Trip

Apparently, I'm going on some sort of trip this weekend. At least that's what I found out from my mom, who found that out from my three-year-old niece, who was the very first to know via Grandpa. My dad has planned a whole weekend including the whole family and has not informed me or his wife of the trip. It must be time to visit the grandchildren. If my dad doesn't see the grandchildren once in a while, his heart stops and he keels over. Right now he is in a panicked frenzy to see them. It has been an all-encompassing power that consumes him: "Must see grandchildren. . . must see grandchildren!"

Because of his frightful condition, I will be hauled off to Utah to visit the noisy little darlings. I will be stuffed in small, enclosed spaces (cars and the like) with little children who can exceed the amount of noise it takes for the government to require that I wear protective equipment (earplugs).

I find it amazing that the government requires earplugs when operating machinery, yet there is no such requirement for daycare employees. In fact, the use of earplugs in a daycare is frowned upon, which I think is an absolute outrage. Those employees need to protect themselves!

Maybe I will need to protect myself. Precautionary measures are necessary when one is spending a three-day weekend in daycare-like conditions. Once I get stuck inside one of these vehicles, there is no escape. When a diaper is filled, the stench can be unbearable. Methane gas fills the car, and as I'm about to take my last breath on this earth, my sister will say in a cheery voice, "Cassie's getting a little stinky." Meanwhile, the car next to us sees my palid features and my frail hands clawing at the window helplessly. They immediately start dialing 911 on their cell phones. I'll have to thank them later.

But alas, we are inching closer to someplace even dirtier and smellier than the car: the McDonald's Playplace. [insert scary, suspenseful music here] There I will have to rescue a crying niece or nephew from the ball pit, only to realize that they no longer have the diaper that they came in with, and they are naked from the waist down. Another child will yell, "Mommy, I stepped in something swishy!" to which his mother will reply, "Just keep playing, hon. Let me see you slide down the slide." At this point, what do I do?

a. Lift up the diaper-less child and carry him off, predending that I didn't hear a thing
b. Scream at the stranger's child and tell him to get the hell out of the ball pit RIGHT NOW
c. Tell the child's mother what the brown substance on her child's foot is
d. Tell a sixteen-year-old employee who is having her very first day on the job to block off the area so she can dive in the ball pit to find the offending diaper and sanatize the area

If any of you can help me with the above dilemma, please do so. I am so awkward in these situations, and frankly, they embarrass me. I would also like to remind you that I love my nieces and nephews deeply and unconditionally. They have enlightened me to a way of truth and light and everlasting peace: the option for birth control. Because of them, I know how important the pill can be.