The Barefoot Kitchen Witch

Applause

The kids were squirmy. 

Alex, at least, looked apologetic about it, like "But I'm only 6-nearly-7!  How do you expect me to sit still on this chair?" 

Julia, true to form, had no apologies.  She just flailed and wiggled and leaned and annoyed her brother and, at one point, while I had her strapped into my lap with my arms, she arched her back so she and I were nearly eyeball to eyeball, only her face was upside down, and, while staring at me, she pulled her lower lip down (or, in this case, up) to her chin.  It was a bizarre sight.  She laughed silently as I sat her upright again and hissed at her to behave.  Sometimes she would twist her little body around and grasp my face, staring intently into my eyes and then turn my head so she could whisper in my ear. 

Have you ever had a five-year-old whisper in your ear?  For one thing, they don't always get the idea that whispering is supposed to be a quiet affair.  For another thing, there is no polite distance left between her lips and my ear.  So the effect is ticklish, slightly spitty, and louder than necessary.  "But Mom, I just have to tell you something...(dramatic pause)...I just love you."  Fine, now be quiet and sit still.

We were at a flute and classical guitar concert in a library on Friday night.  Bill, my husband, was the guitarist.  This is the second (I think) concert we've brought the kids to.  Maybe the third.  I don't think my blood pressure can take too many more of them.

At least this time I was smart enough to sit several rows back, strategically ensuring that taller people would populate the space between the musicians and the wiggly children of one of those musicians. 

Ours were the only children in attendance.  The majority of the audience was made up of older folk, probably long-time members of the community who attended the weekly concert series of their local library faithfully.  They sat straight, and still, and paid attention, and, as far as I could tell, certainly enjoyed the music - and the musicians themselves.

Bill and Barbara have been playing as a duo for about fifteen  years - longer than I've known my husband, in fact.  So long that they communicate easily with an arched brow, a slight nod, or a n0-I-can't-make-eye-contact-now-or-I'll-lose-it chemistry.  Like an old married couple, but minus the bickering.  Or the laundry.

The kids adore Barbara and her husband, too, so bringing the kids to the concert should be a fun, relaxing family-ish affair.  And it is.  Well, except for me during the concert part of it. 

I made the mistake, in my desperate attempt to keep the kids on their best pretty good not throwing things behavior, of telling them at some point that "After this one, there are only 6 more songs."  Six more songs was easier than trying to explain two more pieces of three movements each.  Well anyway, from that point on, every time there was a break in the playing, both kids would turn to me, eyes expectant, and stage-whisper "Is it only three more songs?" or whatever number it was at the time.

Silver-haired heads would turn and smile and chuckle.  I would turn red and smile weakly and pray for lightning to strike me.

Fortunately, though, Bill had introduced the kids (and me) at some point earlier in the concert, so that, I think, cut us some slack with the rest of the attendees.  "Ohhh, it's the guitar player's kids.  Well, you know what they say about the doctor's/policeman's/cobbler's children..."  And that explains it.  Bill also mentioned to the audience that the kids KNEW they needed to behave because if they did, they'd get ice cream after the concert.

Yes, we firmly believe in bribes to elicit good behavior from our children in certain situations.  This was on of them.

"Only one more song?" Alex hissed at me.

"Can we get ice cream now?" when that movement, "Night-club 1960" from Astor Piazzolla's "Tango" was finished. 

"Soon," I said.

The audience clapped, and Bill and Barbara took their bows and made their way back up the aisle toward the door to the rest of the library, where their guitar and flute cases were. 

The clapping continued, and the guy who coordinates and hosts these Friday evening concerts made his way up to the front (there was no stage) to say a few words, thanking everyone for coming, and thanking Bill and Barbara for playing...and then he kind of reached toward Bill and Barbara with one hand, beckoning them forward. 

Horrors.

I heard the word "encore" whispered somewhere.  It hovered in the air near my ear, grinning at me.  It looked a bit like Julia. 

Pleeeease no encore....

I know.  I'm totally selfish.  The encore is a gift.  It's that little extra something, like the free glass of limoncello we used to receive at the tiny Italian restaurant we loved, years ago.  And the encore is a thank you as well.  Thank you for thanking us for playing for you. 

