Last week, Monday, Travis and I stopped by my Dad’s and Liz’s place to take them to dinner. After picking them up, we stopped at the new retirement community that they are moving to to see their soon-to-be new home. We excitedly chattered about the new place on the way to dinner, and in fact, throughout dinner. With the upbeat banter, I almost didn’t notice that Dad wasn’t eating much. It became hard to deny as the main course came to a close and his plate was mostly full. He just said that he wasn’t that hungry. I didn’t think that much of it until he said he didn’t feel that well. I looked over and saw the panic in his eyes. As a mom, I’ve seen that panic before…I knew I had to act fast. I didn’t know where the restrooms were in the restaurant, and didn’t feel like I had that amount of time. I nearly tackled the cute 21 year old waitress and asked for a to-go box with a wild panic in my eyes. She very spiritedly responded, “Oh sure. I’ll bring some by in a minute.” I started turning around wildly like a Tasmanian devil. Didn’t this girl understand panic when she saw it? I spied the waitress station, sprinted to it, and located the to-go containers, grabbing one and sprinting back to the table in a flash. I arrived back at the table with the open extended container slid under Dad’s chin just as Dad’s stomach virus took over his body. In a minute, Dad filled the first container and was moving on to the second container. Before long, he hit that blessed reprieve when vomiting stops and you feel like you could go for a jog. At that point, Travis and I jumped up, boxed the remainder of all the dinners, and Travis ran to get the car. I hastily paid for my dinner, and the dinner of the next table, grabbed the bag of leftover food and got out of the restaurant while the owner was protesting that we should call an ambulance.

The end scene was quick because I knew, as you all know, we had a limited time frame to exit and get home before Dad’s stomach returned to its previous state. We stopped at Dad and Liz’s and deposited them at home with instructions to call us if Dad got any worse. We all exchanged hugs and Travis and I went back to the car for the hour long drive home. As we puledl out of Dad and Liz’s subdivision, Travis said, “Hey, let me stop at the hospital. Just a ten minute stop” I groan. You all know that ten minutes doesn’t mean the same thing to an ob/gyn as it does to the rest of the world. But I am hardly in a place of negotiation. He just ably assisted with my poor Dad’s restaurant scene. Ugh!!! Okay.

We eventually pulled into the hospital parking lot, and Travis went into the hospital. I played on my phone, checked Facebook, and eventually fell asleep. About 45 minutes later, Travis returned. He opens the car door and exclaims, “Have you been farting?” My sleepy self aptly gives him the Mom look of death. I reply, “Seriously, after you abandon me in the hospital parking lot for the longest ten minutes in human history, I think the first thing out of your mouth should be an apology.” He looked appropriately sorry, as he realized his mistake and started driving us home. I continued my well-practiced Mom death stare for a few more minutes just to make sure I had the upper hand.

When we arrived home, I grabbed the leftovers and deposited them on the island. We were momentarily left in a panic as we realized that the only remaining car was at home, but our remaining kids were not, and it was nearly 10pm. Where were they? How did they get there? Turns out a friend had stopped by and Tessa and the friend had gone to pick up Tayden from the tech week play rehearsal, which has a history of running late. In our panic about the kids, we left the leftovers on the island even after we moved to bed. It seems like I do this with enough frequency that I should come up with a system to prevent it.

Anyway, the next morning, I came downstairs and said out loud, “What in the world stinks down here. The downstairs reaks.” Just then I noticed the to-go boxes. And I noticed that the top one was oozing liquid down the inside of the plastic bag that mercifully surrounded all three (why would we have three?) boxes. OH NO!! The realization hit hard! We had brought home Dad’s vomit container!!! It seemed incomprehensible! GROSS!!!!! Does this really happen to real people?? Or just me? I delicately picked up the entire bag, walked it outside to the trash can, and placed it upright on top of the other trash. Then I observed it as it toppled on its side, undoubtedly dispelling its contents like gravy over the trash pile.

And that’s how I brought my Dad’s vomit home in a to-go container. Yup Yup Yup. My dad was sick until about 4am, but was doing better after that…but then it was poor Liz’s turn. They are both fine now. And apparently when you leave a vomit car and return to it, you will think it smells like your spouse has been farting. With that, have a great week all!!!