Yes This Really Happened In My Car

Typically at this time of year I write about how depressed I am that summer is over.  Nothing has changed in that regard.  We are on day two of school and already I’m drowning in paperwork and racing around to get the kids off on time.  Activities are in full swing, we have three soccer games this weekend, and I’m praying for sun so I can hit the beach on Sunday.  This year, I’m approaching things differently by vowing to think about all of the fun, and in some cases, funny things that happened to our family this summer.

Every family makes memories as they go.  This is a story we will be telling our grandchildren, and both my husband and I are still shell-shocked by fact that it actually happened, and in such an obscene manner that it felt like we were channeling an old Chevy Chase movie as it transpired.

The story begins in Maine, where we vacation every year on a rustic yet beautiful island within Baxter State Park.  This was our second trip this season, and we brought our dog, (aptly named Baxter), as we always do.  Baxter loves getting to roam freely about, chase chipmunks, and bask in the sun on our beach.  Unfortunately, his free reign of the land leads him to eat just about anything that suits him: lots of leaves, sticks, and questionable looking berries.  The last few years, he’s had some GI issues upon returning home, but nothing that hasn’t resolved itself within a few days.  Little did we know that this year would be a bit different.

We packed up at the end of the trip, and set off after an early lunch,  We drove south, with the end goal of reaching Portland for dinner.  We love to stop here for dinner: http://www.flatbreadcompany.com/ as they have a delicious selection of hand-crafted pizzas and fresh salads.  We found an open air parking lot, locked the car, and left the windows down a bit for our furry friend.

About ninety minutes later, we returned to our vehicle, and my oldest daughter (age ten) opened the door and began to scream.  The screaming turned to a loud pitched wailing as she exclaimed, “Baxter threw up in my backpack!!!”  Truth be told, I’ve never seen so much vomit in one place.  Her backpack had been transformed into our dog’s barf bucket, and was filled to the brim.  The stench was horrific.  All five of us looked like a pack of deer in headlights, until I kicked into mom mode and told everyone to stand back.  As if I were holding a dead rat by its’ tail, I picked up the backpack by the handle, using only my thumb and pointer finger.  I took it back behind the car to shake it out as best I could to salvage her things.

As I worked quickly, I noticed a cute young couple parking next to us.  They got out, and I saw a tiny black lab puppy in the woman’s arms.  All of my kids were stunned and disgusted by the backpack incident, and there was plenty of loud commentary taking place. My son was hassling my daughter, insinuating that it was funny that her backpack was destroyed, which had her seething mad.  The woman looked us over, her face aghast, grabbed her man’s hand, and they both turned and walked away.  I wanted to call out to her, “Yeah.  You think this is weird, right?  Call me someday lady when you are 36 weeks pregnant and you have hemorrhoids that hurt so much you can’t sit down.  Or maybe when you change your first blow-out diaper that goes up your kids’ back and gets all over your fresh manicure.  Or when you have 3 children under age four having melt-downs at 5:00, with no sign of that cute husband of yours for another hour or two.  Or when your school-age children decide to hold a WWE-style boxing match with each other in your basement on a rainy day, followed by chasing one another around the house until one pulls the other’s hair, kicks, or punches them.  If you want, you can wait until you turn 40 and find that after several child births, you can’t even jump rope or play soccer without peeing in your pants.  It doesn’t really matter to me sister, because I was where you once stood.  Take a good long look girlfriend, because someday this will be your new normal too!”

After we recovered from the backpack fiasco, we wedged the dog in the back of the car in the event that he got sick again.  I covered the area with towels.  We were a little over an hour from home, and everyone was anxious to get going.  While I so wish the story had ended here, things got worse.

Two miles shy of the Hampton tolls in N.H., my husband commented that the dog was restless.  I turned around and noticed that he was sort of turning in circles, and shaking a bit.  I recommended that we stop, as it seemed that his stomach issues might be starting again.  We were in the thick of summer traffic, and pulling over was not possible.  About a minute after I observed the dog circling, my son, who was sitting in the back, gasped.  “WHAT IS THAT SMELL!?!?”  Alarmed, I turned around, and my eyes instantly became the size of saucers.

As I turned, I saw the back windshield of my car being sprayed by diarrhea.   Baxter was frantically rotating, trying to get away from himself.  Next, the side windows were covered, as if someone were spraying a paintball gun back there.  By then, we were all choking on the smell.  After passing through the toll, my husband pulled over into the small parking lot so that we could deal with the situation.  Thankfully, our family handled the crisis as gracefully as possible given the circumstances.  As the car came to a stop, we all started laughing so hard we were crying.  The poor dog stood on the asphalt, covered in shit, with his tail between his legs.  Even his leash was coated.  The car was an absolute mess, and our goal was to get home as fast as possible.  We drove 85 MPH with all of the windows down, with the kids insistent on finishing their movie, the volume as high as it would go.

The next day, I had my car professionally detailed, and I can honestly say there is no trace left of what happened.  Needless to say, yes this really happened in my car, and was undoubtedly a trip we will never forget.

So, how was YOUR summer?