But.  It would mean one more song.  One more period of however many minutes of holding Julia the Octopus in my lap and trying to silence her loud whispers. 

But instead of an encore, Bill and Barbara stood and smiled and bowed again and thanked everyone.  Bill mentioned that the music was on his stand, if anyone cared to look at the wild notes of Michael Daugherty's "Yo Amaba a Lucy" (I Loved Lucy) or any others, and if anyone had any questions about it, feel free to ask.

And when he said "any questions," Alex's hand shot up.  He sat as tall as he could, arm reaching for the ceiling, silent, waiting to be called on. 

I had no idea what Alex was going to say, but if you had asked me, my guess would have been something like "Now can we go out for ice cream?"

Bill was looking elsewhere at that moment, so Barbara brought his attention back around to Alex.

"Yes, Alex?"

And Alex spoke up clearly to say "I just want to say thank you for teaching me how to play guitar."

Gulp.

That's MY boy.

There was a general murmury sound of "aww" at that, and I made sure to soak it all in. 

He is a sensitive, thoughtful boy at times.  I sometimes wonder what great thing I did to deserve him.

And then, of course, Julia stuck her hand up, too.  That wasn't at ALL predictable, was it?

"Yes, Julia?"

The room waited while she thought of something to say..."I just love you."

She is sweet and sincere.  At times.  When she's not a wild, hissing octopus on my lap.

