Funny Guy Friday… Who do you think you are talking to?

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So… I married a funny guy... 
     This past weekend marked the one year anniversary of my father's passing. My mother had asked me if she could spend the weekend with us, and then suggested that we try to get our family together to, once again, celebrate my father's life. She was not sure who would want to come, but we opened it up to everyone in the family. We planned to meet at the cemetery and then go out to dinner.
     My mother was extremely excited, and grateful, that everyone within a two hour radius showed up at the cemetery where we read scriptures and Cheryl read a beautiful prayer. Thirty-six of us spent about a half-hour at his grave site, and then most of us went to dinner at a nearby restaurant. Once again, my family came together in spectacular fashion to show our love for my father and our love and respect for my mother.
     Oh, but what my wife did on the ride home would have made my father roll over in his grave!
     The story starts with Noah, having to sit in the way back of our new Honda Pilot with his head down, playing a video game on the way to the restaurant. Cheryl warned him to look up or he would make himself sick. Noah stopped when we arrived at the restaurant. My boy enjoyed a lovely meal of crab soup, mandarin oranges and chicken fingers dipped in a honey mustard sauce.
     After dinner, we got back in our new Honda Pilot; Noah took his spot in the way back and resumed his video game. We were discussing whether or not we could go to Coldstone Creamery to spend Noah's gift card on a yummy dessert. Noah was all-in and ready for some cotton candy ice cream with gummy bears. He was in mid-sentence when he interrupted himself to comment that he felt like he might throw up.  It went something like this…..Oooh, I want to go to Coldstone's, I want….Hey guys, I think I have to throw up……my usual, cotton candy with gummy bears.  
     That little interruption in mid-sentence started a series of events that will live in infamy. Cheryl began to yell, He's about to throw up, pull over! I calmly responded , I cannot pull over, I am on a ramp, there is no place to pull over. 
     Pull over, he is about to blow!!!
     Let me get off of the ramp, I cannot stop here. 
     While this discussion was going on, my mother was sitting in the front seat. At this stage in her life, she has a hard time hearing and began to ask what was going on. There are many great qualities that I have inherited from my mother, and a few bad ones that I wish would have skipped a generation. One of the bad ones is an inability to react calmly when things are going, how can I say this….when things are going down the toilet. Unfortunately, in this case, nothing was going down a toilet, but, instead, was about to go down the back seat of our new vehicle.
     My mother was still inquiring as to what was happening. She was in panic-mode because she thought that one of the kids had fallen out of the car while I was on the ramp. Why? You ask? I have no idea. I am willing to chalk it up to a very troubling day for my mother.
     Cheryl, who is typically the calm one, was still on a rampage about me not pulling over. In a move reminiscent of a scene from the movie, Fast and the Furious, I jumped a curb and pulled into a vacant parking lot. In the middle of my turn, while my poor sainted mother was trying to come to grips with the fact that her baby boy had failed to stop as one of his own wonderful kids had fallen out of a moving car, continued to holler, What has happened?
     The details of what happened next are still kind of fuzzy, but several young, but reliable, eye witnesses have confirmed that my wife yelled at my mother. That is right. Do not adjust your screens. She yelled at my mother. MOM, HE IS THROWING UP! MOM, HE IS THROWING UP!!!!! If they had been sitting next to each other, I would not have been surprised to see Cheryl slap her like General Patton smacked that soldier many many years ago.
     As she yelled, I swear that everything stopped moving and every one's head turned and their eyes locked on Cheryl like a laser. Nobody yells at my mother for any reason. Even throw up in our new car does not justify yelling at a little ol' squishy tuft of goodness like my mother.
     When confronted with her anger issues, Cheryl swears she did not yell at Grandma. All three of our kids would testify that, yes, indeed, she did yell at Grandma.  If Grandma could hear, she would be the fourth witness against her. I know what is good for me, so I will be invoking my marital privilege.
     Despite the mountain of evidence against her, Cheryl maintains her innocence. She offers up the excuse that she was not yelling at my mother, she was yelling at me, and my mother just got caught up in the crossfire. She was upset with me because I did not pull over on the ramp, and because I, and I quote, do not drive gently.
     I feel compelled to point out a few things at this juncture. First, In twenty years of marriage, Cheryl has rarely yelled at me but when she does, it goes something like this……..Mark! I asked you to hang up your suits, I am not doing it! or Honey, please stop talking about the laundry, it will get done! Never has she referred to me as Mom before she yells at me so I am curious as to why she did on this occasion.
     Second, I do not know what driving gently means, but if it means that people don't throw up when you drive, I do drive gently. I would point out that this is only the second time in my life that I had to pull over for a sick passenger. The other time was when I was the designated driver returning home from a bar in College Park. On that occasion, I am pretty sure it was the 12 beers, and not my driving, that caused the problem.
     Upon hearing his mother's lame explanation, poor Matthew was heard saying, In all my years, I have never been more afraid of Mom than when she was yelling at Grandma. The poor boy may need therapy to help him deal with his post-traumatic-stress-disorder.
     Everyone should rest easy because I was able to pull Noah out of the backseat before he could do any damage to our new vehicle. I got him out just in the nick of time, as he threw up crab soup, mandarin oranges and chicken tenders dipped in a honey mustard sauce all over the parking lot. As we left that poor parking lot, there was an awkward silence as we headed home. I suppose we were all just trying to sort out what had just happened. Noah broke the silence and asked the question that was on all of our minds.
     Are we still going to Coldstone's?