Car Sick

Two thirds of my children are prone to car sickness.  This they did not inherit from me, as I spent the better part of my youth traveling the states via 1966 Buick, mostly from Ohio to Texas, to and fro, and then back again.  This was our yearly summer trip to see my beloved grandparents.  My brother and I rode in the back seat, sans seat belts, so we were often vying for the coveted spot atop the back seats, on a narrow ledge.  The only thing keeping us from flying out the back onto the pavement was a 1/4 ” piece of glass.

Our Siamese cat, Tinkerbell, accompanied us on all road trips with the family.  It should be noted that Tinkerbell’s trusty sandbox also shared the backseat with the siblings.

Every single family vacation, which spanned Niagra Falls to Mexico, was spent in that Buick.  Never once did we toss our cookies.  Not even the cat.

I can only surmise that the car sick has been inherited from Fiddledaddy’s side of the gene pool.

Yesterday I carted my girls to their A.H.G. scouting meeting with Jensen in tow.  Jensen and Cailey will often argue over who is the most car sick.  The one who actually blows chunks generally wins the argument.  During this particular trip, Jensen did the most complaining.  And then on the way home, without his older sister to commiserate with, he whined to me ALL THE WAY HOME that he felt car sick.  SO CAR SICK.  Like talking about it ad nauseum will help.

This is not an unusual occurrence, and I’m usually able to tune him out if I start humming in my head loud enough.  Because that’s the kind of stellar mother that I am.  In my defense, I opened his window and handed him the retractable waste paper basket that we keep in the car, with clear instructions to AIM.  An area in which he is generally NOT GIFTED, as my bathroom floors will attest.

But I digress.

We made it home without incident, as we usually do.  So when Jensen realized that he was going to get no sympathy from his mother, he turned his moans and groans to his father, who is generally more nurturing about this sort of thing.

Rightfully so.  Since the fault is likely his that I gave birth to sea sick offspring.

Fiddledaddy took note of Jensen’s pale face and beige-ish lips (something I had failed to notice).  And by this point the boy was crying in agony clutching his stomach, falling to the floor, refusing to move.

After quickly assessing that the pain was in the middle, and not indicative of appendicitis, I began backing away from the patient, circling the perimeter of the kitchen.  I did fetch the throw up pan from the bathroom, because I feared that vomit was eminent.

I’ve stated on many many occasions that I don’t handle vomit with any kind of diplomacy.  Fiddledaddy often has to bar the exits to keep me from fleeing.  He doesn’t understand that I’m really doing everyone a favor by removing myself from the situation.  For if I even suspect that vomit is at bay, I’m only going to add to the mess.

I’m not proud of this.  But at least I do know my limitations.

Fiddledaddy kept giving me instructions and little jobs to keep me in the moment.  I fetched cold compresses at lightning quick speed, and offered words of encouragement.

From across the room.

All while this was occurring, Fiddledaddy kept feeding the kid yogurt with a probiotic included.  Which I thought was insanity.  I still have yogurt stains on my CEILING from early 2003 when such was tried before.

During a moment of divine inspiration, Fiddledaddy hoisted the 60 something pound kid onto his shoulder and began patting his back, just like when he was a baby.  A dangerous position to place yourself in, in my estimation, but worthy of my gratitude, as the kid was now facing the other direction.

Finally my child let out the biggest belch known to boy-kind. I held my breath, waiting to revisit the yogurt plus various Valentine’s treats and such.  None were forthcoming.  Disaster averted.  And with that, the child promptly began bouncing off of the walls, in usual Jensen fashion.

Motherhood.  It is not for the weak.  And perhaps best left up to Fiddledaddy.

The end.

8 Responses to Car Sick

  • I used to get carsick as a kid, and even now, if I have to read a map or other thing while driving, it comes back. Seems the head down position is not a good one. The best treatment is looking forward out of the car at the road ahead. If there is a way your kids can be seated in your van so this is possible they may find it really helps.

  • Oh, sweetie. I so understand. I am a sympathy yakker, too. I just don’t do vomit. Anyone’s.

  • I am prone to car sickness. I cannot read/look at things in a moving vehicle. I must have air conditioning and usually just close my eyes and fall asleep when riding. When I drive it’s different. I still need the air, but driving doesn’t make me nauseous.

    My siblings and nephews don’t understand this at all. They always read, watch videos, etc. while traveling and they don’t understand why I say “I can’t look now. I will when we stop” when they want me to look at something.

    I can’t help it. My family has accepted it and they just let me lie back and close my eyes. Should I fall asleep they wake me when we get there. Otherwise, I am fine to just keep my eyes closed.

    LOL… reading about how you and your brother traveled reminded me of our childhood. We had a large car and a station wagon. The rear window and the VERY back of the station wagon were the coveted spots in the car. Especially since there were 4 of us in the back seat. 🙂

  • Early in our marriage (before kids or stomach virus had tainted our self sacrificing love for each other)my hubby made me aware of the fact that while he could stop profuse bleeding or dissect something in Med. school without so much as batting an eye, he WAS prone to “sympathy puke” AND a very sensitive gag reflex.
    This “disorder” has gotten him out of many, many yucky diapers and middle of the night clean up sessions. While I do not throw up like he does, I have many a time willed myself to not throw up because I HATE TO CLEAN UP THROW UP WITH A PASSION. If only I had thought to share my disorder sooner.
    well played, dear hubby, well played.

  • Whew! Good to hear.
    About the car sickness….LEMONS!
    That’s a fantastic way to fight off the nausea. You can either slice up a lemon and carry it with you in a baggie or buy some lemon drops hard candy to suck on.
    Whenever the “victim” has that horrible feeling hit them, pull out a slice and let them taste or lick it. It’s like magic!
    Not exaggerating!

    Goodluck! 🙂

  • I get terribly carsick – except when I am driving. (Or maybe I’m just a control freak?)

    My advice? You are going to have to teach Jensen to drive.

    That should solve it.

  • I’m laughing at the road trip stories of your youth. I too remember riding without seatbelts in our station wagon. My brother is 3 years younger and one trip my mom tells me they just set the playpen up in the back so he could play and be contained! Amazing we all lived to tell about it, eh 😉
    My husband and 2 of our tend toward carsickness, but as long as they are looking forward they do ok. Bonus for me is that I hate to drive and if we go anywhere together Phil HAS to drive so he doesn’t feel sick.

  • Growing up, my older brother made it his mission in life to get me to yak anytime he was going to get busted for something thus redirecting attention. It’s taken me a lot of years but I’ve gotten better at dealing with it. Now blood on the other hand – forgetaboutit. On the floor, passed out cold.