Frankenstorm is Ruining my Marriage

At 2:45 am Rhys woke me up, scared of the wind.  I realized Dave wasn’t in bed with me, which was now, us.  I checked the computer room – empty.  I heard a door make noise downstairs – ah!  He’s outside!  Rhys heard it too and before I could stop him (it could have been a burglar, after all) he ran downstairs.  A few seconds later, he was back, deflated.  No dad.

No dad?  Then what was that door?  Good gosh, I had just sent my 4-year-old downstairs to confront a robber.  Then a thought occurred to me.  What was Dave doing out of bed, wandering the neighborhood   at almost 3 am?  He must be having an affair.  I ran through a list of potential adulteresses and coming up short, it briefly occurred to me that he might be selling drugs, but he wears such tight pants, I dismissed that notion rather quickly as well.

Finally, he appeared, no explanation for his whereabouts given, but he did seem…well, mad.  I said “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?” and he said “Staying up with THEM!”  Seems the storm was keeping “them”  up (plural, yet referring to only Rhys.  This is why I do language arts and he does music).  It’s a shame Rhys isn’t a 64-bit armless figure or he would have been oodles of fun at 3 am.

We all tromped back to bed but after about three minutes of poor Rhys coughing and snuffling and curling up like a shrimp yet taking up 3/4ths of the bed, Dave grabbed his pillow and announced he was going to sleep in the guest room. I cringed as I offered, “There aren’t any sheets on the bed…”  Rhys piped up and happily offered,

“Grandma took them with her!”

As if Grandma is making off with our sheets when she leaves after a visit.  In fact, she brings her own so I don’t have to do any extra washing.  Plus hers are way-hay-hay-hay nicer than ours, so I can’t say I blame her for supplying her own.

“Donna!  Where are all the good towels?”

Happily, “Grandma took them with her!”

Fast forward to 6:30 am, after a horrible night of sleep with the shrimp who had half of an entire king-sized bed at his disposal, yet still managed to nudge me to the very edge of my side.  I love that he wants to be close, but can’t we be close in the middle?  Who wakes then, but Miss Snuffles of the Whole Foods Bloody Nose?  That’s a story for a later date.  Rhys was back asleep so I wanted to get in and out of her room without waking him up.  It almost worked until I brought her back upstairs with some milk and she started breathing and he heard it.  Why must she insist on making so much noise?

Into the king-sized bed we all piled.  A light came on in the hallway, I figured it was Dave.  Until Henry appeared in the doorway and then wedged onto the sliver that was keeping me from sliding off the bed into the floor.  At this point, I threw in the towel.

Downstairs.  Breakfast.  Daily routine.

I am sore, tired, but so tired that I am silly, so that’s a bonus, I suppose.  Rhys has a horrible chest cold going on, with a lot of wheezing and we’re having to give him shots of his inhaler every 4 hours.  Sarah has a clear runny nose (except when she sticks her finger up it, nicking the delicate blood vessels and blood POURS out to many a shopper’s horror).  Henry seems find.  I have a horrid sore throat but – BUT  - I got a bottle of my elderberry syrup at Whole Foods last night so together we can ward it off.  Using that plus a regime of tea made with honey, lemon and cayenne pepper (yes, you read that right) I can stave off the soreness.  The cayenne is the trick.  Just a smidge.  JUST.  A.  SMIDGE.  And my master tonic is ready today but I still haven’t replaced the french press that leapt to it’s death from a high, high cabinet in our kitchen many years ago, so I can’t really strain it.  If nothing else, it gets the old blood pumping.  I love herbal remedies.  Some work, some don’t, but they’re fun to try nonetheless.

And a few happy pictures to brighten the mood outside my window, which looks like imminent death.  I’m glad we got that little container of rice milk an I have a frozen loaf of Ezekiel bread in case of a real disaster.  Wonder if the generator takes gasoline?

Amazement at the pumpkin Daddy carved for her!

My fearless one at the pumpkin patch. Seriously, I think that part of his brain is missing.

My helper pulsing the Cuisinart. Tim Hawkins would say he has a servant’s heart. Enjoy stacking chairs, Rhys.

Rock, paper, scissors – Sarah wins!

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