It’s just another one of those crazy days. Neko woke me up this morning at about four o’clock. Nice. I had to toss her out of the room when she jumped up onto Calvin’s bed which, over the baby monitor, sounded to me like an earthquake. She was angling to get in and snuggle with him or perhaps to sleep on his face. I managed to fall back to sleep for a spell until Calvin woke me before six with his happy shrieks.
Heading downstairs in a fuzzy pre-coffee daze, I stepped gingerly over all of the area rugs that Neko, in her nighttime mania, had balled up into woolen waves on the slick hardwood floor. I nearly stepped on her in the kitchen because—all stretched out like the Queen of Sheba—she never moves out of the way. “Wabbit,” I said to her, “your guts are gonna come out of your mouth sometime if you’re not careful,” just like Michael likes to say.
Rudy joined us, I fed the "guys," warmed yesterday’s coffee, set out Calvin’s medicines and prepared his breakfast. Calvin’s shrieks practically broke my eardrums, the baby monitor hanging next to my ear from a ribbon around my head. With Neko around I can’t carry the monitor in my hand or she’ll swipe at the ribbon like she did the other day, practically mortally wounding me, her sharp claws embedded in my thigh. “Wabbit, you’re a pain in the neck ... lucky for you you’re cute.” I fumbled with Calvin’s meds and they spilled on the floor. Hurriedly, I gathered them up ... all but one—the benzodiazepine—half-wishing Neko would find it and take the chill pill she so desperately needs. Alas, I found it and set it aside for Calvin with his seven other anticonvulsant tablets.
Back upstairs I got Calvin out of bed. He greeted me with his world famous, heart-melting smile. I plopped him onto the changing table where he writhed and giggled as I changed his diaper, helped him into his robe and put on his slippers. Holding his hand we walked over to turn the light off. His balance was awful ... terrible ... pathetic. What the hell? I thought. I know I didn’t give him the wrong medicine at dinner. I wonder if he had a seizure in the middle of the night. We continued down the hallway and he balked then careened off balance. I started to worry. We reached the top of the stairs where he paused. Suspecting a seizure I peered at his face. Nothing. Then I looked down and saw that I’d forgotten to pull his pajama bottoms up! Yep. That was the problem. No crisis; just a mom having a total brain fart of a morning.
Up went the pajamas, down the stairs went Calvin, all by himself with a smile on his face, drooling and trying to bite the banister most of the way. At the landing, Neko managed again to avoid having her guts come out of her mouth. Rudy got to lick the yogurt container. Mama got her much-needed coffee fix. Daddy called from away to tell us he missed us and loved us. Calvin got off to school pretty much without a hitch, a big smile on his face with every wobbly, pigeon-toed step toward his school bus where Rudy was busy lunging for dog treats tossed out the door by Calvin’s bus driver. Happily, I thought, it’s just another one of those crazy days.
Heading downstairs in a fuzzy pre-coffee daze, I stepped gingerly over all of the area rugs that Neko, in her nighttime mania, had balled up into woolen waves on the slick hardwood floor. I nearly stepped on her in the kitchen because—all stretched out like the Queen of Sheba—she never moves out of the way. “Wabbit,” I said to her, “your guts are gonna come out of your mouth sometime if you’re not careful,” just like Michael likes to say.
Rudy joined us, I fed the "guys," warmed yesterday’s coffee, set out Calvin’s medicines and prepared his breakfast. Calvin’s shrieks practically broke my eardrums, the baby monitor hanging next to my ear from a ribbon around my head. With Neko around I can’t carry the monitor in my hand or she’ll swipe at the ribbon like she did the other day, practically mortally wounding me, her sharp claws embedded in my thigh. “Wabbit, you’re a pain in the neck ... lucky for you you’re cute.” I fumbled with Calvin’s meds and they spilled on the floor. Hurriedly, I gathered them up ... all but one—the benzodiazepine—half-wishing Neko would find it and take the chill pill she so desperately needs. Alas, I found it and set it aside for Calvin with his seven other anticonvulsant tablets.
Back upstairs I got Calvin out of bed. He greeted me with his world famous, heart-melting smile. I plopped him onto the changing table where he writhed and giggled as I changed his diaper, helped him into his robe and put on his slippers. Holding his hand we walked over to turn the light off. His balance was awful ... terrible ... pathetic. What the hell? I thought. I know I didn’t give him the wrong medicine at dinner. I wonder if he had a seizure in the middle of the night. We continued down the hallway and he balked then careened off balance. I started to worry. We reached the top of the stairs where he paused. Suspecting a seizure I peered at his face. Nothing. Then I looked down and saw that I’d forgotten to pull his pajama bottoms up! Yep. That was the problem. No crisis; just a mom having a total brain fart of a morning.
Up went the pajamas, down the stairs went Calvin, all by himself with a smile on his face, drooling and trying to bite the banister most of the way. At the landing, Neko managed again to avoid having her guts come out of her mouth. Rudy got to lick the yogurt container. Mama got her much-needed coffee fix. Daddy called from away to tell us he missed us and loved us. Calvin got off to school pretty much without a hitch, a big smile on his face with every wobbly, pigeon-toed step toward his school bus where Rudy was busy lunging for dog treats tossed out the door by Calvin’s bus driver. Happily, I thought, it’s just another one of those crazy days.
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| Neko |
Sounds like a good start to the day after all. I'm so glad for you all.
ReplyDeleteRR Julia