One of the reasons I choose to record moments of my daily life is because they can so quickly be lost to the annals of time. Even if you remember the overall gist of what happened, it’s the small details you forget. And the best stories happen in the details. Our memories may be faulty but the things we write down will never be forgotten.
This particular library visit is one that happened almost seven years ago, when my oldest was a toddler and my youngest was just over a year old. I stumbled upon it tonight, and -well – it’s worth the share. Enjoy.
It was just a regular Monday when I decided to take the children to the library. I grabbed their winter jackets, wrestled on shoes and socks, snatched up their water bottles and afternoon snacks, stuffed them in car seats, and we were off.
This is rural Iowa, so the nearest library is a 30 minute drive. The boys happily munched on their rainbow goldfish as I drove.
Spoiler alert: This story is not about the library. It is about the rainbow goldfish.
We were just about finished selecting our books when Connor made a sad noise and started rubbing his stomach. I decided we should hurry up, so I picked him up and headed to the checkout desk, with Aiden trailing behind.
Connor begins to make puking noises.
I make a sharp left turn, heading to the bathrooms.
As if in slow motion, just as I am turning towards the bathrooms, Connor vomits. We are currently front-and-center in the middle of the library. I hear a “splat” as a glob of it hits the carpeted library floor. I feel it running down my shoulder and then my shirtfront. I sprint to the bathrooms, belatedly realizing I still had library books in my hands and setting them down on a bench as I run past.
This particular day, I had been wearing a white tank top underneath a long-sleeved hoodie. My white tank top was completely splatted with rainbow colored vomit, like some sort of Jackson Pollock art project.
Assessing the damage: Connor’s jacket, shirtfront, and pants are covered. My hoodie, t-shirt, and jeans are covered. It ran down the front of my shirt and got my bra. Small consolation bonus: the library books escaped unscathed.
Now remember: we are 30 minutes from home.
I do not have a change of clothes.
Aiden meanwhile is in the bathroom rattling on with his 20 questions while I’m desperately trying to clean us up with paper towels and bathroom soap. “What happened? Did Connor puke? Why did Connor puke? Ewww- it smells. Mom what are you doing with the paper towels? Is Connor sick? Why is it that color? Why is Connor sick?” aaaannd you get the idea.
I get us as cleaned up as best I can, with a quick side trip to wipe away the bit on the library floor that somehow no one noticed (or maybe they did, and were clearly hoping I would come back to take care of it).
I am a total hot mess. I’m carrying a sad baby with no pants or jacket and a puke stain on his onesie. My white tank top is very obviously decorated. We both smell like vomit goldfish. I have a handful of the clothes we were wearing that could reasonably be removed – Connor’s jacket and pants, my hoodie – that I am simultaneously trying to carry and not touch.
And I still need to check out my books.
I mean, I could have just left the books on the bench and walked out of the library. But we drove 30 minutes there, spent 20 picking them out, plus another 30 minute drive home. I had a lot of time invested here; I was going to spend the 10 minutes it took to check them out.
So there I was: standing in the front of the library, covered in vomit, carrying one child while the other one ran around the library yelling WHERE ARE THE PAW PATROL BOOKS, as I gingerly held three books in my free hand, trying not to let them touch anything.
I fake-laughed in embarrassment as I tried to explain to the librarian that I don’t usually walk around covered in vomit but it, like, happened just now and I want to get my books and go. She glanced up and I almost got the impression she hadn’t noticed. I’m not really sure what that says about me.
Somehow, I managed to leave the library with an armful of child, dirty clothes, clean books, and – I even remembered to grab the second kid on my way out.
The drive back was fun.
And that is why I will never eat rainbow goldfish ever again.*
*Well, never is a strong word. Let’s just say I probably won’t. Actually, I probably will. I mean, sometimes you get hungry and it’s the only snack in your purse.
