It’s a sick world here

It all started with just a little teething.  (Doesn’t everything start with a little teething?  No, wait.  It usually starts in Tijuana, which is why I will never go there again.)  It started with just a little off-ness.  A little warmer than usual  after a nap.  A need to snuggle.  A casual conversation that brought my mom over so I could pick up Evan from school on Friday without taking Aidan.  By the time I got home, Aidan was miserable.  Aidan’s first real illness.  And life was just beginning to suck.

So I scrapped dinner for something quick and easy and done with a toddler on the hip.  I sent the boys off with their father so I could focus on Aidan.  And the night could only get worse.  Aidan was miserable.  He was up most of the night.  And not the slightly exaggerated “most of the night,” but at least 30 minutes of every hour.  There was nothing I could do.  Hand him his pacifier.  Give him his mama shirt.  Give him his bear.  Put on the music box.  Pat his bottom.  Say soothing words.  Not a happy boy.  And I kept from being miserable by staying up all night, not sleeping.  (Though the company I kept was probably had more to do with my disposition.)  By 5am, Aidan had finally fallen to sleep.  At 6am, Evan joined me in bed.  At 7am, Sean joined us in the bed.  By 8am, I could no longer pretend to sleep.

Saturday wasn’t too bad.  The day moved at a slower pace; the to-do list wasn’t completely conquered.  It was just as well.  I was fine as long as I was on my feet.  Sunday, I was destroyed.  Apparently one can go so long before lack of sleep catches up to that person.  I always thought I would have a clear warning with my slip into discussing penguins when I’m beyond tired.  Instead I could feel myself swaying on my feet as I dashed from baking cupcakes, to carrying Aidan, to making sure Sean was working on his mazes, to helping Evan do his homework, to making frosting, to making lunch, to- huh, I think the room is a little off kilter.  No one tell the Wally; she had lectured me the night before, starting with “Jesus, Fae,” which, when I think about it, is how all the lectures start that I receive.

The weekend came to a close.  I did nap.  We got half of what needed to be done, done.  Which is to say, we got everything that needed to be done done. 

So Monday I was resolved to be a hurricane and lay to waste the rest of the to-do list.  The morning was action packed.  Then I picked up Sean, whose teacher told me that he had cried twice that day.  We both went “huh” and looked at a very subdued Sean walking around in a circle.  This can’t be good.

At home, Sean cried when I cut his Sith Lord sandwich.  Fine, what harm is there to make a new one.  Then he stared at it.  I put Aidan to bed, who had used his sandwich like a car.  I received my mom’s call.  Ten minutes later, I found Sean still staring at his sandwich.  I ran back upstairs grabbed our Star Wars collection of books and put them on my bed.  I ended up carrying Sean to his bed, though he insisted he didn’t need to nap, he needed to play Lego Star Wars.  And I needed a weekend away.  We can’t always get what we want.

I read him his books, comparing one alien character to another.  As I droned on, I found myself falling asleep, dropping the book, and Sean protested he needed to be playing Leo Star Wars . . . .

Two hours passed with his head resting on my thigh.  I looked at the clock, much the same way I did Sunday.  (Huh, the boys must have played with my clock; it can’t be that late.  I’ll look on the- Crap, it is that late!)  You could point out I needed the sleep and that I’m staying up way too late and I should act more responsibly and not spend half my night talking.  You could, but I wouldn’t.  Sean looked up at me, and I suggested Lego Star Wars before we got Evan.

As the night progressed, Sean took a nose dive.  He just sat on the couch.  That’s it.  He didn’t play.  He didn’t eat.  He didn’t yell at Aidan.  Well, as long as Aidan didn’t wiggle over him.  Then I noticed Evan drooping.  Ah, crap.  By the time I got Aidan down, the older boys were feverish.  I put them into bed early, reading to them for twice the usual length.  I waited for another night of sleeplessness.

All that came was a nightmare from Evan who ran down the hall, jumped into  my bed, threw the covers over his head.  Um, ok.

This morning the boys have no fevers, but they are tired.  So very tired.  It’s going to be a long DVD day.  And I really want that weekend away.

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