Just go to the Fire Station

Today started out pretty okay. Isabelle climbed into bed with me this morning and whispered in my ear, "I just had a dream about sparkly toilet paper." After breakfast Henry drew a picture of a person who transforms into a bathroom plunger as his superpower. I was optimistic about the day.

Then, Isabelle barfed in the car after we dropped Henry off at school. I was calm and reassuring, I think. I got her home and inside where I changed her clothes into too small for her pajamas and got her set up on the sofa. She immediately started singing and dancing, clearly not too sick. I figured she was fine and I went outside to remove the car seat. I removed the belt and one of the clips. The seat didn't budge. Starting to panic I dialed up Nick, who was traveling to Des Moines with two other people for work. He explained that there are two metal clips on each side of the seat that have to be removed. I gave them a try, but no luck. I had hung up the phone at this point to try to get some leverage without falling into the puke covered seat. No luck. I started crying. That didn't  help. I started bawling. That didn't help. I called Nick and yelled at him while in the car with coworkers. That really didn't help.

Finally, I decide to go inside to cool down. Moments later, Nick calls to check in and says, "Firefighters can help in these situations. You sound pretty stressed, just go to the fire station and ask them to help you. Or, cut the seat out."

I considered my options and whether Isabelle would puke again and decide I better just go. To be clear, I am totally freaking out so you should not be surprised to learn that I leave Isabelle in pants that are capri length, allow her to wear open toe sandals and a spring coat. It's 35 degrees outside so that's pretty cool. I put her in Henry's car seat with a bowl and drive one block to the fire station. We get out, ring the bell, and wait. Two firefighters come to the door and they are super handsome, of course. I'm sure glad I took the time to brush my hair before getting out of the car. Not that it matters. As soon as I open my mouth to explain why I am there, I start crying. Again. The two awesome firefighters help me out and remove the barf covered seat. They had to use a tool so it was totally worth it. But really, firefighters are rad and helped me restore some sanity.

Until I went to target. I figured there was a small possibility I might not be able to reinstall the seat once it was clean so I drove over to target to buy one of those low back boosters. We've been meaning to get one and I couldn't really take on any more stress. I took one look at Isabelle as I took her out of the seat and knew she wasn't dressed for the weather. I went in anyway, hoping people would grant me a little grace. Nope. I grabbed up a 20 dollar booster and was headed for the milk because I had concluded that the milk in our fridge had made Isabelle sick. What? Probably not. As I was  heading toward the correct aisle a woman looked at Isabelle and said to her, "oh, you must be so cold!" I quickly turned the cart to run away because I was about to start crying. Isabelle, still looking at the woman, did not notice I'd changed directions. She turned around and ran her face into the cart. Now she's sick, hurt and bawling. And I'm crying. Again.

Luckily, we made it back home without further problems. One of my fav pals Kelly stopped by for lunch and helped everyone (me) calm down, provided some top notch car seat cleaning tips, and brought me candy. Thank goodness for good friends and firefighters. I truly hope you are having a better day than myself. I'm optimistic about tomorrow.

--maggie