The Journey Through Time Makes Me Want to Barf – Part V

…the end is nigh…(that means ‘near’ sinners)

After our night out, during which I did NOT get my butt kicked by a lady (and I use that term so loosely it may fall off of the page) I awoke to Pineapple pointing at me and yelling “Da Da!” While I thoroughly enjoy waking up to my Pineapple’s  weensy face, she can seriously get comfortable with an “mmm” sound any day now and maybe take the volume down a notch – particularly after mommy has had ‘tee many martoonis.’ Seriously.

DH was kind enough to tote her out to Granny and her cousin T who spent the night, as well, so we were able to grab an extra hour or so of much-needed sleep. When I finally crawled my terribly slightly hung over self out of bed and in the general direction of the coffee pot, I was greeted by Papa making waffles (God bless that man). He provided me with two piping hot cakes and I dove in with vigor – calories be damned – all the while listening to the noises of happy kiddos playing in Granny’s room. Until one of them screamed – and I’ll be darned if it wasn’t mine. So I SPRINTED across the living room and down the hall in my weakened state only to discover that little miss Princess Pineapple was throwing a fit because Granny was not allowing her to play in the toilet – or something equally ridiculous.

So I toted her grumpy butt back to the kitchen and fed her waffles – because I figured, if they were making me happy, they might work on her, too. Big surprise – they did the trick.

Shortly after breakfast, we decided it was time to head for home so we began the extensive process of loading up the car. I swear on everything holy, traveling with a toddler is the packing equivalent of moving across country anytime you’re going more that 20 miles. It took us over an hour and a half to load the car and get on the road.

DH drove and I sat in the passenger seat attempting to nap by drinking a cold Coca Cola and eating one of those Doritos snack bags – the kind with twisties and Doritos and pretzels – you know the kind. This proved to be a less than effective method of getting some zzz’s so I grabbed a pillow and a blanket. Pineapple was napping quietly in back but all I managed was about 15 minutes. Why is that? Why is it that when you really want to nap – and you CAN nap – because you have the time – you can NEVER fall asleep? (Although, to be fair, I should mention here – because I forgot this for the previous post – the afternoon before we went gallivanting around the bars in JD, I took a very nice nap with Pineapple – super snuggly.) So DH and I held a very quiet conversation.

Our drive to JD includes the scenic byway in eastern Oregon known as  “The Journey Through Time” (hence the title). It encompasses the Picture Gorge, John Day, Fossil, Dayville and several other little towns, areas, and viewpoints. DH refers to this drive as a “driver’s drive.” I refer to it as “the barf-a-thon.” While this drive is beautiful (some areas are stunning, if I’m being honest) it is so friggin’ curvy and NOT friendly for folks who have a tendency toward motion sickness…like me.

I would trade a lot of maladies for nausea. I hate being nauseous. In my opinion it was one of the WORST things about pregnancy – and sorry to all those ladies that lurve being preggo, but I did not enjoy it and there were a lot of things that fall in the ‘bad’ category. I was seriously very, very, very nauseous nearly the entire trip – to the point that I took a pregnancy test when we got home – it was negative – AMEN. And don’t try to blame the snacks and waffles like DH did – it wasn’t their fault – it was that darned winding road. My nemesis.

We arrived home 5 hours later (yes, 5 whole hours) a bit worse for the wear but glad to be there. And the cat (who spent the weekend trapped in the garage with her litter box, self feeder and watering dish, squishy kitty bed, and cozy kitty kennel – TOTAL hell, let me tell you) was very happy to see us – showing her excitement by yowling at us as we unloaded the car. She’s a Jem, that cat.

Anyway, alls well that ends well. Given that this was my first attempt at an episodic post, I’m just glad THIS PROCESS is over. Not sure if I’ll be adopting it again anytime soon. There have been so many other things I’ve wanted to share and talk about during the time it has taken me to post these but I felt obligated to see it through (stupid sense of responsibility to my few but valued readers).

I hope you enjoyed it. I’m no JRR Tolkien or George Lucas but I do my best.

THE END

The Journey Through Time Makes Me Want to Barf – Part II

…the saga continues…

After getting my “sort of” ticket, we continued on our way to John Day.

About an hour and a half later, we were forced to stop because the Pineapple was awake and letting us know that starving an infant is still a crime in most states. So given that I get SUPER carsick (hence the title), DH hopped in the back seat to feed her and I jumped out to walk the dog (Giles – he’s a shitzu-pomeranian…aka a shiteranian…or a shitpom – you pick). Giles was struggling a wee bit over going “potty #2,” prompting a dialog between DH and I wherein we discussed the nutritional value of hard dog food and whether or not he’s getting enough water. I then proceeded to tease DH, telling him that something seemed to be “stuck” and that he would need to come and take care of it for Giles. It is a testament to our relationship that DH did not assume I was joking and rather moaned and groaned that he didn’t want to do that…again. (Sorry – need a break for just a second…can’t type while I’m clutching my sides and laughing.)

As I hopped back into the car, I assured DH that all was well aside from the fact that he’d married a terrible woman who picks on him too often and we all moseyed down the road.

A bit later, DH decided he needed to go potty (just #1 though) so we found a quaint little port-a-potty set up right next to the river and stopped there. Pineapple was napping peacefully so I stayed in the car gazing out at the rushing water and enjoying the scenery while DH jumped out to visit the restroom. He returned moments later and when he got in the car, I almost threw up. He smelled like the interior of the port-a-potty…not the inside, as in the shell, I mean the big blue hole. He smelled so bad I made him check his shoes. His CLOTHES smelled like it. The odor was clinging to him – just as I would imagine the bog of eternal stench would cling to Ludo fur (if you have no idea what I’m referencing, I suggest you Netflix The Labyrinth…STAT! 80’s David Bowie in tights = yummy).