I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve her, too.  Heh, heh.

~~~

(Oh - and in case you were wondering, yes, the kids had their ice cream.  Barbara, who knows the area, brought us to a little ice cream stand not too far from the library.  Julia had a cone of vanilla, Alex had a cone of mint chocolate chip.  The cones - and Bill had ordered the "kiddie cone" size - were ENORMOUS.  They ate as much as they could, but no way could they finish.

And after that, we all went out for dinner.)

File Under "The Joys of Motherhood"

WARNING:  THE FOLLOWING POST MAY CONTAIN TOPICS OR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS THAT WILL FRIGHTEN, DISGUST OR PERHAPS HORRIFY SOME PEOPLE.  PLEASE USE DISCRETION WHEN CHOOSING WHETHER OR NOT TO CONTINUE.

Trust

It was on Monday.

Bill was at work, Alex was at school.  Julia and I had an assortment of errands to run. 

First we went to Staples, one of my very favorite stores in the whole wide world.  I love office supplies. 

I had to get just a few things.  Julia asked if she could get a package of post-it notes and since she'd been almost very good in the store, I said okay.  Don't want to crush the office supply spirit in my daughter, of course.  She picked out bright pink (of course) for herself, and asked if we could get orange ones for Alex.  I said yes - I'm always happy when they want to get something for the other one. 

A bit later we went to this little shop that sells swimming gear to get Warm Belly suits for the kids.  They're taking swimming lessons at a different place now (we quit the Y - did I write about all that?  In a nutshell, we were tired of the lack of real instruction.  Too much playing around or down time, not enough actually swimming.  The new place is amazing.  One-on-one instruction and the kids are swimming or doing SOMETHING the whole time.  It's a bit of a change for Julia, especially - in this class she is challenged more, and she's having a hard time with it.  But at the same time, she loves her teacher.  So the class is chlorine and tears and hugs, over and over.  But she is learning so much more.) and the pool, I don't know, is maybe colder then the one at the Y.  Anyway, both kids' teeth chatter, and Julia's teacher suggested these suits for the kids.  She wears one herself.  So that's what Julia and I were doing on Monday morning.  Because I am a procrastinator, and their next swim class was that evening and I still hadn't bought the things yet.

We got there and picked out a purple one for Julia and red for Alex.  (The only orange one there was too small.)  They have adjustable velcro straps over the shoulders, so as Alex's genetically pre-disposed to tallness little torso grows taller, we can adjust the suit.  Julia.  Well, she's at the small end of her suit size, so she'll probably have the same one til she's twenty.

Anyway, that was the morning.  We came home and I went upstairs to work on some projects in my little work are in my bedroom.  Julia sat on the bed and tortured played with one of the cats, and eventually she crawled into the bed and, after thrashing around a bit, fell asleep. 

Woo hoo!  Uninterrupted time for me! 

She slept for an hour and a half - then I had to wake her up so we could go pick up Alex at school.  I brushed the tangle of hair from her face and kissed her, and when she woke up she immediately started crying and said her tummy didn't feel good. 

I kissed her forehead and her cheeks, and she felt hot, but she'd also been fully dressed under all the bed covers.  She was a little sweaty, too, but again, that could be from being too hot all that time.  I uncovered her and quizzed her about her not feeling well.  Did she think she was going to throw up?  Did she need to go potty?  Was she hungry?  She hadn't had lunch, really.  Just a little snack that she didn't finish.  She said she wasn't hungry. 

She kept crying, too.  I got her into her boots and coat, hat and mittens, and into the car.  She was quiet (a sure sign something was off) and whimpery and sad.  We got Alex, came home, and I brought Julia upstairs to take her temperature.

Of course, the battery had died in the digital thermometer.  So I'm kissing her head, feeling her torso, trying to decide if she truly feels HOT or if she's just over warm from crying, or what.  I attempted to take her temp the old fashioned way with a glass thermometer under her tongue, but I was too worried she'd chomp down on the glass, swallow mercury and shards, and go insane while her insides slowly shredded, that I took the thing out after only a minute.  Inconclusive.  I don't think she even kept it under her tongue.  I know I didn't like doing that as a kid either.

So what to do?  She felt on the warm side to me, and she doesn't usually wake up crying like that.  Swim class was in about an hour.  Should she stay or should she go?

She felt warm, and she just didn't seem right to me.

So I called and cancelled her lesson.  Bill could bring Alex, and I'd stay home.

About a half hour before the class, Bill called - he was nearly home, should he just go straight to the pool and meet us there?  I told him no, come home, Julia's sick.

He said "Oh." and in that word I heard a boatload of doubt and suspicion.

