Aselin

Kids.

I know there is a good reason people have them, but at this exact moment I'm blanking.

We are invited to an annual New Year's Day party with some long time friends. It's a wonderful afternoon of food, friendship and hardcore games particularly Apples to Apples. You know how intense Apples to Apples can get. And yes, Andrew, I still think Snow White is friendlier than babies. I was robbed and the grudge will be nurtured all year until I can reclaim my rightful green card from your biased spiteful hands that have not yet had a baby to see how unfriendly they are. Particularly in the plural - babies are much less friendly than baby and the card said babieS. Snow White breaks in, cleans your house, makes dinner and sings songs. No baby I have ever heard of does that. If they did, I would have had more.

See how competitive Apples to Apples is?

Babies, why did I have them again? Everyone who has a baby knows they are not friendly. They might have some cute factor but mostly they poop and pee and puke. Then, supposedly they grow out of that and just want the car keys, food and money. So, underscoring my point, babies are not friendly and the teenagers they grow into are also not friendly. Snow White... she is friendly.

And imaginary.

The Ring in the New Year with Apples to Apples party, also included Tee pee Mexican food and an unlimited supply of Dilly bars and soda. Let me introduce you to my children: in most settings they behave with respectable decorum and restraint. Most. But throw in some Dilly Bars and a soda and all bets are off.

At the end of the festivities, Unnamed child #3 was lying in the corner under a pile of wooden Popsicle sticks and aluminum cans. If I hadn't seen it before I would not have recognized her, but we were able to upright her burpness and shepherd her into the minivan under strict instructions that nothing was to projectile out of any orifice of her body. Nothing.

We made it home, Hubby talking about his new plans to hike Macchu Piccu, Unnamed #1 trying a new angle to get an iPhone, Unnamed #2 ensconced in a Kindle completely ignoring us and #3's green face pressed up against the minivan window panting and moaning.

We all know I am nothing if I am not efficient. My little family has all sorts of needy demands and over the holiday break repeated requests were made for me to make them chiropractic appointments. If you saw how they wrestled with each other and the puppy you would agree they all need straightening out, but getting to a chiropractor over the holidays can be tricky. Being the efficient genius mom I am, I made Monday morning appointments for our entire clan. Everyone all at once. Only one trip.

Sporty Spice, aka Hubby, gets up rain or shine to train for his next marathon, Grand Canyon in a day climb, or whatever. This morning, being a spanking new year he enlists #3 to jog with him. Off they go with his Garmin strapped on, shoes tied and hope for the future brimming. We can all agree not to like them very much.

Back they return only to be quickly arranged in our little Prius and whisked off to the chiropractic appointments. Efficiently whisked.

Not three minutes down the road, but far from our home, #3 starts reliving their culinary abandon of the previous day combined with a Garmin-measured run. In order to fully appreciate what you know is going to happen you have to know how we were arranged in the Prius for our whisking.

Unnamed #1 was driving, without a license. Sporty Spice was shotgun. Unnamed #2 backseat right, Unnamed #3 backseat left, Me perched on the humpy thing in the middle of the back seat that has a seatbelt but cannot possibly meet the legal requirements of being a seat. Especially when a woman of average size can use the ceiling to steady herself with the crown of her head on the ceiling and gripping the metal bars of the headrests on the front seats, legs straddling the hump in the floor eerily reminiscent of a gyno visit, as her teenager swerves wildly down the road to the chiropractor. All of you with Prius' - Californians and Seattle residents, look in the back of your Prius and feel my pain.

So Unnamed #3 starts moaning, and gyrating. I ask the requisite questions: "Are you going to barf? Do you need us to pull over?" Framed with the compassionate, "You better not Dilly Barf all over me!"

Unnamed #3 can't commit to the evasive action we should take and says to keep going only to have the next action be a dry heave. I tell Unnamed #1 to get off at the next exit as Unnamed #3 starts to erupt. To their credit, it wasn't Vesuvius, it was more Kilauea. Not a projectile eruption but more a lava flow. Of barf. In a small car filled to the legal capacity.

I'm calling to the front for SOMETHING to contain the barf. My minivan has bags and napkins and all sorts of provisions for children's various eruptions. The commuter car has an empty CD case, some golf tees and a bunch of loose change. And yes, I thought of stuffing the loose change in their mouth to see if I could plug the hole.

So in the barf induced panic, Sporty Spice removes his baseball cap and hands it back to #3. Immediately it is catching the lava flow of barf which seems to be less restrained now that we have a containment item. The unfortunate thing is the containment item ball cap was full of ventilation holes so essentially she was using the cap to strain her barf onto her lap.

Nummy.

The sad thing is, Unnamed #3 didn't even need the lecture. After the eruption ended she popped right in to "I know, I know, I shouldn't eat that much junk and soda."

They almost raise themselves!

I wish I was in a car with Snow White...