I drove to the airport to pick my parents up for their maiden trip to Chicago. The trip usually takes 20 minutes.


It took over an hour.

I pull into the parking garage 40 minutes after their plane had landed. Cora coughs. I look in the review mirror.


She has a hand full of throw up. She coughs again. It's chunking its way out. Macaroni and cheese from lunch a few hours ago.


It looks exactly the same as it did going in. I park. YES! I'm not moving any more. I get out and take the initial barf off the front of her.


Someone is going to find a big pile of barf next to their car. After a handful of wipes and a daughter with only leggings and shoes on (her dress is wadded up in the back), we're ready to make our way in.


I packed a sweater - just in case. It only has three buttons at the top. her naval is showing. I don't even care that I look like one of those moms.


There my parents are in the baggage claim, right off of the door I walk in through. I'm ready to claim them and take them home. Not before a quick clean up in the bathroom.

It took 20 minutes, by the way, to get home. Though we'd missed our train into downtown. Tonight was supposed to be the Art Institute - it's free (and my favorite). Otherwise it would be $18/person. I'm cheap. I live for free.

Surprise? No, not really.

We still got to eat Chicago style pizza. Cora got to spend time opening her presents. And we got to spend time relaxing a bit this evening. Cora's car seat cover and straps are drying. I hope the barf smell is exiting our car, though I don't know how. This is Chicago, you don't leave the windows cracked.

I'm happy for the guests occupying our guest room. I'm happy Cora's throw up seems to be an isolated event. And I'm happy I get to see Magnolia in action tomorrow. Hopefully we'll get a sweet shot.

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