He was frantic. DH is nothing if not clean (maybe a bit prissy about it even – I swear he takes the longest showers) and it was seriously freaking him out. Apparently, while in the restroom, he’d worn his shirt over his nose – bandit style – to avoid inhaling the foul odor. So my next logical question was, “then why the hell didn’t you just get out of there and pee outside?! You have that option! Why didn’t you take advantage of it instead of opting to pollute the family car with your malodorous visit to the stink pot?!”

DH’s response?…”I didn’t even think about it. I was so worried about not smelling the stinky smell, peeing and getting out of there.” Men.

After the port-a-potty from hell, we continued on and finally made it into John Day – present and accounted for – arriving at his parent’s house to find it vacant. So naturally, we made ourselves at home and started eating their food. We also began the baby-proofing process which basically consists of plopping Pineapple on the floor and letting her make her way around the room to see what she attempts to either A) put in her mouth, B) climb on, or C) insert something (body part/item found on floor) into. About an hour and a half later, we’d re-vacuumed their floors and put chairs and other objects in front of the wall sockets.

Pineapple was happily eating her snack when grandma came through the door with bags and bags of groceries…which, you may not believe, made me VERY upset. You see, visiting the grocery store in John Day is always one of the highlights of my trip…but that is another post.

Until tomorrow!

TO BE CONTINUED

The Journey Through Time Makes Me Want to Barf – Part I

This weekend, we made the 5 hour drive east from PDX to visit DH’s family (my family too, since we’re hitched and all) in John Day, OR. And let me tell you something…that drive is long. And twisty. And curvy. And I get carsick almost every time.

However, it is well worth it because we always have a good time. It also makes for good blog fodder, so this is going to be a multi-part post. I can’t cram it all into one post without losing some of the flavor. And I think you deserve flavor. I know Pineapple does – and since someday she needs to have a clear picture of her early childhood to share in her support group, my recounting of this trip will get some extra attention.

So to begin….

We all crawled out of our cozy bed at 5:00AM on Friday when Pineapple woke up complaining about her teeth hurting, cursing us, and demanding a bottle (baa-buu in Pineapplease). We threw some clothes on, left Pineapple in her footie jammies, and jumped in the pre-loaded car to head out of town. I drove for the first couple of hours because it was dark and I didn’t want to barf during the winding parts…and I got a ticket. Well, sort of.

I was driving down the road in the early sun and saw the cop coming toward me – a little too late. So, when he made a u-turn and started to follow me, DH told me I was being pulled over. We speculated over where a good place to move to the shoulder of the road might be while I denied that it was happening, repeating “he may not even be after us – I should just keep going until he gets right up on us.” And DH educated me about being pulled over, explaining that if I didn’t get onto the shoulder of the road and stop the car, the cop might think I was ‘making a run for it.’ Which I declared obsurd but pulled over anyway.

When the nice officer came to the window, he asked if I knew why I was being pulled over. To which I responded – eyebrows raised, sheepish grin, high-voiced – “because I was speeding?”

“Do you know how fast you were going?” the Sherriff asked.

“About 60 – maybe 65?” I said – again with the high voice.

“Actually, I clocked you at 73” he informs me and goes on to ask “do you know the speed limit here?”

“60?” I ask – hoping that I’m close.

“Actually it’s 55 ma’am” he says – ma’aming me.

Then after accepting my drivers license and registration – I have new car insurance and don’t have the card yet and having not had a ticket in, oh, ever, I didn’t bother to bring the temporary – he makes his way back to his car to type on his computer and make sure I’m not a psychopath dressed in a sweatsuit driving a white Subaru Outback loaded to the brim with baby supplies and a protesting child. I’m not – thankfully – so it doesn’t take him long to check my background. While he was gone, I wondered to DH if maybe the nice officer would give me a warning. But DH informed me that they don’t do that anymore because everyone needs money. So it was with a heavy heart that I see him returning to the window with a yellow slip of paper and my information.

Leaning in the window, he says “now this isn’t as bad as it looks ma’am – I gave you a ticket for not having your insurance but that’s it. And all you need to do is contact that phone number on the back and fax them in a copy of your temporary card and then it is customary for them to drop the charges.”

I smile and say “thank you so very much – I promise to fax it in as soon as possible!”

He smiles, taps his hat, and then DH feels the need to contribute to the conversation: “That is incredible. I just got through telling her that the police don’t give warnings anymore – they all just ticket you. Wow.”

The nice Sherriff and I both look at DH. I have no idea what the Sherriff was thinking but I know that I was thinking: “WHAT THE HELL?! Are you kidding me right now?! Why do I let this man out of the house? Do they make DH sized muzzles? Where could I get one? I wonder if they have any fashionable ones?…Maybe something in blue. He looks nice in blue…I do not own a single blue sweater. I should buy one. I like blue. And it….Oh yeah – police officer and DH just offended him…WHAT THE HELL?!” But the nice Sherriff just tipped his hat again, smiled and made his way back to his car.

As I merged back onto the highway, I looked over at DH, who was staring at me, and asked “why didn’t you just say ‘cops suck’? It would have been more to the point.”

DH: “I was just trying to let him know that I thought it was really nice.”

Me: “Then why didn’t you say ‘that was really nice’ instead of something that sounded very much like ‘cops suck’?”

DH: “I dunno. You’re driving everywhere from now on. If I’d been driving, we would have had 3 tickets or he would have cuffed me or something.”

Me: “You are so odd. I’m buying you a muzzle. A blue one – to bring out your eyes.”

TO BE CONTINUED…