sleep

Andy and I closed down the party at exactly 9:08 last evening. The lights went out and sleep came swiftly. It was the earliest we have seen the back of our eyelids in about three weeks of burning the midnight oil. Andy's alarm gives a faithful 4:30am wakeup call no matter how much sleep we've accomplished. 

We were giddy at the prospect of sleep and counted out how many hours were before us. Seven. Seven hours of consecutive sleep. Seven hours of crazy adventures for my dream factory of a brain. 

At approximately 10pm the beep, beep, beep of a received text sounded from the kitchen where my phone was plugged in. Andy stumbled out and checked it. A message from a prospective Craigslist buyer. We had a quick discussion about answering it and decided that Sunnie could wait for our reply until morning. The phone was turned down to vibrate and plugged back in. 

The captain of the nose blowing team began practicing at about 2am. She may be a small girl but Evie can use her nose to create a sound that resembles the trumpet of a full grown elephant. Both nostrils are firmly pressed in and she blows out with all her might. It is a process repeated over and over and over again. Unfortunately, her technique is not actually effective at removing any of the offending nose material and she is very resistant to any sort of help in changing her approach. She has seasonal allergies so boogies are a daily issue. She blows so hard her face turns red, I worry for her safety. 

After a few minutes, I heard the sound of small feet march into the bathroom and back to bed. More blowing. This was my cue. I slid my glasses over tired eyes and plodded into her room. Gently, I took over the tissue handling and tried once again to help change her approach. "Don't plug both sides," I whispered demonstrating my idea. I took the kleenex and depressed one side of her nose while leaving the other clear for removal. She blew hard. 

The right nostril was free and clear but the left was obstructed and no amount of blowing was going to remedy it. She was certain that it could be removed. I took the crumpled tissue away and offered other suggestions. "Just breathe through your mouth." 

I laid beside her and rubbed her back until she lay still and her breathing was slow and even. Usually I wait until her feet twitch, which is a sure sign of sleep, but I was tired. I made my way back to my room, where Andy soundly slept, and thanked The Lord for the swift answer to my prayer. 

Back in bed, I pulled the covers up and closed my eyes. Sweet sleep called to me and then, so did the sound of the trumpet in the next room. The nose blowing had resumed. 

Not wanting Andy to be disturbed, I grabbed my glasses and followed the sound. She was distressed about her nostrils and not to be consoled. I stumbled through the living room to my small little oil stash. Peace and Calming called my name. I needed it just as much as she did at this point.

It was dark in her room, but I carefully tipped the bottle over and felt one drop hit my palm. In my hurry to right the bottle, another drop fell. The pungent fragrance filled the room. I rubbed it at the nape of her neck then gently rubbed it across her forehead. "MY EYE!" she yelled out,"YOU GOT OIL IN MY EYE! GET IT OUT!" 

I think I might have quietly laughed at this point as I pictured other mothers (in long white nightgowns with beautiful braided hair) leaning over their restless children and gently applying oils which soothed them. I was wild haired, bleary eyed and trying to calm a child who was distressed by my sabotaged attempt to soothe her. 

Somehow we made and it and again, after a long back and head rub, she was still and breathing slow. I left her room. The blowing resumed. I climbed into bed, rolled over and closed my eyes. I prayed for the persecuted church. 

Over the next two hours she battled sleep, telling wild tales of the rescuers, blowing her nose, calling "MOOOOOOOOOOM" and making frequent trips to my room with requests to save her from the scary shadows on her wall. Andy slept soundly, for which I was grateful. He isn't allowed the luxury of sleeping in. 

Morning came quickly. A beautiful wet morning, covered in the gentle rain that had fallen on it while we slept. Much needed refreshment for our parched ground. I fell back asleep and woke up after Andy was gone. 

I heard it. The sound of blowing. I froze and listened more carefully, my emotions rising. Through my open window, the cars passing by on the wet streets drove through a giant puddle and the sound of their travels matched the blowing. The girl was still sleeping. The morning was quiet for a little longer. 

panera

It's a lovely morning, quite warm. My favorite kind.

