For over a decade now, I've made it a habit to write an email every Sunday to share with family and a few close friends. These weekly emails usually include the everyday events of the past week, occasional updates from family members who live elsewhere, and sometimes my thoughts and impressions about a particular experience with something I encountered that week.
Recently we ran across my weekly email from November 25, 1996. What we read had Dallas and I literally in tears and doubling over from laughing so hard. We figured there might be someone out there who could similarly use a good laugh today, so I decided to make it a blog post. I had even given it the title you see above; remember that the year is 1996 P.C.P. (pre-cell phones).
Each year the science museum, of which we are members, has a members-only event the Monday before Thanksgiving to sort of welcome in the holiday season. They have lots of Christmas trees decorated with ornaments from different countries, crafts the kids can do (usually of a Christmas-tree-ornament-type), goodies to eat (donut holes, cookies, and little snips of pizza), and musical and dancing groups to watch. They also have a couple of showings in their omni-max theater. Everything's free since we're already members. We went with Lesli last year and it was really fun; they had a great laser light show in the omni-max theater. So when we got the notice of this year's event we were looking forward to it. Dallas even took off work an hour early and we started eating dinner at 4:30 (in front of our neighbor's children who I've been keeping Mondays after school--how rude!) so we could leave by 5:00, right after the neighbor kids got picked up.
I asked Jaime (who had just turned 11) to bring some Christmas tapes, and we listened to and sang Christmas music all the way up to Richmond--about a 30-minute drive. Everybody remained calm, cool and collected on the way up, and even though we had a bit of a hike from our parking place to get to the science museum, everything was going smoothly. Dallas got us tickets to the next showing in the omni-max theater which was scheduled in about 15 minutes. Last year the line was a mile long so we headed straight for the theater, stopping only for a couple of hurriedly-grasped snacks on the way.
When we were seated in the theater, we still had a few minutes to kill and I tried to keep Haleigh (then age 2-1/2) occupied by making various animal sounds ("What does a pig say, Haleigh?") and playing "Where is Thumbkin?" All was going very smoothly and I was congratulating myself on the success of my diversionary tactics when the lights dimmed and the movie began! Snowflakes began swirling on the screen as they played the opening credits. More and more snowflakes (there were a lot of credits to roll, you see). Finally the snowflakes ended, and stars appeared in the "sky." The narrator started talking about a certain constellation and pointing out specific stars in the formation when--SPLAT!!!--all came gushing forth. Haleigh was on my lap, and "shot her cookies." Not once, but twice. I cupped my hand in front of her to receive her
"precious gift."
Megan (then age 8-1/2) was sitting next to me. I whispered to her that I needed her to reach into the diaper bag and get out some wipes. As she was rummaging around in there, I realized that I couldn't hold a wipe since I was already holding Haleigh's precious gift. I finally told her to get Dallas down there to help me. She went off in the darkness and returned sans Dallas. I found out later that when Megan first told him Haleigh had thrown up, he thought she was joking (several seconds on my clock tick by). When he finally accepted the truthfulness of the message, he thought, "Okay, she threw up. I guess that means Lisa is going to take her out and clean her up." (Several more seconds on my clock tick by, while Haleigh's precious gift is beginning to trickle through my hands.)
By the time Dallas finally materialized in the seat next to me, I was hissing through my teeth in the darkness: "Get a ziploc bag out the diaper bag! There's one with crayons or finger puppets or something in it--get it out so I can get rid of this precious gift in my hands!" (Okay, so I didn't call it a precious gift...) He's fumbling around muttering, "Is there really a ziploc bag in here?" And I keep hissing and he keeps fumbling until he finally finds a ziploc bag with pretzels in it and dumps them out--some into the diaper bag, some onto the floor. I release my precious gift into the ziploc bag and ask for a wipe.
I try and mop up Haleigh a little bit in front so we won't leave a trail as we exit the theater. I tell Dallas to keep a couple of wipes for himself to clean up after me at the end of the movie, but then realize I need another wipe myself because the precious gift is burning the eczema on my hands. Dallas gives me a wipe and then inadvertently kicks the diaper bag, sending it over the edge of our row where it lands behind the seats in front of us, a good three feet below us. As it drops, I hear my keys fall out of the diaper bag. (Remember it's dark in here!)
I ask Dallas (okay, I might have still been hissing) to get me the diaper bag so I can leave and clean up Haleigh. He makes an attempt (I find out later he was using his FOOT!) and comes up for air only to tell me he can't reach it. So I plop Haleigh down on my seat, get down on my hands and knees and grovel around behind the seat in front of me to get the diaper bag. I manage to retrieve my keys as well. I didn't really care what else had spilled--I figured I'd leave that for the second crew; I also left the vomit-filled ziploc bag. Then Haleigh and I began the long ascent to the exit from the theater in order to begin our odyssey in the ladies' room.
The one thing that nobody seems to remember is that while the baby always has clean clothes in case of such an incident, the mommy never does. So after putting Haleigh into clean clothes, I spent the better part of a quarter of an hour removing from my clothes the remnants of Haleigh's precious gift, so I could go out into the main part of the museum without setting off a smoke detector or knocking out everyone within a three-foot radius. At least I was wearing something dark, which is not as good as something dark with a PATTERN, but better than anything light.
For the uninitiated among you, and for those who have (conveniently) forgotten, I just thought I'd share this reminiscence of quality family time with you. May you be blessed with such events in your lives.
P.S. On the way home in the van, Haleigh leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I love you, Mommy."
It's all worth it.