The previous swim class had been a hard one on Julia.  She was basically taken outside her comfort zone, and she was scared to go back.  Of course, nothing bad was going to happen to her.  Her teacher is fabulous - has Julia do a little something new - face all the way in the water, or swimming about three feet on her own - and then lots of hugs and "I'm so proud of you!" and then maybe something less scary, like swimming using the pool noodle or floating on her back.  So like I said earlier - chlorine and tears and hugs.  

She was a mixture of scared and proud, and wasn't all that excited to go back.  But we'd kept being supportive and encouraging and we told her Miss C would NEVER let anything bad happen to her.  It might be scary at times, but that was part of learning to swim.  And if you face your fears, and work through them, you'll be all the better for it.  (Of course, it doesn't work on trips to the dentist, but that's just me.)

She hadn't said anything earlier about being scared of her swim class - in fact she was VERY thrilled about her new purple Warm Belly suit (which she insisted on calling a wet suit) that day.

But.

So Bill's voice in my ear on the phone allowed some doubt to start working on me.  Julia genuinely seemed sick.  The whole waking up from the nap crying part was so unusual for her....but.

What if?  

It's not like she's never been sneaky.  She's four.  It's part of being a kid.

But she'd felt warm.  Her cheeks were flushed.

I went downstairs to where she was lying on the couch, watching tv.

I asked how she was feeling.

"Not good."

"Julia, did you say you were sick so you wouldn't have to go to swim class?"

She didn't answer.  Just snuggled under the blanket.

"Julia, are you REALLY sick, or did you SAY you were sick so you wouldn't have to go to class?"

She started crying.

"Julia?  Are you REALLY sick?"

"I don't want to go to swim class!"

Grrrr.

"Do you feel sick?"

"I don't wanna go to swim class!"  She was crying and not looking at me.

"Julia, DO YOU FEEL SICK?"

"I just don't want to go to SWIM CLASS!"

"Are you saying you feel sick because you don't want to go to swim class???!!!"  I was getting angry.  Trying to be sure she understood the question and appalled that I'd been duped.

She nodded.  Crying.

"Julia, you lied to me.  I know you're scared to go, but you can't pretend to be sick just because you don't want to do something."  (oh, really?  since when?)

She cried more.  "I don't want to go!"

"Do you feel sick?"

She shook her head.

I swallowed all the yelling that was welling up inside me.

"You can stay down here, then, and you'll go to bed right after dinner.  If you say your sick, you're going to be treated like you're sick."

I went upstairs.

I was furious.  At her for faking it SO WELL.  At me for falling for it, and at Bill for figuring it out so fast when he wasn't even here.

He got home and I filled him in and he nodded like he wasn't the least bit surprised.  I found myself defending my blindness - her warm cheeks, her sweaty head, no lunch, the crying.  I was more annoyed about being fooled than I was about Julia's deception.  I ALWAYS know when they're hiding something.  "How did you know, Mom?"  "Because I'm a Mom.  I just know."

Til now.

Bill took Alex to class, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to convey to him that I didn't want him to tell Julia's teacher of her recent confession.  Because, truth be told, I didn't want to look like an idiot Mom who can't read her kid. 

Dammit.

I made dinner.  Fish tacos.  Easy to do when you use frozen fish sticks.  I was too grumpy to be more creative than that.

Julia seemed to perk up a bit while Alex and Bill were at the pool, so I squashed that quickly and efficiently.

"Julia, do you understand what a lie is?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"...I don't know."

"A lie is when you tell something that isn't true.  Like when you said you didn't feel good but you really just didn't want to go to swim class.  That was a lie.  When you tell lies, it makes it hard for people to trust you.  To believe what you tell them other times.  I'm really not happy about this, Julia."

"I'm sorry." 

Bill and Alex got home - Alex did really well and got two lollipops for his efforts.  He'd eaten one in the car and was finishing up the next one as he came in the door.  Bill was full of praise for him.  He also told me Julia's teacher had suggested a make-up lesson - maybe Thursday?  I said fine.  Call her.  I was still wallowing in grumpiness and feeling like a fool.  Of course I was overreacting, but I was too busy DOING it to notice.

Bill thought I was annoyed about the make-up lesson.  No.  I was just frustrated because DIDN'T HE UNDERSTAND HOW ANGRY I WAS THAT MY FOUR-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER PUT ONE OVER ON ME SO WELL.  She SEEMED SICK. 

I don't like to be wrong.  I know.  Get over yourself, Jayne.  But honestly.  She really seemed sick.

Anyway, we sat down to dinner.  Alex told me I could win a cooking contest (because fish sticks wrapped in soft tacos are so innovative and tasty, apparently) and Julia didn't want anything to eat.  Just maybe some cheese on a taco.  I fixed that for her, but she just sat and cried.  And cried.

