The Boy Who Cried Poop

We went camping this weekend in Winnsboro with Kyle's family and had a great time. Perfect camping weather. The trip home took a little more than 2 hours longer than it should have, making it a grand total of 8 hours. A part of that reason is Friggs. We're headed south on 35 out of Dallas and Seth says "I have to poop!" in a very urgent voice. So we quickly get off and find a gas station and Kyle takes him in. Nothing. We get back in the car and head down the road. "I have to poop!" yells Friggs and we go through the same thing again. After much trying, he has results. Yay, we're done. Wrong. Ten minutes later: "Dad, dad, I have to poop again!" So Kyle, irritated by now, slows down and gets over and starts to exit. "Never mind, it went away!" Ten minutes later, "Dad, I have to poop, now!" By now Kyle is so frustrated, he says "How bad? Bad enough to poop on the side of the road, buddy? Because I am NOT getting off this highway again. Friggs agrees. I am thinking this is not a good idea because we are not out in the middle of the country, but hey, no one has asked me. Kyle pulls over next to an on ramp, so there is maybe a five foot scrap of grass with cars zooming by on both sides of us, pulls down Seth's pants and tells him to poop. Amazingly, Friggs could not poop under such conditions, I mean , could you? Good Grief. Ten minutes later, back on the road Friggs announces "I feel sick. My tummy hurts." I ask him if he needs to throw up. He says yes. Kyle feels that he is exaggerating and I have now planted the idea of throwing up in his head and he just needs to get over it. Kyle, not believing him at all, says, and I quote, "If you need to throw up, throw up in your hands." I gasp and say "Kyle Stringer, don't you say that! That is so mean." I suggest pulling over, a notion that is laughed at, so I find a walmart bag and hand it to Seth, thinking he was probably fine, but just in case. We told him to close his eyes and go to sleep. Not two minutes later Kyle and I are talking about something, and Friggs says, "here, Mom." I turn around and he hands me the bag half full of vomit! We never heard him or anything. I said, "Poor baby, I'm sooooo sorry. Kyle, how could you? We are now officially the worst parents in the world." Kyle, still frustrated, says, "oh yeah? Well, you know what happens to the little boy who cries poop? He vomits in a bag, that's what!" I think hearing himself say that broke the tension and we all started laughing about the whole thing. Friggs felt fine after that. Kyle has since repented of choosing the highway over his child's bodily functions.