Early this week, in the middle of the night, Nicholas woke me up with his wailing. He’s been having epic nosebleeds again lately, so of course I rocketed out of bed and tore across the hallway, but it soon became clear there was no blood on him. “What’s the matter, honey?” I asked.
“I jus’ want a…BAGEL,” he sobbed.
“Oh,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. What I wouldn’t give to have a bad dream involving nothing more than frustrated Bagel Desire! “You can have a bagel for breakfast, honey, but right now it’s time to sleep.”
“Okay,” he whimpered, and conked right back out.
Then there’s the thrice-daily mealtime fun. Nicholas sits and plays with his belly button, knocks his milk over, basically does anything to avoid eating his meal (there’s a reason he’s been in the 25th percentile on growth his entire life), and spends his time instead yelling at his sister to EAT YOUR FOOD JUWEANNA. Hypocrisy, thy name is…oh, never mind.
Yesterday morning, I heard motion in another room as I was getting dressed. “Nicholas, you awake?” I called.
“No, I jus’ asweep,” he said.
On Monday this week, we had Julianna evaluated for assistive technology. At Nicholas’s naptime. It was torture for that boy to sit here and watch her play with an iPad to choose real toys off the shelf to play with. They took mercy on him and gave him a Cookie Monster toy to play with, which kept him amused for a while, but when Julianna pulled out the Wiggles electric guitar, it was very nearly too much for him.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the wheelchair ramp wall, I was trying to nurse the baby to sleep while staying awake myself. Michael was desperate for sleep–hadn’t had a good nap all day. Somewhere in my half-trance, they finished with Julianna and invited Nicolas to play. I dragged myself back from my near-catatonic state and went to put the sleeping baby in his seat. At the very moment of greatest danger for waking, Nicholas saw me return and leaped up with the guitar. “LOOK MOMMY!” he shouted….and tripped. And flung the guitar at the baby’s head.
But hey, the other kids have their comic strip moments, too. Like when Julianna lay on the floor all morning, whimpering pathetically and patting her tummy to say it hurt. “Do you need to throw up?” I asked anxiously; she made her “no” noise. “Are you hungry?” YAH. More attempts to show herself cruelly starved by mommy who won’t let her eat till she’s dressed. Whimper. Quiver. Pat tummy. “Maybe,” I said unsympathetically, “it’s because you REFUSED TO EAT DINNER last night!”
And then there’s yesterday’s story about Alex. ‘Nuff said.
Christian brought me this comic strip out of the Sunday paper last week (as you can perhaps see, it now holds a place of honor on my refrigerator door):
That sealed it: my life is DEFINITELY a comic strip.
(***Incidentally–I also published a fiction prompt today, if you’re interested.***)