I am alone. Alone on the busy patio at Panera. Alone with a frozen lemonade and my iPad but surrounded by the busy chatter of those gathered. I love the laughter and the conversations that catch my ear. I love that I don't have to talk. 

I am an introvert. No shame there. Silence is the fuel that fires me. 

"They call me Mrs. H," laughs the lady with short blond hair. She sits across from a friend with a long ponytail and sunglasses. Mrs. H. has carried the conversation for the past 30 minutes without ponytail getting in a word. She is excited about life, about God, about her mother and about prayer.

At the table across from mine sits an older lady in a blue plaid shirt. Her husband brought out a toasted bagel and prepared each half. She takes hers with thin layer of cream cheese but he prefers butter. He must have been hungry, polishing off his meal in a hurry. She takes her time. Savoring her half and mug of coffee, he a glass of ice water. 

A couple, on break from work, ate their sandwiches while planning a party. He tried to keep the numbers down, around 10, and requested beef jerky to be on the menu. She wondered who would help them set it all up, perhaps his musician friends? 

I think of Evie. She was excited to go back to Vacation Bible School again this morning. I curled her hair and dressed her a fancy short set. My little mud puddle lover looks so grown up and acts so grown up around her peers. It's sweet, bittersweet, to leave her behind though I must admit that I have relished being alone for a few hours. 

What is it about needing words that makes them so elusive? I am attempting again to write a piece for a contest and find my brain blank. I am working to recall a time or a person or a place of which I can write 2,500 words and yet, nothing. I thought perhaps a frozen lemonade and a table in the sun might awaken my sleeping brain.

The patio is clearing out. A new crowd begins to gather. The lovely ladies next to me bow their heads and one begins to  thank her Heavenly Father for their time together and the lunch before them. She says amen and adds "God can do anything." I take this as my cue, the changing of the guard, the encouragement that God is able and the reminder that my little fairy will be soon waiting for me with popsicle stained lips and stories. 

What a gift, these minutes on the Panera patio. I leave with a thankful heart. 

dandelions

I tried to go to bed but it didn't take.

It took for the other members of my family. Evie, after a long hour of telling adventurous stories and a trip to the potty, succumbed to the magic spell of dreamland. Andy, approximately 8 seconds after laying his head upon the pillow, was breathing slowly and his right leg twitched.

What a day. What a week. What a month.

Take a deep breath.

Evie and I stopped at a garage sale today. I say Evie and I because she was in the car with me, let not the reader mistake my words for suggesting that she would have stopped willingly had she been behind the wheel.

I stopped at a garage sale today. What a lovely drive it was through the winding roads, the landscape decorated with homes that might have rivaled Super Target for square footage. The peaceful drive was narrated by the girl in the backseat who did NOT want to shop.

This garage sale was actually a driveway sale. I stopped the car at the end of the driveway and told her it was time to get out of the car. She fussed so I offered her a deal.

"You can stay in the car,"I suggested. This idea was met with hesitation at first until I offered her the alternative: shop with me. "I will stay in the car," she agreed.

I think they must have been redecorating their mansion. The items were arranged like settings from a home store, except with large pictures propped up against couches and tables due to the lack of walls. No expired toothpaste or used underwear here. I admired a few things and passed a kindly greeting to the man tending the sale before turning back to the car.

There was the car. There was Evie. They were not together. They were not on the same side of the street.

There, across the road and in a field of dandelions was a girl in a heart jacket, bent over, picking handfuls of bright yellow flowers. "EVIE!" She turned at the sound of my voice then came back to meet me at the edge of the street.

She handed me the bouquet with a smile,"I picked these for you, mom."

I was not charmed.

"Real motherhood is different. You find yourself alternating between feeling like your friends talked you into some sort of pyramid scheme so you could share in their misery and thinking this is the most fulfilling thing you've ever done in your life." -Melanie Shankle