The drive went much faster than I had anticipated. Gabe started falling asleep, but we started a round of "The Storytellying Game" and it kept him awake. The Storytelling Game is sort of like a live MadLibs/improvisational storybuilding game. Most of the time I am "it," but Lucy will take a turn once in a while and even Gabe will if his mood is right. I was happy that when I stopped the story and got Gabe to fill in the blanks, nothing had to do with poop or farting. (It's the small things.) No, this story was about a boy and his giant (as big as a building) wolf. Charlie added a tiger to the story. I forget how the story unfolded exactly, but there were mice involved and magical shrinking.
The kids were beyond excited to see Brian's office. He joked that he had to have them come so they wouldn't wonder any more if he actually does leave for work every day.
After the grand tour, we all piled into Brian's truck and headed south to a favorite burger joint of his. Lunch went reasonably well. There was that episode of a cup full of Powerade spilling all over, but it mostly ended up on the floor. Eight years into this parenting thing has left both Brian and me very skilled with paper towels and/or napkins, so it was no big deal. I was even able to lure a company guy over with his mop and bucket to get the job done right.
On the way back to Brian's office, Gabe said something in the back and I didn't really focus on it well enough to "get it" until he had said it a couple of times. What did he say? "Boy, I'm going to have to take a bath when I get home..." Zero urgency. I looked back at him to see what he was talking about and saw that there was something on his arm. It kind of looked like a bandage, like he had found something funky in Brian's truck and wrapped it around the upper part of his wrist. (This is very unlikely, due to Brian's extreme car/truck cleanliness.)
While I was still twisting around in my seat, trying to figure out what Gabe was talking about, Gabe started to send his chin forward a little. That's when I realized what he was talking about and alerted Brian. "Gabe is throwing up."
Silly kid.
While we cleaned up on the side of the road as best we could, I told Gabe that no matter what, if he is ever in a car (or truck) and feels like he has to throw up, he can and should yell it out and we wouldn't care.
When I was young, I was with a friend and her family on a ride somewhere fun. I had been screwing around with the power windows right when we got in her dad's car, and I was quiet until he parked at our destination and turned off the car.
"Excuse me," I said. Mr. Stanford turned around after I said this a couple of times. "Could you please roll down the window?" He looked at my hand, which had been up at the top of the rear window the entire drive.
"Why?" he asked.
"My finger's stuck in the window." This episode isn't incredibly clear in my mind, but I'm pretty sure that's pretty much how it went down that day. When he asked me why I didn't say anything, I said, "My dad told me that we shouldn't disturb the driver." And that was true, but I think that mostly I just felt dumb for having been messing around with the windows (which led to my friend's dad locking them).
I would like to report that Gabe learned to speak up when he felt sick, but a few days after this, he launched barf all over the floor at the gym where he and Lucy take tumbling classes. After I cleaned up that mess, on the way home, he gave me a glimpse into his mind. "Mom," he said, "When I was on my way to the bathroom and I was throwing up, there was a girl texting and she saw me throw up and she said, "Ew! Gross." He was so embarrassed, he left the building. We found him standing beside the door outside.
Maybe next time he will make it to a can.
