A couple of weeks ago we drove up to northwestern Oklahoma to visit my older brother and his family and help them begin the project of adding onto their house. My nephew, David is four years old and they're expecting a baby girl in just a few weeks. Ben was kind of at a standstill on our new cabin (block being laid), so we told Daniel and Rachel we would head that way, stay a week or so, and turn Ben loose on the project.
So we loaded kids, luggage, scaffold, ladders, guns, books, snacks, drinks and various other paraphernalia into the big black Chevy Duramax, hooked onto the tool trailer, and rumbled away. We did not bring the dogs. Or the kitchen sink. Those are about the only things we left. I have no idea why we take so much stuff when we travel. Maybe because it fits. Perhaps we should scale down our vehicle and just drive a VW Bug. Then we could only travel with a toothbrush, and maybe the children. Seems like it would be much more simple. I'll talk to Ben about it, but I don't think it will go over well.
So we drove along and I read Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile aloud to Ben. The children were remarkably quiet and good, and the trip was quite pleasant, except for the fact that my left eye kept feeling irritated, like there was something in it. Well, technically there was something in it. My contact lens. But this was something else. I kept rubbing and looking at it, but didn't think much of it. I was much more interested in learning who committed the horrific murder on the Nile. I'm not going to tell you. Read the book.
We arrived in Enid around 8:30 that evening, and after all the hellos and hugs and happy-to-see-yous, we all went to bed. Of course all four of us were sleeping on one room, which is totally fine with us because we often end up that way at home anyway. It actually quite amazing how comfortable it can actually be to sleep with 4 people in a Queen bed. Maybe it isn't actually comfortable. Maybe I'm just so tired that I'm basically passed out.
So we settled in for the night, Ben and me in the bed, Patience on a comfy pallet on the floor, and Benaiah in the crib that Rachel already had set up in preparation for their baby. Things were going smoothly. We were all sleeping. Why did I think the whole night would actually stay so blissfully peaceful?
Sometime in the middle of the night Benaiah started to fuss. Not unusual. He still wakes up to eat at night. What was unusual was that I couldn't open my eyes. I tried, but I couldn't. I felt of them and realized they were both completely crusted over with grossness and glued shut. I literally could not pry them open. What should I do? Try to feel my way to the bathroom and open them? Try and get Benaiah? I opted to head to the bathroom, but in the process of groping my way blindly to the door I stepped on what I strongly believed to be Patience's head. She must have rolled off her pallet. I retreated to the bed. Benaiah was getting pretty worked up at this point, so I felt my way to the crib, sat down on the bed and tried to nurse him.
All this time Ben hadn't moved. I wondered if he was really asleep or faking it. My guess would be faking it because no one can sleep with a baby crying and someone stumbling around, running into things.
I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Babe?" I whispered loudly.
He mumbled something that sounded like, "what."
"Well, my eyes are glued shut and I"m trying to nurse Benaiah and Patience is in the middle of the floor."
Silence.
"Babe?" I whispered a little louder.
He sighed deeply. "Is there something you want me to do?"
Actually, yes, I thought. Get Patience off the floor. Go get me washcloth to soak my eyes open. Hold Benaiah so I can get myself a washcloth to soak my eyes open. Take your pick. There's plenty to do.
What I said was, "Could you go get me a wet washcloth so I can try to soak my eyes open?"
He sighed deeply again, climbed out of bed, and headed to bathroom. I warned him about Patience, just in time, and he narrowly missed stepping on her. I think. I couldn't really see since my eyes were stuck shut.
Roughly two seconds later he returned and tossed a wet washcloth on my lap. It was cold.
"Its cold." I whispered.
He sighed deeply. Again. I was about to be done with the deep sighing.
He said, "I didn't want to wake David up making noise in the bathroom, so I was trying to hurry."
And he promptly rolled over and went back to sleep while I attempted to peel my eyes open using an very unpleasantly cold wet washcloth on my face and nursing an over sized, wiggling infant at the same time.
Here's the deal. I had momentarily forgotten that my husband is and absolute ogre when he gets woken up at night. During the day he's one of the nicest people you will ever meet. But he loves his sleep. He loves it very much. And he does not like it to be interrupted. Its sort of a Jekyll and Hyde scenario. Or maybe he's part were-wolf, only instead of turning into a wold at night he just turns into a mean person. Yeah, and we have two small children. Makes for some interesting nights.
Anyway, I had momentarily forgotten all this, and when I asked him to get me a washcloth for I guess I had these visions of him gently, tenderly and lovingly holding a warm, steamy cloth to my eyes and wiping away my blindness and with it all my fears of the night.
Well, those rose-colored glasses came off. They came off in the form of crusty eye goop, scraped off with a cold rag. I blame myself entirely. I forgot that he's part were-wolf. What can I say? The guy loves his sleep. I don't really blame him. Sleep is nice. I wish I could get some. I haven't had a full night's sleep in 3 years.
Needless to the say, the next morning Rachel and I went straight to the walk-in clinic, where I got some nice little drops to treat pink-eye.
Let's see, that was Thursday. On Friday night and Saturday night I had a terrible sore throat, so I was up roaming the house, looking for Tylenol, Ibuprofen, anything. Couldn't find anything but some cough drops, so I lay in misery, trying to to swallow because it felt like swallowing needles, then waking up with that awful post-cough drop taste in my mouth.
On Sunday Patience threw up.
On Monday Patience ran fever.
On Tuesday night I was up with Benaiah and before getting back into bed knelt down to check on Patience on her pallet on the floor.
She wasn't there.
I groped all around me in the dark, thinking she'd rolled off again. Couldn't find her. I felt around everywhere. The foot of the bed, in front of the dresser, beside the bed. She simply wasn't there. We had watched the movie Taken the night before and I was becoming increasingly certain that someone had stolen my daughter. Then I found her. Under the crib. I dragged her out by her ankles, rolled her back onto her pallet, and went back to sleep. She never even woke up.
On Wednesday I was hit with this terrible and weird fatigue. I couldn't keep my eyes open and I felt like I had weights hanging from my body. I kept falling asleep. I tried everything to feel better and perk up. Took a shower. Went for a walk to the park with the kids and Rachel. Drank lots of water. Nothing worked. I basically had to sleep it off. I felt some better the next day.
Wednesday night David thought he was going to throw up. Luckily he didn't.
Thursday Rachel was hit with the same weird fatigue. Thankfully I was feeling better so I was able to help out so she could rest.
Friday I finally kicked into gear and made some muffins and casseroles to put in their freezer because it wasn't that long ago that I was miserably pregnant I would love to have had some casseroles in my freezer.
Saturday we said our goodbyes and came home.
It was a bit of a rough trip, but still fun. The positives were that I really enjoyed spending time with Daniel, Rachel and David; Ben and Daniel got a lot done on the house and Patience and David had a blast playing together.
And I'm so, so glad no one else got pink-eye.
No comments:
Post a Comment