Yesterday we went to St. Cloud for The Bad Boyz of Summer hot rod/classic car show.  Marty and Martin drove a 1970 Chevy Chevelle.

It was 95 degrees, and to avoid overheating, they made the hour-long trip without turning on the air conditioning.  Once we got to St. Cloud, we parked the cars, hung out, got something to eat and waited for the parade to begin.  This isn't a traditional parade, but really an excuse for people to drive around in their cars peeling out and revving their engines.  I don't know if it was the heat, or the noise, or all of it - but Sophie pretty much melted down and we didn't last too long and we headed to the hotel pretty early.

After the long day, Sophie was sleeping, Marty was crashed, and I was on the couch trying to get Martin to snuggle in with me and go to bed.  Putting kids to bed at a hotel is just different - you can't just put them somewhere and tell them to stay put, because you're all in the same room and since it took an hour to get Person #1 to sleep, you just don't want to take any chances.  Martin and I parked on the couch with a movie, and I snuggled him in to try to get him to sleep (or at least lie still), when I felt him wiggling around a bit. 

"Hey, I found something," he said.

"What do you mean? OH GOD, IS YOUR HAND IN THE COUCH CUSHION?  This is a HOTEL!  Get out of there," I whispered urgently.

Then, he pulled his fingers up to his nose like Mary Catherine Gallagher would sometimes when she was nervous, and said, "Mmmmm, smells like doughnut juice."

Seriously, how gross.  I don't know WHAT it was in the cushion, but I didn't look and I certainly didn't smell his fingers despite his continuous efforts.  Sometimes I think the biggest task for a mom that no one prepares you for is just trying not to throw up.