That's What I Get For Asking...
Originally posted July 27, 2007
Yeah, I hadda open my mouth and wonder what I was supposed to do with myself now that Harry Potter is collecting dust. I can never leave well enough alone. You'd think I'd've learned by now, eh?
Now, where to start...
How 'bout 11:30 last night? When Sarah Grace fell out of her bed. The first time. Then again at about 12:15. This is abnormal, since she has slept in a twin size bed for about nine months now. But last night, two thumps, two sets of cries, one bruised ear. We had headed to bed about 9:30 last night, completely wiped out. Even through my sweet slumber, though, I heard the thumps.
Weird how that works. It's like your brain or ears are anticipating your child falling out of bed. I hear the thud every time. I know they have fallen, and I can usually guess who before the inevitable startled cry that issues forth. In my 'sleep'. What is that about? Joshua, my beloved hero, takes the night time cries. I spook easily, so he does the night time happenings. Then...
Peace. Silence. Sweet sleep. Except for the monstrous beast that had the audacity to woof at our window. WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! The deep, resonant woof that lets you know this ain't an ankle biter yapping to be let in someone's house. Oh, noooo, this was a large dog. And he didn't seem deterred at all when I rapped at the window. There were less than 5 feet between Doggy and my hand knocking on that window, and he bowed up like he was planning on coming right through the window to get me.
Up comes the hero again. On go our robes, and we start looking for 'weapons' to use against this mad beast, who had apparently cornered something in the bushes just below our bedroom window. I started out the front door, armed with a broom.
Sounds like a cartoon, doesn't it? Me in my bathrobe sporting a broom and a nasty case of bed head tramping out the front door to 'git that dawg'. My wise husband held me back. He suggested we go out the back door so as to have a fence between us and the Doggy's teeth. Smart man, that one.
Doggy seemed interested in the two silly humans who were standing on the other side of the fence. I personally think Doggy could have cleared that fence. And he was still barking and growling. Rabid beast. (If your bad at reading between the lines, let me just clarify that I am not a dog fan. Especially dogs that are not in their own yard at 1 am.) We stood there, probably taunting it more than inspiring it to leave, for several minutes before Joshua remembered his sling shot. This may sound silly, but
I had visions of David and Goliath.
I had visions of Kujo.
I stepped back inside to grab a shotgun, so if this mutt did attack my husband, at least I could make enough noise to wake the neighbors, if not scare Doggy off. As we stood there prepping to defend our home, Doggy decided we weren't worth the trouble and that the thing in the bush could die another day. He trotted off down the road.
Sweet little Doggy. Now he decides to respect our sleep. Now he decides to go home. Now that my adrenaline is pumping 90 to nothing. We came back in the house and crawled up into the bed.
And I lay there.
I couldn't breath. My head was stuffy and my nose was runny. Why does it work that way? How can a nose be so runny while the head feels like it is clogged with cotton? I journeyed to the bathroom (5 feet away from my side of the bed) to find some decongestant. 3 am, mind you. I found some Tylenol Cold PM. Tells you how exhausted I had to be. I took a PM medication at 3am.
I could breath and lay down and sleep. I was happy. The next thing I really remember was Joshua's alarm clock going off. Then I remember talking to him. Actually, I don't remember that. But he says I did. The next thing I remember all on my own, it was 7 am, and the kids were awake and in the living room. Were they stayed tuned into whatever PBS showed for nearly two and a half hours while Mommy tried to emerge from her drug induced stupor.
But wait! There is more. I did get up! I fed the kids breakfast, or brunch, since it was 9:30. I managed to get everyone dressed and loaded into the truck and we struck out for the furniture store that was having a great sale on mattress sets, where we got a full size bed for the girls newly decorated room. Then we went on out to my Mom's house to get Elizabeth's crib. All this without incident.
At Mom's house, the first thing the kids wanted to do was play pool. The pool table is on the basement level, next to the laundry room and, therefore, a natural collector of Mom's folded laundry. As I moved everything off the pool table, the kids were already rolling the balls towards holes. This is how they play pool. Hey, they'll be 2 & 3 next month. What more do you want from them? Anyway, I was trotting back up the steps when I looked down at them, and then I saw IT. The spider. As big as my hand, no kidding.
Now, I am prone to exaggerate when I am talking about the size of a spider. This time, however, I am not exaggerating. It. Was. As. Big. As. My. Hand. My hands are not small. I am 5 foot 7 inches, so imagine hands to fit that size body. Then imagine a spider the size of that hand. And there you have it, friends. IT.
One more crucial piece of information you need to know about me: I detest spiders and am afraid of them. Any size, any kind, p-e-t-r-i-f-i-e-d. Got that? Skeert to death.
I shot back down the steps, grabbed a kid under each arm, and bolted back up the steps, my poor kids crying to 'pway pool'. We got to the top of the steps, I slammed the door closed, and only then did I tell my confused children what was going on. They didn't get it. All they understood was that Mommy said they could play pool, then she hauled them away from the table. I sidetracked them by telling them I would make them some lunch and they headed outside. (Certainly there could be no spiders out there! They were all inside hiding under IT.) Really, I was waiting for my Mommy to get home so she could blast IT and get rid of the body. Had IT been in my house, I would have packed up my kids, gone somewhere else, called my realtor and told her to put the house on the market now.
But that's just me.
I was about halfway through making peanut butter sandwiches for everyone when my Grandmother came inside carrying Elizabeth and told me (all too calmly) that Thomas was rolling down the driveway.
You need some explanation here. My parents house sits on a hill and their driveway is a steep grade down to the road where the residential traffic cannot see the entrance coming from one direction. We are all terrified of the kids finding out the hard way that things roll down hill easily.
So, I dashed out, and there was my Thomas, in a Flintsone's car (cozy coup) a little over half way down the drive. I was running in my flip flops, waiting to flop on my face, towards him as fast as I could. The kid was gripping the concrete with his toes, tears streaming down his face, crying "pwease, pwease". My Mommy's heart was breaking for him, and my head was quickly sending up prayers of thanks that he had managed to brake mingled with prayers of 'Please don't let him slide any further down!" I got to him, grabbed the car and towed my little man to safety. And my heart hurts just thinking about it.
As I was walking back inside after calming my poor boy, I saw what was about to happen, and could only watch, being too far away to help. Sarah Grace started falling down the steps leading into the yard. Why did I name that child Grace? It was like sentencing her to a life of bruises. I got to her, kissed the bumps, was grateful for no blood, and soothed her tears. And figured my blood pressure was Kilimanjaro high.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I kept a check on IT, to make sure he didn't come lumbering up the steps to eat us all, finished the lunch stuff, and made a bottle for Elizabeth. I don't even think I managed to say Hi to my Mom. I just sent her off down the stairs to deal with IT. And she did.
We expect for Mommy's to be hero's to their toddlers. Well, folks, my Mommy is still my hero. She took care of IT, trashed his remains, managed to eat her food, say hi to the kids, get spit up on by Elizabeth, and scuttle back off to work. All in a day's work for Super Mom.
Thanks, Mom. Your awesome!
The kids and I loaded back up into the truck, crib and new bed in tow, drove back to Huntsville, and they are now sleeping soundly. That brings you up to the minute with us.
I will think again before I ask the question, 'Now What?'. In fact, I may never utter that phrase again.