Recycled McGriddles

 I've discovered that Caden gets carsick if he eats McDonald's and tries to read in the car.

Monday, we were up before the sun, packed in the car and headed toward College Station to meet Jo, my step-mom. I stopped in Hillsboro to get a white chocolate mocha with two pumps of caramel from Starbucks and Caden saw the golden arches. So I got him this pancake/sausage/biscuit contraption. He devoured it, and even proclaimed, "I am going to eat at McDonald's EVERY DAY for breakfast. Okay Mom?"

Sure, Caden.

We make it a little past Waco; he is intently studying one of his books, and he casually calls up to me, "Mom. My tummy hurts."

I don't think much of it. He is always hurting something. So I mumble something to the effect, "That's nice," and continue to drive.

Again, this time with a touch of panic in his voice, "Mom. I think I'm gonna...I'm gonna throw up!"

As a mother, you can sense the change in your child's tone when he is in fact, panicking and truly scared. So I whip over on the side of the road and hand him the only bag I have handy. Which is, in fact, a McDonald's bag.

Yeah, those are made out of paper.

So Caden is throwing up every thing I think he's ever eaten, and I'm turned around, trying to help him get it all in the rapidly deteriorating bag. He manages to get recycled mcgriddle and apple juice all over my hanging clothes (which aren't hanging; they are laying on the seat next to him), his booster seat and himself. And his DVD player. And his headphones.

When I'm sure he is done, I take the bag to dump it out my door. In order to do this, the bag must cross over my lap. And precisely the moment it's crossing over me, the bottom falls out of it.

Good times, good times.