I'm just spitballin' here

When we were in New Hampshire this past weekend, I was on driving duty. We had a bitchin' Chrysler minivan because the rental car company was out of SUVs. 

The lady at the counter said, "are you OK with a van?" 

Initially, we all thought she meant a utility van, like a big Ford Econoline or something like that. 

I was like, "umm, I guess?" 

I mean, I can drive a big van, but didn't exactly relish the thought of schlepping everyone around in one all weekend. 

Then I thought to ask, "do you mean a van like a plumber might drive, or a minivan?" 

"Oh, a minivan," she laughed.

I was relieved. 

Anyway. 

On Sunday my mom and I took a bunch of kiddos (mine, Josh's, their friends) to Exeter to walk around, go to the bookstore, get some ice cream, that sort of thing. Before heading back to Josh's house, I need to stop at Walgreens. 

As we were driving, I heard giggling from the back seat. 

"Mom! MOM! Look at the mirror!"

I looked in the rear-view and saw a spit-ball. Then another. And yet another. 

Earlier in the day, we had been telling funny family stories, and I told the kids about how Josh and I used to goof off in the car when we took road trips. Even after Sam was born, Josh and I were the perpetrators because Sam wasn't allowed to sit with us in the back seat.

This made him irate. "Why?" he wailed to our parents, who had him between them in the bench seat in the front. (This was in the early 80s, before people cared if their seat-belt-less children were launched through the windshield in the event of a crash.)

"Why do I have sit up here with you when Josh and Wendy get to be in the back seat having fun?"

"Because you always end up fighting with anyone you're sitting with," she replied.

When we were living in Israel, we were in the US during the summer of 1982 on home leave. I was 12, Josh was 10, and Sam was 5. We were heading to Cape Cod to spend time at the beach with family friends. To keep the peace, Josh and I were in the back, Sam was in the front. 

After we had a pit stop at a McDonald's, we took a stash of napkins and those big fat straws that McDonald's carries - perfect for launching spitballs. Soon they were flying around the car. Josh and I were laughing our asses off. My parents chucked. Sam complained because we were having fun in the back seat and he wasn't. 

After we tired of that, we had the bright idea to make ourselves sneeze by sticking the ends of our shoelaces in our nostrils. 

"Ah-CHOO!"

"God bless you!" my mother would exclaim.

"Ah-CHOO! Ah-CHOO!!" 

"Gesundheit! Bless you!"

Tittering from the back seat.

This went on for a while.

"Ah-CHOO!"

"Oh my goodness! Barry, I think the kids are sick! Should we take them to see a doctor?"

At this point we started laughing until we were crying. When she turned around to look, we showed her what we were doing. She rolled her eyes but seemed amused. Sam fumed that he wasn't in on the action.

My kids found this story to be delightful.

So when I saw the spitball on the mirror (and discovered more on the windshield and the dash), I cracked up.

Beforehand, the kids had apparently been talking to my mom and asking her how she thought I would react. 

"Kids, your mom is the best, and she has a great sense of humor. She'll think it's hysterical."

And she was right.