Something in me let go, and all the annoyance evaporated.  She really felt bad about her story.  Time to stop being the dispenser of morals and just give the girl a hug.  So I did.  Several.  She sat in her chair and I sat beside her in mine, and I just hugged her while she cried.

She finally stopped, but she still didn't feel like eating, so I told her to go ahead back downstairs and I'd sit with her in a few minutes.  She went back to watching Sponge Bob or whatever was on, and I ate dinner.

After the plates were cleared, Bill gave Alex a guitar lesson and I went downstairs.

Julia looked so tiny on the couch, all wrapped up in green blankets, her small, sad face on the pillow.

"Would you like me to lie down with you?"  I asked.

She nodded. 

I slid under the blankets beside her and gave her a kiss on the head, then turned to watch the cartoon.

And then Julia made some little noise and threw up.  Not much.  I kind of thought it was some kind of burp with benefits, but she suddently had this "OH NO" look on her face and before I could say anything, she REALLY threw up, on me, the blankets, herself.  Just liquid, but still.

She started crying.  Again.  I shot questions and orders at her:  "Do you think you're going to throw up again?  Upstairs!  Run!  To the bathroom!  Hurry!"  I ran along behind her, a Border Collie, nipping at her heels.  pleasedon'tthrowuponthestairspleasedon'tthrowuponthestairs...

She made it to the bathroom and I flipped up the lid and the seat and told her to just stay there, just in case.  I ran back downstairs and grabbed the wet blankets and tossed them in the washing machine, then went back upstairs in time for Julia to retch again - productively - a couple more times.

She was really sick.

And I have to admit - I was glad.  Not glad she was vomiting.  That's no fun for any of us. 

But I was glad she had been telling me the truth.  I thought back to my earlier interrogation - trying to figure out if she felt sick really, or if she was trying to get out of swim class.  And the answer was now fuzzier.  Less clear.  She felt sick AND she didn't want to go?  She felt sick AND SO she didn't want to go?  She felt sick BECAUSE she didn't want to go?  Who knows?  And what does it matter, at this point.

I cleaned up Julia's face and the couch, put new blankets and towels all around.  Bill brought in a bucket for her, just in case.  But she seemed a lot better.  No more crying.  She was perkier - more like her usual self.

Later, when we were rehashing things, Bill wondered if maybe she'd cried so hard she made herself throw up.  After all, she seemed SO much better immediately after....

Possible, yes, but I didn't think so.  Too much lag time in between the crying jag and the race to the bathroom. 

And I told him I'd had a couple times when I'd maybe eaten something that didn't sit well with me, and I spent several hours just not feeling right, and then, finally, I'd run my own race to a bathroom, and afterward, I felt completely fine.  Like nothing had happened.

So it was certainly possible - or probable - that Julia ate something in the morning that made her feel sick when she woke up from her nap.  She'd spent several hours feeling lousy, and then, finally, got rid of it and felt better.

And I had second guessed myself.  I'd doubted my own intuition, my motherly radar, and I'd believed the worst of Julia.  Believed that she wasn't really sick; that she was faking it and lying to me.  And that she'd been successful.

And I was wrong about that.  I was right the first time. 

And she hadn't lied.

Trust.

I need to remember to trust my own Mommy gut instincts.  And Julia's gut, too, apparently.

Trust. 

I should not have been so quick to doubt. 

To doubt myself or Julia.  Myself, especially.

Lesson learned.

Observation

You know, I love my kids. 

They are beautiful and fascinating and funny and smart and fun. 

But they're kids, and they can wear on a person. 

And that person would be me. 

And there are days when I think if I hear another ridiculous shrieky squabbly "he - no, she - no, he - no, she"-fest I will just gouge my ear drums with sharpened popsicle sticks. 

And I make this known. 

And for a while, there is silence, peace, and harmony. 

And then I hear the soft but intense tones of a dispute over something - who had that book first...who gets to play with spiderman...who gets to hold the remote...who gets to sit on the couch. 

And then it builds...and builds...and soon I hear it - a high-pitched, primal, animal-with-its-leg-in-a-trap screechy, eye-popping scream that threatens to weave into my head through one ear, chew up what's left of my brain and then scoot out the other ear. 

And I take a breath so I can holler effectively at the kids --

And then I realize that this horrible sound is actually coming from me.

Who is this crazy lady I see in my mirror? 

And why do her eyes spin in opposite directions like that?

And when was the last time she had her eyebrows waxed? 

Too long ago.

I Say Dumb Stuff

Yesterday the kids were playing outside in the snow.  Well, the ice-encrusted snow.  And of course, they were eating snow and munching on shards of ice like they were eating doughboys at a fair. 

