One-Way Street: Figure It Out or Die Trying

Red just seems the appropriate color when trying to describe my odeal today in the city of Seattle. As if I needed another reminder never to move there if I actually intend on using a car, I got myself completely and totally lost while applying the principal of Just Drive Until You Find the Stupid Public Library.

All was well this morning: the coffee was fresh, the kids were cooperating and we made it to school on time. I had the ingenious idea to go to the King County Courthouse in Seattle today to file some documents, and I thought "Google Maps, that's all I need." Right. Obviously getting to my destination wasn't a problem, as I've got a wonderful sense of direction when I can read my own handwriting. The only problem was that once I got there and, believe it or not, actually found a place to park I realized I had forgotten a key element which would inevitably prevent me from my goal. I'd forgotten said paperwork at home. At least I hadn't yet paid the meter! I got back into my car, shocked at myself for overlooking that little detail and yet kind of chuckling, because that's how I handle it when I've done something really obnoxiously stupid, and drove on, initially thinking that I'd get back on the freeway and collect the paperwork from home only to return to Seattle and file them.

Somewhere between 4th Avenue and I-5 (all of... what, three blocks?) I decided the better plan was to try and find a Seattle Public Library at which I could access the internet and print off a copy of said paperwork from my email account. I bounded off down Yesler way, down MLK Jr. Way and ultimately to Rienier. Believe it or not, despite the conspicuous lack of advertising I did find a few libraries along the way, but all were closed until later in the day. At some point, possibly an hour later, I decided to say "to hell with it" and go home, but by now I was truly lost. The weather was, of course, cooperative as ever. The impenetrable overcast makes it impossible to determine the actual location of the sun and any landmarks which may have been helpful to me were hidden by run-down buildings and trees. Eventually I used my "Phone a friend while you still have some" life line, and with our powers combined I found my way to a public library (which, as it turns out, was little more than six blocks away from the courthouse to begin with). I was two hours into my little field trip at this point, and my son Max had long since lost patience with my random U-turns and increasingly hysterical laughter at the stupidness of our situation. With each new twist I'd begun to see that the powers that be were chosing me to be the butt of their joke this day.

Finally at the library, I opened my email and noticed a new message from someone at the courthouse. Ah. This was the email I'd been waiting for. The one containing the list of required forms I'd need to submit our custody agreement. And--Surprise!--one of the required forms rested peacefully in the belly of my filing cabinet at home, and there wasn't an electronic copy to be had. Drat.

Still determined to finish what I'd started I drove home, planning to dutifully return to the chaos that is Seattle that same day to finish what I'd started. My son was a lot more fussy than he usually is in the car, and that combined with a "soupy poop" incident earlier that day (picture diarrhea, but more epic) should have been the warning signs I needed to anticipate what was coming. We walked in the door, and Max walked straight to my room on a mission to watch Blue's Clues. I followed him to turn on the TV, but as I walked into the room Max spit on the ground. Odd, I thought. He never does things like that. I came around in front of him and asked him if he was okay. Seconds later he errupted like Mount Vesuvious. The first round of upchuck landed on the floor, sparing the basket of clean laundry slightly to his right. He turned toward me and tried to cry out as another wave of the nasty stuff hit me and, inevitably, the contents of my purse. He turned again for the third wave and managed to nail the entire basket of clean clothes as well as the large comforter on my bed. I can optimistically predict that I will never again have to experience another moment quite like that, and having said that I'm proud of how I handled it. This was the first time my poor little Max has had to vomit, and I told him it was okay, rushed him to the bathroom and cleaned his face. He looked like he was actually scared I was going to be mad about the mess, but it's funny how much you can not care that you're covered in recycled chocolate milk when your little guy is hurting.

Several "soupy poops", tantrums and diplomatic sessions have occured today since that little incident. Max of course has been grouchier than usual and has vehemently protested against any TV entertainment aside from Caillou and Blue's Clues. I've been trying all kinds of tricks to get him to drink Pedialyte, including diluting it with water and straight-up lying. "It's milk, really. Just taste it." By bed time he was exhausted, and rolled over to fall instantly asleep.

Oh no. I hear Kayla coughing. Happy illness times round two?