Rolling down the 89, we’re suddenly in a teeny town, doing 35, mindful of the possibility that the local constable might want to give us and our California license-plated van a ticket, when suddenly we see this:
Which reminded everyone of the scavenger hunt game we had played looking for “farm equipment on a pillar” just the day before. I initially drive right past it — a block past it. We want to take a picture, one of us. I forget who. I pull over to the right and stop.
Then I make a u-turn and begin driving I drive a block, and then suddenly, from the back, Tyler says “Stop, stop” — there are some cars coming, and I do my best to make a left turn into the driveway, and Ty has his mouth covered, and is getting up from the back set and going towards the door, now opened for him. He makes it to the door, then one step out, then SPLAT! — out comes Ty’s red gatorade. He had not been feeling well, so had declined breakfast, or that would have been there too.
I went into high-alert mode, what do we do? what can we do? And Leah says to me “it’s okay Joe” — which somehow snapped me back into reality and I was not amped up as though ready for a Code Blue at the hospital. I really don’t have a lot of experience with simple sick-kid stuff. If someone’s heart stops, I know precisely what to do. If someone stops breathing, I know what to do. But a simple vomiting episode or other child-crisis tends to bring in “Code Blue” Joe. I like to think that in the next kid-emergency moment, I’ll be able to be be ready and calm on my own.
(See also: Posts That Might Be)