Lois is driving today, as we roll east across New Mexico, heading for Carlsbad. The road is a deep ruby red, made with a different sort of stone than roads in New England. The endless western sky is stretched above us like a faded blue parachute with it’s white hem tattered by the jagged mountains that reach sporadically for the heavens.
We camped last night just east of nowhere New Mexico on a “cactus patch loop.” Naturally, Ezra rolled in a cactus within moments of exiting the van and whined about the elusive spines for the remainder of the evening.
Lois and I sat on top of the van to get enough bars of cell service to make a quick phone call home and let loved ones know that we were off the road for the night. The kids giggled inside their tents, lit up from the inside like glowing caterpillars. Lois and I sipped our classy plastic IKEA kids cups full of white wine and laughed at the four skunks that skittered around the margins of our clearing while a huge buttery moon rose behind a purple mountain. It was one of those rare, perfect moments.
There is no sound I enjoy less in the middle of the night than the gag of a wretching child. Nonetheless, at 3:30 a.m. I broke the surface of an excellent dream with a gasp and was instantly on my feet. Ezra.
I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that my thought process, selfishly, ran along the track of, “Thank God this child is old enough to get out of the tent and know what’s going on.” I’ve done five kids puking IN the tent before, and that was so much worse.
On the second round, a little after four, the cute factor had definitely worn off. For both Ez and me.
As I shivered in the desert cold, grumbling and hunting for a bottle of water to wash out “the bowl” with I turned the corner on the shelter clumsily and stopped short with an expletive I’ll keep to myself. There he was, as surprised as I. The skunk. He turned tail, I held my breath… and he ran. Thankfully. He ran. I got the water and put the food he’d been happily munching up on the picnic table, out of reach, and dove back into my tent.
I slept with one ear open. All quiet on the western front.
We woke to Jonathan’s voice. “AWWWWWWW. MOM! James puked in his sleep…”
I heard Lois sigh and roll out into the chilly morning. I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and wished for another three hours to sleep it off. No such luck.
Needless to say, we were on the road early this morning. Happily, no one else is puking… yet. The drive has been uneventful and happy. We even had the opportunity to feed a whole group of very dirty but cheerful hippies an unexpected lunch. It could have been so much worse.
Carlsbad is about a half an hour ahead of us. I think I’m more excited than the kids. I’ve wanted to see Carlsbad Caverns since I was about nine and I read a Hardy Boys’ book that featured the caves. In an hour we’ll be setting up tents and I’ll be making the kids skillet cookies with store bought dough and hopefully we’ll have a quiet night, with out skunks or other entertainment.
There are few things as horrid as puking kids on a road trip. I once was puked on inside a Denny’s, on the road, and had to change in a crowded minivan, praying I wasn’t giving a little “show” to the diners by the windows.
I feel for both of you and Lois pray the puking is done!
(And gotta love the “puke” tag for the post. Only a blogger would do that! LOL!)
When I drove with my grandparents to Brule Lake I threw up the whole way there. Probably the whole way home again too. At least we weren’t camping. My Pawpaw just wanted to give me some nasty medicine.