A Sunday Drive and Henry's Baptism

As a child, I learned that the definition of a ‘Sunday Drive’ was a ‘family outing with no particular destination intended to test everyone’s patience.’

Definitions really don’t change so much. The children poked and annoyed each other. We encouraged them to “stop their bellyaching.” We played a few games.

The intended purpose of the drive, aside from testing patience, was to put 400 more miles on our new truck, Henry. It is common practice to put 1000 miles on a truck before requiring it to haul heavy loads. We bought the truck two weeks ago with about 24 miles on it. Henry will be ‘hitched’ to Bessie II (our trailer-to-be) on Friday, so he needs to be ready. (Henry belongs to two engineers with great respect for the proper care of machines – and an obvious need to drive unnecessary?? off-road vehicles.)

We visited the Allegheny National Forest in Pennsylvania, with a brief stop at Vince’s bar for lunch. If you did not enjoy a pizza lunch on a tippy bench for Mother’s Day, after a three-hour drive with three young children, you have every right to be thoroughly jealous.

I shouldn’t brag like this, but lunch really was delicious. And, I was able to introduce Gladys to a ‘towel machine,’ which she had never before seen. Remember those machines? The ones where you pull the towel out to dry your hands and the used towel loops up back into the machine? I hadn’t seen one in years. I really ought to get out more often.

After a big pizza lunch (Andrew ate three slices), we traveled deeper into the National Forest.

My husband has been reading about off-roading and trail ratings and places to go on our trip out West. Jay and Henry had made some unofficial plans to leave the map.

I didn’t flinch when Henry turned onto a side road.

The steep grade and bumpy road amused all of us, but didn’t impress Henry much at all. I glanced over my shoulder to see Andrew’s huge smile.

George began singing ‘aaaaaaaaaa’ to enjoy the voice modulation resulting from the bumpy road. I love his ability to self-entertain, and I giggled out load.

Soon, we heard Andrew complain.

“We are enjoying George’s song,” my husband and I admonished, “stop your belly-aching.”

He complained again.

“Andrew, you were enjoying it a minute ago, just enjoy the trip. Look out for animals, I bet we see more deer.”

“Dad! Stop! I’m really, really, really, really going to puke!”

Jay stopped. He pulled off the dirt road onto a small dead end. But, it was too late.

Andrew looked left, and Gladys was immediately covered in puke.

I leapt over the back of the seats, grabbing Jay’s (washable) jacket and caught the rest of the volcano. In the meantime, Jay tended to Gladys.

After mitigating the worst of the voluminous vomit, Jay took Andrew out of his seat and I continued cleaning the truck. I admit that I was pretty upset. It wasn’t Andrew’s fault. We should have listened. He shouldn’t be allowed to eat so much pizza. I could have put the blanket under their seats, like I do in the van.

Should have. Would have. Could have. I muttered to myself as I swabbed up the sticky mess in our beloved new truck. Grrrrr. George watched me quietly.

And then I finally looked up. I saw Andrew, standing outside the truck, free as a bird save his sneakers.

My gasp of surprise was enough to set Andrew into giggles. I laughed too, in spite of myself.

Henry was baptized on Mother’s Day.

I hope your day was as memorable.

Pick-up trucks are particularly handy for carrying loads of pukey clothes and for washing off disgusting car seats. Wash thoroughly after use.