June 10, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
Which translates to wet bed.
Which translates to flipping on lights, stripping the bed and child, making it as quickly as possible, getting said child back into bed and then praying he falls asleep.
When that doesn’t happen, Thomas goes on. He mumbles to himself. He finally dozes off around five.
Then I hear the bird chirp.
Next thing I know it’s six.
Time to get up. Except I wasn’t asleep.
Phone rings eight times before nine o’clock.
House looks like it was ransacked. It kinda was. My kids (read: husband) can’t find anything, so they tear it apart to find what they want.
I pick up a few things. Then a few more things. Then I go through every room and pick things up. And make beds. And do dishes. And…
The shoulder, it burns.
The neck, it throbs. Made an appointment for the chiro later.
Hello, Skelaxin! Hello, naptime.
It isn’t even noon.