"What was that?" and other imponderables

Rule #2, folks.  It's there for a reason.

Case in point....

We're driving up to Gramma and Boppa's. It's only a 75-minute drive as it is.  We are out of chewable Dramamine.  It's a comfortable temp in the van.

There is an odd noise from the back.  I whip around, very afraid I know exactly what that sound means.

Unfortunately, I'm right.  Large Fry has puked.  (Blast her father's genes.  She's usually the first to get carsick of the three.)

"What was that?" Hubby asks.

Silly Hubby.  He knows Rule #2.

"Large Fry threw up."

He asks her three times and I ask her twice why she didn't let us know she thought she was going to get sick.  Her answer, after my second asking, is a shrug.

Dang it, we keep 32-oz plastic cups in the van for exactly this reason.  If she'd said something about it, we could have prevented the catastrophic event from causing a huge mess.  Then she wouldn't have needed a shower.  And I wouldn't have to bargain with Hubby to have him go pick up dinner while I clean up the kid (it seemed to make more sense, as he has a map in his head and I don't).  And I wouldn't have to wash a load of clothes.  And her carseat straps would stink.

Of course, it's entirely possible she still would have needed the shower, since Large Fry is not what one would call great at keeping her hair tucked into her headband.

So.  Large is showered.  Clothes & towel are washing.

The twin Fries have colds, and the next weird thing I hear is Small Fry shouting my name, followed by, "I got snot on the pillow!"

"How did you get snot on the pillow?" I asked, incredulous.

Silly Auntie.  Rule #2.

"Never mind.  Go get a tissue and wipe your nose."

Small Fry gets a tissue.

And she wipes the pillow instead.

"I got the snot off!"

Well.  Yay.