...a penny for your trash bag.


it wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to us. far from it. after all, we had "enjoyed" eight and 1/3 innings of a live and in-person braves game from ridiculously good seats before the rains came. that, in and of itself, was reason enough to be happy and one with the world, irregardless of the fact that the braves only hit through six innings had come from their pitcher. yes, just being back at turner field for the first time in over a year should have been plenty to quench my soul given all that we, as a family, had been through over the last couple of months, and that doesn't even take into account the brick-headed move it was for bobby cox to leave javy vazquez in to face hanley ramirez after he was clearly gassed and give up what would be the game-deciding home run. just being there, with good food and good family, should've been enough for me to get over and past the things that didn't, exactly, go our way and drive home in a good mood.

but, of course, it wasn't.

oh, how i wished our "new normal" didn't feel, on friday night, so much like the old and selfish normal.

caroline had been sick the night before and into friday morning, putting the trip into jeopardy to begin with. around noon, we decided that she was in good enough health and spirits to make the trip. we hit atlanta, well, we hit atlanta traffic still in no rush or hurry, and caroline was holding up quite nicely. we made it to rebecca and emma's pad, and, aside from the traffic-related headache i had acquired, we were still rocking along. made it to turner field easily thanks to daniel (the british man's voice on the garmin), found our seats, and then things started to sour. caroline enjoyed running around the concourse of the stadium very much. being contained in mommy's lap or the ground directly in front of mommy or in a seat with emma? not so much. the braves, predictably, were terrible. the bobby cox thing happened. laroche cheered me up for half a second. and then the rain came. a lot of freaking rain. i began texting back and forth with katie to see if we had any chance of the rain breaking before we made the half-mile trek out to the car. we didn't. rebecca, following the lead of many others, pays a trash guy two bucks for four trash bags that we'll wear as ponchos. the plan is for me to carry caroline the half-mile in the rain with her blanket over her head. she'll have none of the blanket. two kind gentlemen notice this and offer their now priceless extra trash bag to us for caroline. i rip a head hole in the bag for her and put it on. and we march. and march. and march. caroline begins silly, sinks to sad and pathetic, and ends the journey to the car in misery. i am convinced that i have ripped my insides back open and decide to join her misery with my company. i get in the car, caroline on my lap, and we save sarah, rebecca and emma about 50 yards by driving to them. we all get in the car, laugh off the experience as something we'd never want to do again and head home. we get back to rebecca's place and drop them off, thank rebecca for the tickets and do not get out of the apartment complex before caroline vomits all over herself.

i.

shit.

you.

not.

it wasn't as much a straw that proverbially broke my back and spirit as it was the stench of cheese fries and ice cream (admittedly, probably poor choices for a two year-old trying to shake off a stomach virus. we were at a ballgame, though. whatareyougonnado???) mixed with stomach bile. i whirled the car back around, at this point fuming. i knocked on rebecca's door and asked for vomit towels at first, going back a second time to ask for a blanket for caroline to hold onto on the way home since hers had been soaked with the cheese-fry puke. we said our good-byes again, and headed back to birmingham.

on the road home, it rained. and rained. and rained harder. and then it rained some more. i would grow somewhat comfortable with our conditions and then, of course, would hydro-plane. is hydro-planing the worst effing feeling or what? in that brief millisecond, you are sure you are going to die. you have zero control. it is complete chance that your tires either will or will not regain traction before the car spins righteously out of control.

speaking of chance, i felt like job. satan, up in the heavens playing his own personal game of roulette with my and our stakes. land on red? ruin his silly baseball game. land on yellow? make someone in family feel as though it makes rational sense to pay a trash dude for trash bags. they will then wear the trash bags. land on white? oh, god, not white. cue the toddler vomit. and if i didn't mention it earlier, it was cheese-fry vomit.

and god would be like, "christ, satan! give the brother a break. he just wants to get home."

cue satan spinning the wheel of misfortune again. bwahahahahaha!

and so, sarah asks the inevitable question. "did you have fun?"

and i, like the dick that i am, gave the inevitable answer. "not really."

i would like to think that my "new normal" would prevent me from having these lapses in sanity (because, four days removed, i can see that i did have a good time), but i guess it doesn't. i said "not really" and then listed all the reasons above to her. she said hearing that made her sad, leaned back in her seat in silence and, immediately, i regained my positive perspective.

but it was too late. sarah had experienced everything above with me, and yet, she looked through it all and asked me if i had a good time, wanting to reassure me that she was glad that we shared the miserable experience together. i, on the other hand, wanted everyone to be as unhappy as i was. and that's too bad.

i suppose i could come up with any number of excuses as to why i reacted like such a boar. misplaced and mismanaged expectations, things of that nature. but they all would be just that. excuses.

post-cancer, i had a good week at work and spent the past two days telling everyone i could how great i was feeling. then, this morning, i backslid. i saw a mole in the shower that i had never noticed before, came downstairs, got on the internet, and began trying to convince myself that "the other shoe", the one that would actually "get" me, was going to be skin cancer.

for several days last week, i wasn't a dick. then friday night, with some of those i hold most dear around me, i backslid and was a dick to them.

i am going to be a better man eventually. i still have a lot of work to do.

dear lord, let me help you...

...help me.