Tate is a barfy kid. Colorado, California, the Netherlands. If he’s been there, he’s barfed there. (Our apologies to the street in front of the Anne Frank House.)
It usually happens when he falls asleep in the car. So we do our best to keep him awake. Because that’s not always possible, we prepare for the inevitable.
We’ve tried all sorts of receptacles. Through trial and error, we’ve determined the best option is the quart-sized Ziploc freezer bag. Even better than the barf bags they give you at the hospital? Yep. The zipper seals all that stuff right in — including the smell. And then you just throw it away.
So…Christmas.
It was fine. We got up, opened presents, and ate breakfast.
Then we went to my sister’s house, opened presents, and ate lunch. Plus dessert.
Then we went to grandma’s, opened presents, and ate that meal between lunch and dinner — lupper. And then dinner. And dessert. Plus some treats.
Around 9 p.m. we got in the minivan and headed back home.
“I think I ate too much,” Tate moaned from the back row of the van. “I don’t feel so good.”
Great.
“Get out your bag!” everyone shouted in unison. Barf bags are tucked into every pocket of the van.
Breakfast. Lunch. Lupper. Dinner. Dessert. I didn’t have to turn around to know when it all came out. (That’s why we go with the quart-sized bag.)
Tate was rightfully upset and crying. Thankfully, The other kids kept their cool. No teenage teasing or reactionary gagging to make things worse.
Traci calmly said, “Tate, zip up the bag.”
She asked him again and then once more.
But by then it was too late.
I didn’t have to turn around to know Tate dropped the bag. I heard the flood of Christmas cheer rushing across the floor of the van.
The sound was no match for the smell. Even with every window open to the 20-degree winter weather, there was no way to avoid it. A five-minute ride never felt so long.
We made it home and divvied up responsibilities — Traci chose to clean up the car; I cleaned up the kid (the clothes went straight into the garbage). We both did the best we could and called it a night.
Happy Boxing Day
In the light of day, the extent of the damage could be best described as total disaster. (I would have thrown the car into the trash, were it a feasible option.)
What to do next? I could get the car detailed — if ever there was ever a time to spend hundreds of dollars to have the car cleaned, this was it. But I just couldn’t imagine subjecting another human to the smell, no matter how much I was paying them.
So I went to the car wash with no real plan. Maybe if I took out the mats and sprayed them down, that would do the trick.
Oh, how I underestimated my opponent.
Minivans are great. Not only can they carry lots of kids, they’ve got all sorts of nooks and crannies to store stuff. And vomit was in every single one of them.
The slot under the sliding door — which goes all the way back under the body of the car — was completely filled with a soup of vomit.
I tried sweeping it out with a snow brush. I tried spraying it out with the pressure washer. I tried driving up and down the streets of my neighborhood with the door open, hoping the mix of soap, water, and barf would magically slosh its way out of the car. (It didn’t.)
I spent the next few hours scrubbing, spraying, and vacuuming.I used a toothpick to dig chunks of puke out of the screws that hold the chairs to the floor.
After all of that, the car had never been cleaner…and it still smelled like puke.
My Christmas was rad. How was yours?