Irrational things pop into my head - not just because I have kids - my head has always been like this.  I jump way ahead to disaster scenarios.  I'm the original mountain-out-of-a-mole-hill-maker.

So I'm watching them happily licking and gnawing on rough-edged sections of backyard ice, their little cheeks and noses red from the cold.  And isn't that ice cold?  You're cold...the ice is cold...isn't that kind of reducing the amount of fun you're having out there?  But you're kids...and you pay no attention to extreme cold, because it's too much fun to eat great pieces of ice and great scoops of snow, because it's there, and you're kids, and that's what kids do...

But I am (in theory) an adult, and more sensitive to the cold, and more aware of things like, oh, frostbite!  But of course they don't know what frostbite is, and how can I explain it without graphic pictures that I'm sure I could download if I just did a quick search....

So I open the window over the kitchen sink and yell out to my foolish, fate-tempting children the following:

"STOP EATING SO MUCH SNOW AND ICE!....YOUR MOUTHS WILL FALL OFF!"

They glance at me for a moment, then go back to their snacks.  I close the window.  I tried.   

And from behind me, downstairs, where Bill is changing water in the fish tank, he says, "your mouths will fall off?"

As I said.  I say dumb stuff.

Motherhood. O, The Glamor Of It All

We went to bed around ten.  Bill's had a sore throat and a cough, so he's been home for the past couple of days, resting his voice and drinking tea and moaning and whining and sighing and telling me he really hates being sick bravely refusing to admit anything is wrong.  He went to work today. 

Both kids have had the sniffles, too, and dry coughs, particularly Alex.  It's the weather, it's the dry air and the closed up houses and probably exposure to lots of other runny-nosed little kids at school (Alex) and at daycare (Julia).  By some miracle, I am fine.  Probably because someone has to be.

So last night...somewhere around 11:30 or so, Alex came into our room and said his arm hurt.  I think he'd probably been sleeping on it or something like that.  I said he could come in our bed for a few minutes, and then he'd have to go back in his own bed.  That worked for him.  He snuggled in between us and dozed a bit, and then I woke him up and told him time was up.  He said that was fine - his arm was all better now.

I followed him down the hall - he in his green, fuzzy, dinosaur feetie-pajamas.  He asked if he could have something to drink and I said sure, go ahead and get in bed and I'll go get you something.  He climbed onto his bed and I held up the sheet and comforter so he could scoot inside.  He's got my old double bed.  Kind of big for a five-year-old (okay, five and a half) but hey, at least there was plenty of room for the 879 stuffed animals he had arranged along 2/3 of the bed. 

I used to do that when I was little.  Try to sleep with all my dolls and stuffed animals in my bed.  But the main thing I remember - and it looks like this is one of his concerns, too - is that all the animals and people had to be lying face up, so they could breathe.  No matter that they were crammed way down near my feet - they had to be face up.  Don't want any plush corpses the next morning. 

Alex has solved some of this by heaping all the animals on top of the bed.  They have plenty of room to breathe.  And since it's a full-sized bed, he has some room to sleep.  Probably less space in his bed for him than Julia has in her toddler bed.  But it's snuggly and fun.  And it keeps the animals off the floor and tidy.

Anyway, I held the sheet and comforter up and he crawled toward his pillow.  He coughed - like he's been doing lately with this cold - and said "I feel sick."  Now - he's been saying that every time he coughs.  And I say yes, but you'll get better. 

So he coughed and said "I feel sick," and I said "Just go ahead and get into your bed, you're fine."

And then he threw up.

On the pillow, the sheets, and some of his unlucky little plush friends. 

I think I stood there in disbelief for a split second - he actually was sick! - and he started crying loudly, and like the bad mom that I am, my first thought at that point was "be quiet!  Don't wake up Julia!" 

So he threw up again.  Fortunately at this point he was facing away from the mattress.  Unfortunately he was standing up on the bed and the distance from mouth to floor was much greater and thus the horrible splashing radius was greatly increased.

I grabbed him from the bed and herded him into the bathroom, slammed open the lid and seat and told him if he thought he was going to throw up again, do it in there.  He immediately obeyed, and then started wailing.  He hasn't done this in a long, long time.  I think he's forgotten how horrible it is.  All kinds of goopy gunk was running from his nose and mouth, and I wiped it away with a damp washcloth and told him it was going to be okay, he was going to be okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay.

I helped him take his pajamas off and had him sit on a little footstool near the toilet while I went back to his room to clean up the mess.

