TJ, myself, and Charlee are en route back to Boston, and we’re all driving to the Philly airport with my mom in the backseat next to Charlee. A decidedly grumpy Charlee, mind you. We’re almost to the airport, when suddenly the reason for Charlee’s mood comes out: she throws up. And over and around and all over the car seat and her clothes–just vomit everywhere.
Yes, we’re concerned for Charlee (my mom is attending to her, as I’m driving and TJ is riding shotgun). But it’s also a WHY NOW moment. You know, our kid who hardly ever throws up, does it right before we board the plane (and all over the brand new car seat we’d just bought)–but it’s okay, it’s life, it’s just clothes, there’s so much to be thankful for, and really, on the scale of zero to problems, this is NOTHING.
But it does smell terrible. It is, after all, vomit. TJ cracks the window and pulls his shirt over his face because subtlety has always been his greatest concern. I can’t blame him, though; the smell is pervasive– a stench that is so present, it’s practically burning the inside of your nose.
My mom says one thing from the backseat:
“It doesn’t smell bad, guys. It just smells like yogurt.”
TJ and I look at each other and laugh. That’s my mom. So kind. So encouraging. Believing in all of us so hard. The kind of person who claims that the vomit of her offspring (and their offspring) smells like…yogurt.
Everyday, I hope to be the kind of person my mom thinks I am.