HAIRSHIRT
Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
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HAIRSHIRT Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery |
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Tuesday, December 09, 2008Over the River, Part 2
The drive from Milesburg to my parents' house was a little easier. Not as easy as it used to be, thanks to someone's repeated need to have me pull over for breastfeeding (*cough*cough*the kid*cough*cough*). But we made it.
And then things were nice. We had a lovely meal, complete with Quorn's fake turkey roast (better than Tofurkey, but not perfect--at least, not how I cooked it). We got to spend time with my family, which is both rare and nice. We got to see my nephew some more. He's such a good little guy. Also, we got to run. My wife hadn't run since...I don't know, mid-January? So it'd been awhile. We didn't complete a marathon or anything, but it was nice. Worked up a sweat. Ran off at least, let's say, ten calories from the meal. So that was good. The next day was very pleasant as well. Running a few pleasant errands, more time with the nephew, watching my mom slave like a dog in the kitchen, making too goddamn much food, which is her modus operandus. Our friends Keith and Marcia came over in the afternoon and we got to hang some. They stuck around Friday night, when the house was flooded with family and friends coming over to meet the Kid. People were impressed, because my son's so fucking cool. The next day started well enough. We lazed about the house. We ran. Then we lazed some more. My wife was keen to get out and see slightly more of the Mahoning County scene than just my parents' house, so we figured we'd drive to the nearest Barnes & Nobel and look at books. My dad had a gift certificate that we'd sent him in, I think, 1998, so he rode along, too. On the way to B & N, I was feeling overly stuffed. Too many left-overs or something. By the time we reached Boardman--home to the aforementioned book superstore--my stuffedness had progessed to actual discomfort. It then progressed to massive nausea. In fact, I was feeling so sick that I couldn't even drink the delicious Cafe Mocha that they'd custom-made in the wonderful Barnes & Nobel Cafe! No, I just sat there with my son, thinking of the old Robin Wiliams joke, "Hey, here's a little switch: Daddy's gonna throw up on you." I made it out of the store and about three miles down the road before having to pull over and yak in the bushes of a bank. I'm not huge on banks, so I didn't feel all that bad about leaving their hedge full of fake turkey and real stuffing. I did ruin a perfectly good scarf, wiping the slime off my lips. My dad was kind enough to drive the rest of the way home, where I slunk off to bed and lay in a gross-smelling daze while life carried on without me. I slept on the couch that night, puke-bucket by my side, in an effort to spare my wife and kid from getting whatever I'd gotten, if it was contagious. (That didn't work. My wife came down with the same goddamn thing not long after we got back.) Then I woke up the next morning and my wife and I split the fucking thirteen hour drive back. Thirteen hours! Darn that breast-feeding! Anyway, despite the driving and the puking and the driving, I'm thankful my family got to spend more time with my son. And I'm thankful for that son. And for my wife. And for a career that's marginally secure in the current economy. Hope yours went well, too. Editor's note: Why is this stupid fucking post going up nearly a goddamn month after the holiday it describes? I'm fucking lazy! Tee-hee!
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