Now, one would think that during all these horrible noises, and the loud crying, and the light by his bed being turned on so I could see the ABSOLUTE HORROR that awaited me, that Julia, the lightest sleeper in the universe, would wake up.  But if one thought that, one would be surprisingly mistaken.  She snoozed on, despite the noise, despite the light, and despite the horrible smell.

At first I didn't even know where to begin.  Ugh.  Just UGH.  So I started throwing all the clean and dry animals off the bed to the other side of the room.  Then I just rolled everything - all the sheets, the pillow, the comforter, and the unlucky animals near the pillow - into a giant smelly ball of navy blue, and stuffed the whole thing into a giant trash bag.  Much easier to carry that way, and nothing would - ugh - leak.

Alex said he was done throwing up and was cold.  I ushered him into our bed, where my husband lay motionless and quiet.  I must confess, I wanted to shake him.  But instead, I had Alex snuggle under the sheet and blankets, and I went back to my smelly hell.

I got a couple rolls of paper towels, another trash bag, and a cannister of Clorox disinfecting wipes, and proceeded to clean it all up.  I am not going to go into any more detail at this point - suffice to say, it was ICKY and SMELLY and I had to stop a couple times just to leave the room and breathe some air that wasn't perfumed with vomit and Clorox. 

Julia continued to sleep.

When I'd finally cleaned everything up, I got the spare crib mattress from the floor in the kids' room and made that up with some of Julia's sheets, and carried it into our bedroom.  I got a fresh pillow and some blankets, and one of Alex's teddy bears, and moved him from my bed into this cozy little nest for the night.  I got him some water and told him if he was thirsty, just to take tiny, tiny sips.  And then I got into bed.

And then Julia woke up.  She was thirsty.  She came with me down to the kitchen where I got her a sippy cup and - amazingly - was completely agreeable about going back to bed.  She NEVER goes willingly.  But last night she did.  I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight and wondered how she could stand the smell.  It was fading, but it was still there.  She didn't seem to care.  I left the room, door open so it could continue to air out, and went back to bed.  I climbed in, and Julia immediately started crying.  I got out of bed and went to find out what was wrong.  (Pleasedon'tbesickPleasedon'tbesickPleasedon'tbesick...) - She couldn't find her cup of water.  Easily solved, another few kisses and out I went.  This time she stopped me before I got to my bedroom.

"Mommy, you're a-posed to close the door!"  She has this thing about wanting the door shut.  I told her the room needed to get fresh air in it, but she was genuinely distressed and so fine, I drew the door almost closed - figuring I would get up in a few minutes and push it back open, once she nodded off again.

I got back into bed and tried not to relive the awfulness of the night but my mind kept replaying it.  Alex was still awake.  I could hear him breathing and moving around a bit on his little mattress on the floor.  I really wanted to sleep.

"Mommy?  I'm really, really hungry." 

"Okay, honey, let's find you something you can eat."  We headed downstairs.  I figured Saltines would be best - pretty bland and safe.  I put a few in a little bowl and we went downstairs and watched 45 minutes of stuff on the Food Network.  I told him to eat slowly and take tiny bites.  He nibbled like a mouse, and ultimately ate 3 and a half crackers before suddenly announcing "I'm ready to go back to bed now."  So back we went, up the stairs, to my room, to his makeshift bed.

He coughed once and threw up.  Right on my floor.  I think I whimpered and then shouted "Quick!  Run to the bathroom!" and gave him an encouraging shove from behind.  He tried, but lost the rest of his stomach contents on the hall floor right at the top of the stairs.  He made it into the bathroom and opened the lid and seat of the toilet and stood there, ready for more.

"What happened, Mama?"  Julia was awake this time, sitting up in her bed.  I told her Alex was sick. 

"And he frowed up?"  Yes, he frowed up.  You stay in bed, Julia, it's icky out here.  "Okay Mama!"  There really must be something wrong with her...she's being way too cooperative. 

I turned on the hall light and muttered "I'm in hell" in the hopes that my motionless and silent husband would leap out of bed with a valiant cry of "I'll handle this!  You go take a nice bubble bath!"  It didn't happen.  He's no dummy.

So I cleaned up the newest mess while Alex hung out in the bathroom.  By some miracle, he hadn't splashed anything on his clean pajamas, which was good.  I wiped his face off again and herded him back to bed.  Fortunately there was no smell with this batch, so my room was tolerable. 

It was after 2:00.  I got back in bed and just lay there, listening to Alex, waiting for his breathing to even out, so I'd know he was sleeping.  At last, he was asleep, snoring softly.  I fell asleep at some point, too.

Today I'm keeping him home.  So far he's only had some half apple juice/half water to drink.  And he's got a bucket to bring with him wherever he goes.  Just in case.