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We just passed the most bizarre of nights, sore and aching still from a strenuous hike, nursing little children coming down rapidly with some kind of virus. The evening was a good one; we’d finished sorting through all the clothing in the kids’ room and setting back to rights. It was finally neat as a pin, no small feet for a room roughly 12 x 12 holding four children and thier belongings while we remodel the conjoining room. It was a little odd that all volunteered to get into jammies by 7, odder still that they were all asleep by 7:30, but hungry for some down time alone, we certainly didn’t argue! I jerry-rigged my loaded nacho recipe to accomodate for my broken oven and we settled down to a big plate of them watching Ugly Betty online, then reading, and deciding on sleep by 10. “Nice and early” thought I.

The dog was curled up on the floor next to my side of the bed. This is his usual position and not a problem except that he soon made it very clear that his delicate intestines were being ripped by some kind of potent gas issue. Not long after, Daddy, to my left, joined in. I was stuck in between, being pummelled by “SBD’s” every few minutes. I grumbled. I moaned. I opened a window to the 30 degree night. I buried my head in the covers. After an hour I couldn’t take it anymore: I slugged David to get up and take the dog outside to see if he needed to go.  It was 11.

After he got back we got all situated again to snuggle in for a night that still had a lot going for it. Sleep by 11 can still mean “up on time” in the morning. But the pit stop didn’t help and the two of them were back at it in short order. I only let 15 mintues pass this time, near tears it was so bad and I’m NOT kidding. The clouds were almost palpable.

“Kennel the dog!!” I screeched. Muttering and mumbling in his sleep David got up to put Piper in his crate down in the kitchen. The biggest problem with this? The dog likes to be at our side pretty much 24/7. He commenced a high pitched whine punctuated with sharp barks.

The sweet sleeping children, three of them with low-grade fevers started to toss and turn. I creeped, ankles and muscels tightened and protesting, down the stairs to throw a blanket over the crate and to yell, “HUSH” at the dog.  By the time I crawled back beneath the covers, visitor number one was at my bedside, hovering over me in the dark.

“Mommy, my head hurts. I need Tylonol.”

Another trip downstairs in slo-mo to retrieve one and a cup of ice water. Tuck in the boy, reassure him that his head is not about to explode, and go crawl back in bed. Yell HUSH as the dog. Slug David who is now snoring loudly.

I debated the couch. But the dog would still want to be by my side, no doubt gassing my air just the same, and the soon-to-rise baby would not enjoy the close and sloping surface of the futon. I slugged David again and told him to roll over. Visitor number two was hovering over my bedside when I turned back to my side.

“Mommy, my head hurts. I need Tylonol.” This one’s fever was higher than the last. I crawled back downstairs to get him a dose and cup of water and reassurred her too that her head was not about to explode upon the pillow.

It was 12. Baby came in panting, ready to nurse. The dog continued in 15 mintute intervals. Visitor number 3 came in, declaring his intent to go medicate himself. “Okay” I mumbled. Baby whined for “side”, which means “switch”. It was 1:30.

At two David got up again to take the dog outside and this time left him out of the crate. At three we had another visitor wanting another dose and reassurrance. At four baby whinned because I was trying tell him “no” to a request for more. At five I had a nightmare about running a red light and getting a ticket from a mean cop. At six David was up. At seven I was too, trying to hide from the light while he rummaged for clean pants.

It’s another pot of coffee today and a late start to the day while we watch the rain clouds creep in.  The dog is all perk and pep, the children energetic enough to bicker. What else is there to do?

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