There are a bunch of good pics on my camera which I haven’t downloaded because they include a couple that aren’t so good–of some baby animals the kids found in the woodpile that looked a whole lot like newborn rats. I’m too squeamish to look at them.
So today’s post will be unillustrated. Next time.
I’m deep in the throes of sleep deprivation, and it feels so prolonged, so never-ending, that I’m feeling semi-defeated by it. Last night, I was cleaning up puke (another story, not so long; it wasn’t mine, it was a child’s), off and on till 1am, every hour or so till the source was declared completely empty, when finally I slept. Then was woken every hour till sometime after 3 when I managed to string two full hours of sleep together, then it was back to the broken stuff–in and out of bed, answering multiple calls. I’m a firm believer that to feel really well-rested, you need three consecutive uninterrupted hours of sleep. This has become so rare as to feel like a meaningless prescriptive. CJ still nurses twice a night, or more, and Fooey is often up once to use the bathroom, and last night … well, when the puking started I really thought I might suffer a nervous breakdown. This is the fourth time since December that someone (usually a solid family majority) has gotten “the barfing thing.” Look, I know that life with six people in one house is complicated. I accept this. Life generally is complicated. Bodies are vulnerable and imperfect. I get all of that. But I feel suddenly sapped of my ability to appreciate the fun. There is fun, right? Everything feels so damn serious. I’d like to appreciate, for example, getting dressed up and dancing. I’d like to rest, to let my mind slow down, to read a book all the way through, to stand still in the sunshine, to sit down.
To go and whine no more.
Yup. I got sick too. So did Fooey.
This was not part of the plan …
It’s funny how suddenly we can be thrown off track by unexpected events, even not particularly serious ones. Like, for example, a violent stomach bug. That strikes one’s husband at 3 in the morning. This is a man who rarely gets sick, and even when sick seems to soldier on relentlessly. Not so today. The dad’s in bed, and he’s joined by his sick daughter (Apple-Apple). The rest of us have spent the day quietly if not contemplatively. CJ is currently wiping the cupboards and back door window with mashed homemade dairy-free/wheat-free/egg-free teething biscuit. Mix that stuff with saliva and you could use it to grout tile. The baby monitor is on so I can keep an ear on my patients upstairs; they are chatting companionably and looked very cozy tucked in together. The remaining two household participants are seated at the counter. Albus is reading and eating popcorn, and Fooey is playing with matchbox cars and eating popcorn. She’s made the cars into characters.
Earlier in the afternoon, we went outside and played heartily in the snow in our front yard. There are pictures posted from that event on the parallel photo blog; link at right.
I am boiling water for pasta to go with (or not) the turkey broth that’s been brewing all day, laced with loads of garlic, pepper, and lime. CJ’s cookie has disappeared. I’m feeling vaguely nauseous myself and hoping for the best.
If all goes well, I’ll stick with my Sunday local food round-up; if not, you’ll know why.