Not-so-little R. was 20 months old, and S. was 6 months in utero. We were on our way to our college 5th reunion. Somewhere in rural Maryland our beloved red Jeep Cherokee made a terrible grinding noise and gave up the ghost forever. This was before cell phones were common. R. had to walk to a pay phone and call AAA. The tow truck driver kindly agreed to drive us to BWI airport to rent a car after we dropped our car at a service station: totally against the rules.
Not-so-little-R. vomited thoroughly all over the inside of the tow truck.
And I distinctly remember, as the tow truck driver chuckled and reassured us that he had three children, and R. and I cleaned everything as best we could with paper towels and Fantastik, and I was tired and pregnant and it was past midnight--I remember thinking, This is okay.
I didn't like it or anything, but it was where I wanted to be. With my husband, with my son, taking care of things. It was sort of emotional chaos, but I didn't have to remember it in tranquility for it to be funny. I was tranquil right then.
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