This morning, I ran through the rest stop, the ChickieNob jogging behind me at a sick pace, both hands clamped over her mouth until we stepped onto the tiled floor of the bathroom and she vomited next to the sink and burst into tears.
On another day, I might have cursed my luck; that I was the parent left to clean up the mess; to wash her hands and change her clothes and dry her tears and assure her that everyone understands illness. But today, I quietly returned her to a neutral place, neat, orderly, and I was thankful for the opportunity, to have her here in her vomiting glory.
I went back in the rest stop to wash my hands one last time and stood with the other parents for a moment by the rest stop televisions blasting CNN, our hands over our mouth as we watched the news. No way to contain it. No way to release it.