Father's Day

So we had a funny sort of a Father's Day, complete with meals out, greeting cards, a long drive, and major illness. Really, what more could you ask for? It's 10:15 pm right now and instead of blogging I should be helping Rocket Boy clean up vomit. I will in a minute.

The day started well, though Rocket Boy still has his cold. We got up, had tea and milk, and we were on 395 north to Olancha by about 9 am. We got to the Ranch House Cafe around 9:45 and had a good breakfast -- omelets and coffee for RB and me, pancakes and fruit for the boos. The twins had "made" a card for Daddy at daycare, and I had found a mildly humorous one at Albertson's, so those went over well.

Coming back, instead of turning off 395 to go back to Ridgecrest, we continued south on 14 because I wanted to show Rocket Boy a discovery I'd made on one of the nap-drives: the Indian Wells Brewery and Restaurant, on the site of the actual Indian Wells, for which our valley is named. You only pass it if you drive a stretch of 14 that we never drive. RB was duly impressed, and then we drove south on Highway 14 all the way to Jawbone Canyon to see if by any chance Mr. Bob (the 110-year-old desert tortoise) was up. He was indeed. He came up out of his burrow while we were there and ate a plate of lettuce and strawberries.

Then we went back up north on 14 so that I could show Rocket Boy another recent discovery: the turn-off to Burro Schmidt's tunnel, which we'd heard about on an episode of "California's Gold." He then suggested that we continue north on 14 back up to the Indian Wells Brewery, and look at it more closely. So we did that, went to the gift shop, but the restaurant didn't open until 4:30 (it was only about 12:30 by then).

Then we finally got off 14, went to the hardware store in Inyokern so RB could get some parts for his gate project, and then went home.

I thought we'd probably go to the Chinese buffet in town for dinner, but Rocket Boy had an interesting suggestion: how about that Brewery Restaurant? I thought that was a very bad idea, too fancy for two-year-olds, but RB called the restaurant and they said they'd be delighted to have us. We decided it would be best to go really really early.

So around 4 pm we got back in the car (I put on a skirt for the occasion), and headed for the restaurant, stopping along the way at the Inyokern hardware store again so Rocket Boy could get more parts.

There, disaster struck. While the babies and I waited for RB to emerge from the store, I suddenly heard a noise behind me that sounded as though Baby A was pouring a large quantity of liquid on himself. Since I knew he did not even have a sippy cup, I turned around to see what was going on. The source of the liquid was his poor little stomach, as he vomited copiously upon himself. Poor baby! I had no idea what to do, but found a beach towel in the back of the car and mopped him up a bit. He wailed desperately until Rocket Boy came back and I told him: "we're not going to the restaurant."

So, home, a quick wash, and a change of clothes, from Baby A's nice Father's Day outfit to a blue t-shirt and gray shorts. RB went out to work on his gate project and the babies and I hung out in the family room. I was putting Baby B's shoes on him so he could go outside when suddenly, whoops, Baby A's throwing up again, in 3 places on the rug. Babies are like cats: they won't stay in one place and vomit nicely on a vinyl floor, they wander around, getting it on all the carpets.

Another wash, another change of clothes, this time into a white t-shirt and black shorts. And maybe 15 minutes later he threw up all over the kitchen and I changed him into a green t-shirt and green shorts.

We decided that Rocket Boy would go to Kristy's, alone, for a quiet Father's Day dinner (he took his cards with him, to admire them again while he ate), Baby B would have leftovers and applesauce, Baby A would have nothing, and I would eat later. This worked well, and Baby A didn't throw up again until Baby B was through eating. This time I managed to catch the vomit in two towels and also showed him how to throw up in the toilet (a skill I consider almost as important as ordinary potty training).

Baby A threw up one more time while we were reading bedtime stories and I expect that our sleep will be interrupted tonight by further episodes. And then, of course, Baby B will get it, and I'll get it, and Rocket Boy will get it. Poor Rocket Boy, whose cold has spawned an awful case of laryngitis.

We will get through this, I know we will. It will be a Father's Day to remember, long after the boos have grown up and stopped speaking to us. It is silly, but I find vomiting babies to be among the sweetest of life's creatures. They are so pathetic! You just want to envelop their smelly little selves in your arms, wipe away the mess, kiss away the tears. Maybe it's because I spent so much time vomiting when I was pregnant with them, I just don't mind it when they vomit on my hands, in my hair. I'm washable.

But is the carseat?