Day 7

"And on the Seventh day, He rested..." (Genesis 2:2). I'm pretty sure God didn't do a 7-day road trip consisting of 3,000 km total of driving, with a 32-month old and an 11-month old, because if He did, He would have created 10 days in a week, and rested on numbers 8, 9, and 10.

We all slept well, and woke up around 7:30 a.m.. An hour into our drive, Henry was vocalizing his...hmm, how shall I coin this...his 'special' sounds, denoting a soiled diaper. I turned around to do a quick check to see if the situation required immediate attention. Indeed.

"OH MY GOD, RYAN...YOU HAVE TO PULL OVER RIGHT NOW - THIS IS SERIOUS!!!" I am pretty sure the tires squealed as we came to a complete stop. I hauled Henry out of his seat with amazing speed. I laid out a blanket (yes, the same one which was a privacy curtain on Day 1), and changed him. It was actually more of a 'strip and wipe-down' than a change, per se. We were on the side of the Trans-Canada Highway, changing a disgustingly dirty diaper, and also trying to scrub the car seat clean. The picture to the left was taken by yours truly after the crisis was under control. The good thing about pulling over immediately was that we were able to deal with the situation right away; the bad thing was that we had to drive another 30K before we could dispose of the loot bag in a proper garbage can. I had a container of hand sanitizer, and Ryan and I looked like surgeons prepping for the OR. We applied the stuff everywhere...hands, neck, vehicle, arms, shoulders, legs...you name it. *Shudder*

We crossed into Nova Scotia (Eureka!), and made it to the Cobequid Pass. We saw some weirdo reversing up an on-ramp, and laughed at him...it was likely delirious laughter due to the fact that we were less than an hour from home. And then we saw it. Flashing lights. Tow trucks. Po-Po cruisers. The highway became a parking lot. People were walking their dogs, running into the bushes to relieve themselves (the people, not the dogs), and those with binoculars were trying to see what was going on. After 20 minutes, we took the boys out of their seats and went walking ourselves. After about 15 minutes, someone yelled, "THEY'RE MOVING!!" I sprinted (with Henry in arms) faster than I have ever sprinted before (I'm pretty sure Mr. King, my high school sprinting coach, would have been impressed). And then we sat for another 20 minutes. Argh! I wanted to find that joker who professed that false hope and wished upon him a lifetime of slow ATM line-ups (with the occasional 'Out-of-Service' pop-up when it was to be his turn). I still don't know what the accident was. There were no paramedics, and all I saw as we drove by was a charred trailer container. Actually, I guess that would be it. The last 40 minutes of the drive was uneventful. The boys were screaming. I only had one weapon left in my arsenal to make them stop. Instead of screaming, I popped in the cd, cranked the music and sang at the top of my lungs: "California girls, we're unforgettable, Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top. Sun-kissed skin so hot, we'll melt your popsicle, Oooooh oh oooooh!" Katy, you're back in my good books.