Porcelain Night Stalking

*** I found this post under my draft section.  It was written in the middle of last month.  I don't know why I didn't just post it.  I was probably waiting on pictures... but I don't have any, so I am baffled.  At any rate, this was written last month.  We are all doing fantastically right now.***

Last night Jeffrey and I went to bed early.  And by early I mean nine o'clock.

I love going to bed early.  Who knew I am a morning person?  I fought loving mornings all growing up.  Because as a teen, you are supposed to be a night owl and hate mornings, right?

Peer pressure.  What are you going to do?

At any rate, I have been going to the gym every morning, so going to bed early is sort of a necessity.

It was nice while it lasted, however.

I woke up to the sound of my door opening, two little heads breathing into my face, peering through the dark, fingers feeling around my face, accidentally going into my eyes and up my nose.  I sighed and put out my arms, encircling Keith around the waist and holding Faye's hand.

"Mom, Faye is scared."  Keith said.

I hoisted her up onto the bed, and felt her skin was cold.  She must have wriggled out of her blankets.  This is the bad part of going to bed early.  I don't check on the kids right before I go to bed because quite frankly, I go to bed right after they do.  Their bedtime is 7:30.  Mine is 9.  Usually by the time they stop coming out of their room for another drink, a noise heard upstairs, a potty break, one last hug, can't find a stuffed animal, etc, it is nearly 8:30.  I don't get to go in late at night and pull the blankets up around their necks and give them a fairy kiss.  That is what I imagine they dream it is.  When their bodies are suddenly warmer, and they feel a slight kiss on their cheeks in their sleep, I like to think they think it is fairies.  Or leprechauns.  Keith thinks everything mysterious is leprechauns.  When he can't find something he blames it on the leprechauns and wants to know why they steal his things.

As I snuggled her under the blankets between Jeffrey and me, I turned to Keith, my arm still around him.

"Why is she scared, sweetie?"  I asked.

"Because I threw up all over my bed and all over the radio."

He always states alarming things very matter of factly.

I asked him how he felt, and he said much better, and climbed in on the other side of me.  I was a Mommy sandwich.  Keith told me that is his favorite kind of sandwich.  When he and Faye are snuggling me, and I am squooshed in the middle, we become a Mommy sandwich.  Yum!  It is my favorite, as well.

We lay in the dark for a while.  Keith eventually fell asleep.  He loves to sleep with us, and it is a rare treat when we let him.  Faye on the other hand only sleeps on her own.  She is a bed hog.  She doesn't like to share when she is sleeping.  So she lay quietly, offering different parts of her body to be stroked.  Pulling up her shirt for her tummy, thrusting and arm or leg into my face when she wanted one of those stroked, pulling my hand down on her face when it was time for the face and neck.  After that went on for a while, I knew I would have to eventually get up and clean up the mess, and sooner would be better than later.  Besides, if I wanted to go to the gym this morning, I would need my sleep.

I wriggled out of the Mommy sandwich, and Faye instantly protested.  Which woke Keith up.  Which woke Jeffrey up.  I hurried out of the room while Jeffrey soothed them, and took a deep breath, bracing myself for the job ahead of me.

I don't do well with vomit.  I think I have said that before.

I am good with any other kind of mess, but vomit and I do not get along.  Something about it always triggers my gag reflex, and I end up cleaning up more and more vomit.  Not just from the kids.  I try not to think about it, but that does me no good, either.  The smell and the texture of it are too much for me.

Last night it was all down the wall, on his bed and on Faye's bed.  They have bunk beds.  I went into the bathroom and armed myself with a bucket, vinegar and a rag, then set to work.

Yeah, I didn't do well.

As I cleaned, I could hear the kids playing in our bed.

"Faye, go to sleep." Keith said.

"Where's Mommy!  I need my Mommy!" She retorted.

"She is cleaning up your room so you will have a clean place to sleep." Jeffrey explained.

"Mommy, are you cleaning my bed?  Mommy?  Can I sleep on it yet?  Mommy?" she called to me.

Eventually I got it all cleaned up.  As I worked, Jeffrey came in to help me.  He held the mattresses and the boards under the mattresses up so I could get it where it had seeped under.  In the hallway, the kids played. I wasn't paying attention to them, because I was concentrating on not having to clean up my own mess.  Suddenly, I heard Faye begin to cry.  She was tired.  She doesn't cope well when she is tired.  Keith giggled and said "You're cute, Faye."

And then it wasn't hard anymore.

I mean, I still didn't want to clean it up.  I still wanted to be asleep.  I still had to fight to keep it down.  But the happiness and easiness of Keith changed everything.  He makes me laugh at the strangest moments.  Everything I was doing was no longer a drudgery, and I smiled as I sprayed febreeze through out their room, and on all cloth like surfaces.

Jeffrey's mother came down and offered to help, and I laughed.  I am sure we looked horrible.  Curly hair is awesome when I have 30 seconds to tame it.  Curly hair is horrendous upon first waking up.  It goes frizzy, and does some very interesting things.  Jeffrey stood there in his jammies looking dazed (he isn't a good wake up in the night kind of person, either) and holding the mattresses up while I sprayed like a mad woman, sniffing and spraying.  The kids were performing acrobatics in the hallway, one giggling, one part screaming, part whimpering and part giggling as well.  My mother in law shrugged her shoulders and went back to bed.

If only she had come down and offered to help an hour before.

We got their bedding thrown into the washer, their teeth brushed, and them both tucked back into beds.  Within minutes they were both asleep.

Jeffrey was  wonderful.  He offered to clean up the radio so I could go back to bed.  I took him up on his offer.  I quickly fell back to sleep.  I don't remember him even coming into the room.

But then...

For the second time last night, my eyes flew open.

I jumped out of bed, grabbed my robe and made a mad dash for the bathroom.

The sick feeling I had had while cleaning up the kids room had finally made its way up.

Again and again I ran from my nice cozy bed, crawling out from Jeffrey's warm arms and rushing to the cold hard porcelain.  I felt like a stalker, always returning to the scene of the crime.

I am sick.

Morning came, and Keith is fine.  He has not been eating as much as usual, but could put the energizer bunny out of business with all his bouncing around, laughing and whirlwind of movement.

I, on the other hand, have spent the whole day in bed.  Around 11:30 the kids came into my room and plopped down on the bed with me.  They were still in their jammies.  We turned on the TV and again made a Mommy sandwich.

Today is one of those times when I am so grateful to be living with my in laws.  When sick, I can take the time to get well, and I don't have to worry about the kids so much.

After an hour of electronic babysitting, I decided to get up.  I showered, got everyone dressed and lunched, then we went outside.

Why am I always sick on these glorious spring days?  It was heavenly out there!  I pulled out the bikes and watched as the kids rode them down the sidewalk.  I wished I felt better so I could run after them.  Frolicking in the sun always makes me happy.  I did feel a little better, but soon this darn bug got the better of me and I decided it was bedtime for all.

Currently, they are upstairs jumping on Grandma's bed.  I am making plans for tonight.  I was mad that I had to miss going to the gym.  I am hoping to feel well enough at 8:00 tonight to go.  Gym time is my only me time, and I have begun to guard it like the royal jewels.


Susan Anderson said…
Stomach flu is a curse.

Em said…
i don't do puke. i can do poo. but i can't do puke. the sour smell and texture i just cna't do.
Right now I feel under the weather, and I am completely jealous of your mommy sandwich. I wish I could get my best cuddlers home from school right now and get me one of those.

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