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December 19, 2006
Good Mother Points
Here's something I bet you didn't know about me: I get horrifically, violently motion sick. I may not throw up every single time, but I can promise you that unless I'm in the driver's seat, I'm not feeling so hot.
When I was younger, the motion sickness was limited to vehicle rides. I could do just about any ride at any amusement park without incident, as long as it was fast. But as I've aged, it's gotten worse. Seriously. I can't even spin in my desk chair without getting a little taste of my last meal.
Not that this surprises me. The motion sickness is hereditary, and my dad's even worse than me. My mom didn't learn of this affliction until she was eight months pregnant with me, wedged into a Volkswagen Beetle with her parents and my dad, driving down a hilly, curvy Ozark road when he bellowed, "Let me out!" and proceeded to puke up the equivilent of a Volkswagen Beetle on the side of the road.
There's a restaurant off the backroads in the Ozark foothills that we sometimes frequent when we visit my parents. Do you know how we know we're getting close to it? My dad has to pull over and vomit on the side of the road within a mile of arriving. When Dad pukes, we know Mennonite fried chicken's just around the bend!
I guess I should be grateful that, although I inherited the motion sickness, I didn't inherit my father's ability to vomit so loudly that it registers on the Richter Scale. So loud is his vomiting that once, when I was a teenager, the noise woke me up from a dead sleep in the middle of the night from the opposite side of the house. It's such an all-encompassing, rumbling, cross between a downshifting 18-wheeler and a hippopotamus either in the throes of death or passion (or maybe both) noise that once, my mom and I huddled in my room and laughed at my dad's puke noises, just because they're so completely absurd.
But this isn't about me being a bad daughter. It's about me being a good mother.
Nothing makes me sicker faster than merry-go-rounds. Having missed the motion sick gene, Clara Jane loves them more than chocolate-covered candy canes dipped in crushed potato chips. So, merry-go-round rides are B.'s domain. I can't even watch them ride without getting sick.
Today, because I am an idiot, I took Clara Jane to the mall. Not to shop, mind you. I wanted to take her to that park, but it's a bit too cold, so I opted to take her to an indoor play area at the same mall where her father takes her to ride the pukey-go-round. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that the wing we entered ended right at ... that's right ... the merry-go-round.
And she was so excited and happy. So thrilled, and she'd been so good. I couldn't say no.
Did I mentioned that as we entered the mall, I chugged about 1/4 of my large eggnog latte?
B. always lets her have three rides, so I slid my $5 bill - a brand new one, so I couldn't even use the incorrect change excuse, not that she'd understand it - into the token machine, took a moment to recall what my therapist advised for motion sick situations, checked my gag reflexed and got on.
Clara Jane picked her horse, and I braced one arm around her, resting my other arm with my purse dangling from my elbow on a neighboring 10-point buck. I centered my feet, fixed my eyes on the top of Clara Jane's head after I spotted all the nearby trash cans, and took slow, deep, slow breaths as the horrible ride began.
I expected the turning, of course. What I didn't expect was the left half of my body moving up with Clara Jane, while the right half of my body jerked down, my purse hung on the buck's footrest.
And there I stood for three full rides. Round and round. One side up. Other side down. Eggnog latte at the top of my throat, ready for takeoff.
I can't even say more about it. Just recalling the wretched experience makes my stomach turn.
One of these days, when Clara Jane hates me, thinks I'm embarrassing, and takes great delight in laughing at the noises I make when I vomit, I'm going to remind her of this day.
Posted by Robin at December 19, 2006 10:55 PM
Comments
mmm...charming story. Reminds me of why I don't have kids...or drink eggnog lattes...
Posted by: JenBen at December 20, 2006 12:00 AM
Man! I relate! I can get motion sick watching TV!
Posted by: Rori at December 20, 2006 05:45 AM
I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one that can't ride those blame things. I don't get motion sickness unless I get on one of those.
Cassie
Posted by: Cassie at December 20, 2006 10:08 AM
You know I'm very proud of you! You made Clara Jane awfully happy and without their knowing it, you made the custodial staff of the mall very happy as well.
You really are a good mama to do something for your girl that you would normally avoid at all costs.
Posted by: Dixie at December 20, 2006 04:24 PM
I am proud of you! Did you puke or not?
Winter break has officially started, and my To Do List includes trying an eggnog latte before their season is over.
Oh, and delivering quilts with you.
Posted by: allison at December 20, 2006 05:01 PM
Rori - I've had to look away during many a TV show and movie. Action movies are right out. Forget anything with a car chase. I once got really, really motion sick while watching B. play a Nascar video game.
Allison - I managed to not throw up, but it was a close call. After our last ride, Clara Jane decided to inspect a nearby claw machine game, and I spent a little time resting my cold, sweaty head against the cool, cool glass of the game. Look for an email from me tomorrow about lattes, quilts, and such.
Posted by: Robin at December 22, 2006 12:05 AM