Recently we ran across my weekly email from November 25, 1996. What we read had Dallas and I literally in tears and doubling over from laughing so hard. We figured there might be someone out there who could similarly use a good laugh today, so I decided to make it a blog post. I had even given it the title you see above; remember that the year is 1996 P.C.P. (pre-cell phones).
 |
| "Science Museum of Virginia" by rvaphotodude is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 |
Each year the science museum, of which we are members, has a members-only event the Monday before Thanksgiving to sort of welcome in the holiday season. They have lots of Christmas trees decorated with ornaments from different countries, crafts the kids can do (usually of a Christmas-tree-ornament-type), goodies to eat (donut holes, cookies, and little snips of pizza), and musical and dancing groups to watch. They also have a couple of showings in their omni-max theater. Everything's free since we're already members. We went with Lesli last year and it was really fun; they had a great laser light show in the omni-max theater. So when we got the notice of this year's event we were looking forward to it. Dallas even took off work an hour early and we started eating dinner at 4:30 (in front of our neighbor's children who I've been keeping Mondays after school--how rude!) so we could leave by 5:00, right after the neighbor kids got picked up.
I asked Jaime (who had just turned 11) to bring some Christmas tapes, and we listened to and sang Christmas music all the way up to Richmond--about a 30-minute drive. Everybody remained calm, cool and collected on the way up, and even though we had a bit of a hike from our parking place to get to the science museum, everything was going smoothly. Dallas got us tickets to the next showing in the omni-max theater which was scheduled in about 15 minutes. Last year the line was a mile long so we headed straight for the theater, stopping only for a couple of hurriedly-grasped snacks on the way.
 |
| "Snowflake" by J. Star is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 |
When we were seated in the theater, we still had a few minutes to kill and I tried to keep Haleigh (then age 2-1/2) occupied by making various animal sounds ("What does a pig say, Haleigh?") and playing "Where is Thumbkin?" All was going very smoothly and I was congratulating myself on the success of my diversionary tactics when the lights dimmed and the movie began! Snowflakes began swirling on the screen as they played the opening credits. More and more snowflakes (there were a lot of credits to roll, you see). Finally the snowflakes ended, and stars appeared in the "sky." The narrator started talking about a certain constellation and pointing out specific stars in the formation when--SPLAT!!!--all came gushing forth. Haleigh was on my lap, and "shot her cookies." Not once, but twice. I cupped my hand in front of her to receive her
"precious gift."
Megan (then age 8-1/2) was sitting next to me. I whispered to her that I needed her to reach into the diaper bag and get out some wipes. As she was rummaging around in there, I realized that I couldn't hold a wipe since I was already holding Haleigh's precious gift. I finally told her to get Dallas down there to help me. She went off in the darkness and returned sans Dallas. I found out later that when Megan first told him Haleigh had thrown up, he thought she was joking (several seconds on my clock tick by). When he finally accepted the truthfulness of the message, he thought, "Okay, she threw up. I guess that means Lisa is going to take her out and clean her up." (Several more seconds on my clock tick by, while Haleigh's precious gift is beginning to trickle through my hands.)
By the time Dallas finally materialized in the seat next to me, I was hissing through my teeth in the darkness: "Get a ziploc bag out the diaper bag! There's one with crayons or finger puppets or something in it--get it out so I can get rid of this precious gift in my hands!" (Okay, so I didn't call it a precious gift...) He's fumbling around muttering, "Is there really a ziploc bag in here?" And I keep hissing and he keeps fumbling until he finally finds a ziploc bag with pretzels in it and dumps them out--some into the diaper bag, some onto the floor. I release my precious gift into the ziploc bag and ask for a wipe.
I try and mop up Haleigh a little bit in front so we won't leave a trail as we exit the theater. I tell Dallas to keep a couple of wipes for himself to clean up after me at the end of the movie, but then realize I need another wipe myself because the precious gift is burning the eczema on my hands. Dallas gives me a wipe and then inadvertently kicks the diaper bag, sending it over the edge of our row where it lands behind the seats in front of us, a good three feet below us. As it drops, I hear my keys fall out of the diaper bag. (Remember it's dark in here!)
 |
| "JuJuBe diaper bag on stairs" by yourbestdigs is licensed under CC BY 2.0 |
I ask Dallas (okay, I might have still been hissing) to get me the diaper bag so I can leave and clean up Haleigh. He makes an attempt (I find out later he was using his FOOT!) and comes up for air only to tell me he can't reach it. So I plop Haleigh down on my seat, get down on my hands and knees and grovel around behind the seat in front of me to get the diaper bag. I manage to retrieve my keys as well. I didn't really care what else had spilled--I figured I'd leave that for the second crew; I also left the vomit-filled ziploc bag. Then Haleigh and I began the long ascent to the exit from the theater in order to begin our odyssey in the ladies' room.
The one thing that nobody seems to remember is that while the baby always has clean clothes in case of such an incident, the mommy never does. So after putting Haleigh into clean clothes, I spent the better part of a quarter of an hour removing from my clothes the remnants of Haleigh's precious gift, so I could go out into the main part of the museum without setting off a smoke detector or knocking out everyone within a three-foot radius. At least I was wearing something dark, which is not as good as something dark with a PATTERN, but better than anything light.
For the uninitiated among you, and for those who have (conveniently) forgotten, I just thought I'd share this reminiscence of quality family time with you. May you be blessed with such events in your lives.
P.S. On the way home in the van, Haleigh leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I love you, Mommy."
It's all worth it.
