A tablecloth/beanbag/robe-draped set of boys (spring 2005)
It's 1 am. Someone is crying. In my foggy state, I try to decipher the voice. Star is still working on his laptop. He answers the call. The crying stops temporarily.
1:45am A little coughing body is trying to get in bed with me. She's bouncing. "Do you need to use the potty Millie?" I carry her into the bathroom. After tucking her in again, retrieving a drink, and setting the CD to song #1 again, I climb back in my bed.
2am. The monitor lights up with Max-Os's cries. I wait. Will he work through it on his own?
2:23am Loud thump, running and sobbing...gagging. Sam is heading to the bathroom. He kneels in front of the toilet, but has already lost most of his dinner on Zack's bottom bunk. And in the hallway.
I go downstairs for carpet cleaner. We create a makeshift bed in the master bathroom. I return downstairs and google: stomach flu and vomit.
2:40am I try to persuade Sam to take a Tylenol. He's forehead is so hot. He's reluctant --it's going to take some convincing.
2:53am I climb back in bed, position my pillows, and snuggle down deep.
3:01am Millie is at my ear. Her music has ended and she needs some medicine. I carry her back to Abbie's bed and pray that my newly-wheelchair-bound child will not awake. Getting her chair into the bathroom is going to be tricky with Sam's bed in there.
3:22am What is that moaning? Oh yeah. "Sam...you're alright," I call. His moans grow louder. I go in and tickle his back. "I just want you to be by me, Mom."
3:34am I gather pillows and quilt. My walk-in closet becomes my new sleeping quarters. Sam's groaning dies down.
4:50am Someone is crying. I pray Star will hear him.
4:57am Nope (those darned earplugs).
5:03am I head down the hall with a warm bottle. Poor baby. Max's little face surfaces above the crib bumper pads. He begins kicking and laughing in relief. After wiping is runny nosed face, we sit in the squeaky rocker and sing. He drinks slowly--reveling in the "quality" time together.
5:36am I retrieve my pillows from the closet, tiptoe, un-breathing, past Sam.
6:00am Star's alarm goes off. I try to figure out what day it is. I feel disoriented.
Oh, of course -- it's Mother's Day. Time to get ready for church.
8 comments:
oh stef, how horrible! and why is abbie in a wheelchair? foot surgery? we missed you guys and the wells backyard holiday dinner yesterday. hope you're having a nap!!
anita
are you serious!!! I hope you got a nap that day. Happy stinkin mothers day to you huh? Tell Star to take those darn ear plugs out!
Dang! This is the kind of night we're told we'll laugh at later...much, much later. Hope Sunday night didn't resemble Saturday in the least.
Stefanie Wells Hall.
In a way only one mother can say to another I am so so sorry. You are such a fantastic mother.
And----Why did you go to church?
I didn't end up going to church. Sam wasn't doing well.
Millie came home and said with a sad expression, "Mama we sang you a song today up on the stand, but you weren't there."
stef, this is just terrible. and lovely. that you are someone they can trust is just the best thing you could be. and i know this is going to sound wrong, but what better way to display the better qualities of your own motherhood than putting them to the test like that? do we not treasure most the people and things that would-- and do-- go to hell and back for us?
that's a lucky bunch of kids.
d'oh! that was jed! don't give the credit to jayne for that insightful comment? sure she may have thought it before i did, but i wrote it!
Uhhgg.The irony of your next post--listing what you got for mothers day--is just too great after a night like this. Devastating. Hilarious. Beautiful.
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