ETHAN: No, it's da-da's car. Dad's car smells like animal poop. Smells like cow poop.
ELLA: Don't tell lies, Ethan. Just don't tell lies.
Truth is, this is probably the most sane conversation I will overhear today. At least until I return home this evening.
It was a fair question posed by my three-going-on-15 year old. After all, she was trying to create something BEAUTIFUL on her magna doodle on the drive to school. How is one supposed to be inspired when there are noxious fumes about? The girl was trying to feel something.
To Ethan's credit, he was not telling lies. Lately, Vern's car (for a yet to be determined reason) has been reminiscent of a smell that is not unlike the zoo. Animal poop indeed. It isn't heavy, or none of us would be able to stand it. It's rather faint, like when you turn the corner at the top of the loop on the way to the Elephant exhibit. Not quite there, but you know you're getting close.
Well, the girl felt something alright. It was nausea. She threw her hand up to her mouth and began squealing while kicking rapid bicycle kicks and shouting, "I'm going to throw up, I'm going to throw up." Scrambling for something--anything--we could possibly use to catch whatever was about to erupt from her little tummy, we came up with a handful of napkins. She gagged a little and continued to squeal and cry. Uh, uh, uh, crap, what do we have, uh...Vern shouts, "Floor mat! Grab the floor mat and put it on her lap." We rolled her window down to give her some air. The smell didn't do it; the doodle did it. The beautiful magna doodle creation on the go had made her car sick.
Luckily, we were near my office, so before the interior of the car donned any unsavory bits of belly confetti, we pulled in so that she could get out of the car, use the potty and breathe a bit. One potty break later, she was smiling and all was good again. Whew, that was close. Exciting morning. Good stuff.
Note to self: Magna Doodle stays home.