This one's about poop

Turns out the world is not going to hell it was just trying to warn me. Everything I wrote about in my last entry was the work of some higher and wiser power trying to stall our holiday vacation plans. And for good reason. We left for our family fun trip early Saturday morning with Sam's Pediasure and half of the Christmas toys that we had ordered through the school. Arrangements had been made to have the other half shipped to us. And Sam's wheelchair was finally on its way. I embarked on our trip feeling good, powerful, like I had faced the evil forces of stupidity and apathy and had emerged the victor. Little did I know that my moxie would soon bite me in the ass. So as I was saying, with my battles won, we set off on our road trip. Upon arrival we encountered small hassles like the driving rain that soaked us and our stuff every time we walked back and forth between my parents' house and their motorhome where the four of us were sleeping. I also had to deal with my extreme allergic reaction to my parents' house; a little thing I always seem to forget until about 15 minutes after arriving when I find myself surrounded by piles of my own snotty tissues. And if snot dripping out of your nose is not obnoxious enough, try fits of sneezing so body jolting that no amount of Kegeling will save you. Now let's add in a husband who was feeling sick to his stomach and a 3 year old up past his bedtime who hadn't pooped in days. On this particularly fateful night David went to lie down in the motorhome while I was left to deal with Sam. Sam had grown very irritable and despite the fact that he really could have used a good dump, was dead set against letting anything gas or solid escape from his bum. So while I struggled to get him into his pajamas, he wiggled and contorted all in an effort to keep those butt cheeks closed. Then snotting and sneezing, through the rain the wriggling child and I went. As soon as we got to the motorhome I layed Sam on his bed and David emerged from his exclaiming, "Oh shit!" Apparently David's ass wasn't quite as tight as Sam's that night and he immediately required the use of the bathroom in the very small, not well ventilated motorhome. The ensuing sounds and smells sent me into a fit of dry heaving while Sam writhed on his bed still trying to keep everything inside. I gagged and heaved all the way back into the house where I was able to get myself under control. I felt terribly guilty leaving my children out there with their sick father so I went back to reclaim Sam since Jackson had slept soundly through the events. After several more trips through the rain to collect all the items we needed that night, Sam and I settled down to go to sleep in the house. However, Sam's determination not to poop was stronger than I could have foreseen and the little bugger refused to relax until 4:30 in the morning when sleep finally overcame him. But he still hasn't pooped.