I May Have Superpowers

Somehow, I have jinxed Christmas. I didn't know I had that power, but it appears that I do. Just Friday morning, I was telling friends how much I enjoy traveling over Christmas and how it is really no big deal to cart two children, enough luggage to supply Paris Hilton, and Santa's entire bag of loot for the Western Hemisphere to Nashville. Mistake. Big Mistake. I should have kept my big mouth shut because it appears that I have conjured into being all kinds of snafus.

First of all, on Friday afternoon my sister-in-law called to tell me that her little munchin has a cold. We were supposed to leave yesterday morning and spend the night with them before heading to my parents'. Seeing as Ladybug has a long and sordid history of ear infections whenever she gets the slightest sniffle (despite the several thousand dollar ear tubes she received on her birthday), we decided that it might be best if we swapped things around and moved our stay with them to the end of our time in Nashville. Normally, I am not the overprotective, germaphobic mom but if Ladybug gets an ear infection in Nashville, we'll have to take her to the ER because you can't get in to a pediatrician unless you are an established patient and our crap insurance won't pay for us to see anyone here anyway.

What do you know, but Ladybug wakes up yesterday morning with yellow snot coming out her nose. Lovely. Then I hear that one of our friends who we just played with on Friday has croup. Great. Then I remember that Ladybug licked the icing off of said friend's ice-cream cone Christmas tree project on Friday. We might as well head to the ER now. It serves me right.

That was the first snafu. The next series of snafus occurred en route. It takes us three hours to get up, fed, dressed, and packed in to the car yesterday morning. By the time we are all set to leave, I am as wound up as last year's tinsel. I snap at my husband. I snap at the kids. I snap at the dog. Finally we are on I-40 headed west.

About 20 miles down the road, Ladybug somehow extends her arm to superhuman lengths and snatches Max's preschool treat bag off the seat next to her. She extracts a snickers snowman and proceeds to eat the plastic in an effort to get inside to the chocolate. I yell and plead with her and court death by trying to reach over the seat and get it from her. She is a crafty little thing and evades my frantically searching hand. Big B can not help, as he is driving his truck too--remember all that luggage and shitload of presents? So, I have to pull over and get the thing from her. She has bits of plastic all in her mouth and has managed to suck a corner off the chocolate, so her face is covered in an appetizing mixture of yellow snot and melted chocolate.

We get back on the road. Midway into our trip, Sweet Pea declares he is hungry and demands chicken and french fries. We find a Chic-Fil-A and oblige him. We are sitting down, trying to gooble down our lunches as fast as possible so that the kids can spend a moment or two at the playground. Sweet Pea proceeds to spill milk all down the front of his sweater and pants. We mop it up. He gets up to play. I then notice that there is a suspicious puddle of yellow liquid on his seat and a tell-tale giant wet spot in his crotch. Yes, he has wet his pants. For the third time this week. On the Chic-Fil-A seat.

I take him to the restroom and try to get him cleaned up. We have to take half the luggage out of the car to get to his suitcase for clean clothes. This, of course, takes forever. Finally, we are back on the road.

Here comes the best part. We are about a half-hour outside of Nashville. Traffic is god-awful heavy. I and the cars around me are cruising at about 80 mph. The white pickup truck in front of me has two very large, heavy-duty plastic trashcans bobbing around in the back. I think to myself, gosh, those could fly out very easily. Again, a mistake.

No sooner than I think these horrible thoughts than one gigantic forest green trash can comes flying out at high velocity. There is absolutely nothing I can do to avoid it without hitting the overpass we are under or another car. I yell, "Oh, Shit!" The thing hits my car squarely on the hood and bounces down and I run over it. Plate-sized pieces of it fly behind me and cars swerve all over the place to avoid it. Sweet Pea's eyes are round as saucers and I am shaking. Two cars pull beside me to make sure I am OK. The owner of the trashcans speeds up and darts in and out of traffic, fleeing the scene.

Big B take off after the motherf***er and I eventually catch up, adrenaline racing. We both write down his liscene plate number and I notice that his truck is a company vehicle and has a phone number on the side. I get out my cell and call the motherf***er and proceed to bitch him out and tell him his negligence could have killed my 3 year old and baby in the backseat and he needs to tie down his damned trashcans next time. He is not very friendly, but I guess I wouldn't be either if some screaming banshee called me up and busted my ass.

After all this, we arrive at my parents, safe and sound with only a small dent on the hood of my car. I am relieved to be here. I may not ever leave.