I think I am going to throw up....

Words you definitely don't want to hear from your child as you are trying to enjoy a quick breakfast at the Cracker Barrel in Toledo, OH, on your way to Cedar Point. Ever feel like it is hard to know whether your child is REALLY sick or not? Clearly, I should have known. A intuitive mother would. First, there was the mention of a headache from the backseat of the Tacoma while tooling down 75N, followed by tears, and then all color draining from her lips. Still, I wasn't "getting" that it was serious.

Entering the Cracker Barrel, it was truly the Providence of God knowing exactly where we would need to sit for our future rapid exit (the table closest to the Hostess Stand). I demanded that my daughter eat something (I must live up to my reputation as a good mother) and gave her "THE LOOK" across the table that clearly signals "I MEAN BUSINESS." She picked and peeled apart a biscuit fresh from the ovens of CB, complete with whisps of steam whispering "eat me" billowing from it. It didn't take long at all for her to appear next to my chair saying the dreaded words "I think I am going to throw up." "Look Faith," I began my reply, but before I could lay another ounce of guilt upon her for "ruining" our CB breakfast, she threw her hands over her mouth, and shot a quick look of panic into my eyes. Before I could even put down the glass of H2O I had in my hand, I grabbed a napkin in the other, and darted for the bathroom, yelling "Excuse me" to all the businessmen who were standing in line waiting for their tables and their first cups of coffee of the day. ( I wonder what was going through THEIR heads as we zipped by.) I wanted to stop and look at her, just to see what "stage" she was in re: the throwing up "process" but I knew we didn't have that kind of time. We made it to the bathroom, where she threw her head over the sink, and .....well, you can guess the gruesome details that happened next. After she was through, I expected her to look at me and say "I TOLD you I didn't feel good." But she never did, she just stood there saying "I'm sorry" with tears streaming down her cheeks. Now, why is it that it takes me standing in a public bathroom, rubbing my daughter's back while she completes a process that NO ONE enjoys, feeling about 2 inches tall, in order for me to BELIEVE she is truly sick?? Mother-guilt like that can make a person like...well...ummm...for lack of a better way of putting it, feel like "throwing up."


BTW... you may be wondering if we ever made it to Cedar Point. The answer is "no." What kind of mother do you think I am?? :)