WARNING: Chicago may cause projectile vomiting OR How I got my brother-in-law to detail my car

My Grandma Fran would say we have wheels on our butts--we were home only four days from up north (four days full of work and laundry and work and cleaning and work and packing and work) before trekking off to Chicago for a weekend of family.

And maybe it was all that commotion. Or maybe it was the candy corn (just one) we let her eat, the thrill of hanging out with her cousins or going to the pumpkin farm, the total lack of sleep (what's new?), the overwhelming number of new faces orbiting around hers, the strangeness of a new place. Who knows WHY Clementine hurled all over the back seat of my new car--all I know is that I saw it coming in the rear view mirror and could do nothing to stop her from opening her mouth like a kettle and pouring out the entire contects of her stomach (which included pizza and curdled milk--yuck). What's better than that? We were minutes away from a fancy anniversary party, all of us gussied up and ready for a big night.

These are the moments of parenting that no one prepares you for, just as no one prepared Clementine for the horror of being stripped down in a public parking lot and wiped down with diaper wipes while wondering why she feels so crappy. The girl took it all like a champ, but I felt horrible sending her home while I went to a big kids party. I deserved the martinis, though, for I was the one who had to lift her out of her vomit-soaked car seat and peel her clothes off her. I wasn't the only one tested--Nate and had clean the car seat and do all the laundry after caryring her home and bathing her.

By the next morning she seemed fine, but the whole experience took its toll and we waited until today to slowly make our way home via the beach. Details to follow. It was grand.