De-Pants'ed in McDonalds

I have a most eventful family vacation to share with you.

So my wife and I drive from Wisconsin to New York with our daughter, Belle, 3, and our son, Johnny, 2. The first thing that happens on this 22-hour sojourn (uphill over the Poconos both ways) is that we get rear-ended. We yield--the other motorist doesn't. She smashes into the back of our minivan.

Our Sienna is drivable and nobody is hurt, thank God. But we can't open the rear latch the ENTIRE TRIP.
We had packed everything we needed the most near the rear latch. I think I might have been better off dead.

I'm kidding, off course, because had I died, I wouldn't have gotten to enjoy my children getting the flu en route, barfing during stop-and-go construction. Happy Father's Day!

On Father's Day, Belle says, "Daddy, I love you because you fix my stuff." Unfortunately, I can't fix her flu. When we see our relatives, Belle walks in and says, "We were in a BIG car accident. How do you like my new shoes?"

But times like these are supposed to make you appreciate what's truly important, right? I think Belle's getting the hang of it. To wit:

"We have to take care of Johnny," Belle says. "Because he's my only brother. If we lost him, we'd have to buy a new one!"

We have fun on the trip, though. Belle loves wearing her fancy silver dress during her Aunt Jessie's wedding:
And little Johnny gets the Academy Award for Best Impression of Tony Soprano:
But it's great seeing family. And who can't enjoy 10 stops at McDonald's?


Let's face it, when you have two kids under age four in the car for 44 hours--including four hours in a lightning storm/flash flood near Chicago--you have to get the kids all the exercise in PlayPlace they can get.

Even if it means choking down another Happy Meal. So I order the fast food and I'm walking toward PlayPlace in McDonald's holding two drinks. Belle comes running up to me yelling, "Daddy, pick me up! Pick me up!" Before I can explain that I can't while holding drinks, she jumps up and grabs me around the waist with her arms and legs. I'm wearing jogging pants and boxers. So when Belle slides down my waist and legs like a firefighter, my McPants and McUnderwear go with her.

There I am, de-pants'ed in McDonald's. I'm not "loving it." A random grandma and four kids go screaming into PlayPlace.

Does Belle apologize? No. She says, "Daddy, I have to go potty."

So we retreat to the men's bathroom. It's small, so there's just one urinal and one stall. There's a man peeing in the urinal but the stall's open, so I take Belle in there.

"Daddy, I'm a girl, so I don't use a urinal," Belle says.

"That's right," I say.

Urinal Man chuckles.

"I'm a girl, so I use the potty," Belle continues.

"Uh-huh."

"And when I become a boy, I'll use a urinal."

Now Urinal Man is downright cackling.

"And when I turn back into a girl, then I'll use a potty again."

The things kids learn on vacation.