hungry." By now we are up at the counter and next in line to order. Suddenly he picks his head up and says, "I don't feel good," and the next moment I'm covered in vomit. It's down my shirt, inside my bra, in a giant puddle on the floor and splashed onto my shoes.

I hear a couple of patrons gasp and the man behind the 5 foot counter says, "Is he alright?"

"No..." Thomas has left, I assume to find something to help, but Griffin is gagging again. I cup my hands below his mouth and he vomits into them. It seems everyone in the restaurant is frozen looking at us. Griffin begins to heave again, and all I can get out is, "Give me something!"

The man behind the counter thrusts an aluminum tray at us just in the nick of time, although at this point there is not much left in the poor little guy's stomach. When he has finished none of us knows quite what to do. Griffin looks up at me with those sad, confused eyes. "It's okay, buddy." I then look to the customer next to me and the man behind the counter. "Sorry about that."

Much to their credit they are both very understanding and kind. "Oh, that's okay. It happens."

Yes. Yes, it does. I am becoming very familiar with the rabbit hole by now. It's one kooky place to be. You never know what's going to happen from one minute to the next, but if there is one thing you can count on it is this: It will probably happen in public.