One should never joke, really. It only makes the reality even more ironic.
Last weekend, my wife and I headed out for our 20th college reunions. It is a special event because we connected at our 10th and things led from there to marriage and kids. We packed the kids in the car for the seven or so hour drive on Friday, got the kids situated with their Saba before heading out for a small gathering of friends that evening, and then Saturday was filled with reunion activities. We left our son with his grandfather and took our daughter with us for the morning. She enjoyed seeing both campuses; my wife and I attended nearby colleges, and I even majored at hers. In the morning while my wife was in a class meeting, I took my daughter around to see the campus and visit with my senior thesis professor. My daughter also enjoyed the picnic lunch and popsicle. In the afternoon, we all headed over to my college and had a quick tour before we drove her back to my wife’s father’s house. We then returned to the reunion action, had a wonderful time, and arrived home late and exhausted.
As we contemplated the seven plus hour drive back to Boston with crabby kids, I joked, “Let’s drug ’em.” Now, I am the one who errs on the avoiding medicine side, so it was just dark humor to deal with the inevitable challenges of the ride. However, the universe was listening, and my daughter deposited a parting gift on my father-in-law’s bedroom carpet. We hoped whatever was bugging her was out of her system, but as we started the drive, a faint voice from the back of the car informed us that all was not well. I had improvised some bags, and my daughter promptly used one of them. We stopped, purchased some Dramamine, and proceeded on our way with a very wilted, unhappy kid who, in part thanks to the drugs, slept much of the way home.