In the dim, dark house
the furnace rumbles and blows
breathy hellos into the corner of each room.
In this airy darkness
I try to lie still
while my toddler—
having made his nocturnal migration
into my bed—
sleeps beside me.
The baby in my belly wiggles
and flutters,
hoping for a snack.
Such a boy…
not yet born
and already wanting breakfast before dawn.
1. As a mom you have tons of inspiration and new material every day: kids are so creative and unafraid to be original. Only a five year old making spanakopita with her mom would imagine that leaving the thicker stems on the fresh dill in the recipe might lead to jail time.
If we leave the hard bits the people at the potluck will say “Ugh! Gross!” And then they might put you in jail. But I’d be sad cause I like you. But then we’d say it was an accident and we tried to take them off, and then they’d let you out again.
Whew! Who knew making spinach pie was so dangerous!
2. You might think moms get no “me time” to do quiet things like writing, but that problem is easily solved by insomnia. It’s very quiet at 1:30 am. Perfect for writing! After all, you can’t wash dishes or do laundry at this hour, so you may as well do something creative!
3. If you don’t have insomnia, don’t worry: third trimester pregnancy will solve that for you! Between heartburn, baby kicks, and Braxton Hicks contractions you’ll be all set!
So you see, motherhood, insomnia and writing are perfect bedfellows! Just forget about the sleeping part…and rejoice in being a mom blogger! 
There are days when everything feels like so much
and I hide from You, Lord,
thinking I have nothing good to say about all this
and can’t deal with anyone else.
But when I hide under the covers
seeking the solitude of sleep,
I discover You there,
waiting like a loyal, warm cat
ready to just curl up and be with me.
And then I open the eyes of my heart a little
and start to see you everywhere…
in a single star in the early evening sky
in the eternal beauty of a long low bank of gray clouds on the horizon
in the tiny green shoots of sweet peas bravely emerging from the soil
and in the purple blossom of my flowering Josephine plant
saying, “I am here, I am here.”
Tonight the lyrics of a Barenaked Ladies song come to mind:
Who needs sleep
Well you’re never gonna get it
Who needs sleep? Tell me what’s that for?
Who needs sleep…this guy’s been awake since the Second World War!
It’s 2:30 am and with my kids sick it’s been a night of musical beds, coughing, crying, and administering Tylenol and ear medicine. Bit of a long haul lately. Good thing I had that last slug of coffee around 8pm, cause I’m holding up ok with a catnap here and there. I was hoping for a cosy evening with my husband, maybe watching a funny show together and falling asleep holding hands, but that was not to be. To prove my point, my two year old just crawled out of bed and brought me a Dora sticker book. Super!
“Dora…she can say map instead of saying map, Mama. Baby can’t have a show right now.”
“True enough.”
I’ve been playing Nurse Mommy for quite some time now, as I’m sure many other moms are this January. Post-Christmas-sugar-crash-cold. My house might feel like Slime Central Station, but it’s only one stop on the Flu Train. So cheers to all you other parents who are pulling crazy night shifts with sick kids…I’m with ya!
One buddy requested a poem of the soundtrack of our house right now, so here goes:
Cough cough achoo
Whaaa, whaaa!Cough cough achoo
Whaaa, whaa!Muuuummmy!
Muuummmmy!
Ok, now repeat. 80 times. And intersperse with requests for vitamin C, apple juice, Kleenex, new blankies, another show, another chapter of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and new diapers. You get the picture.
It’s made reading The Hunger Games trilogy even more suspenseful, if that’s even possible:
“Oh, no Katniss and Peeta are out of luck this time for sure…wall of poisonous nerve gas approaching…starting to convulse…”
“Achoo! Mummy! I need a Kleenex! And my sister has a bare bum!”
“What?! Coming!”
Peeta leaned towards her and spoke quietly, ‘Katniss, if we don’t make it back…’
“Mummy, I’m too hot. My tummy hurts. Why do we have to get sick? I need a bucket.”
“Coming!”
And so, my kids have ensured that this rare indulgence of reading a novel for fun has been sliced up into tiny little portions, lest I get a sick tummy from overdoing it. How thoughtful! 😉
Of course, when I do need to escape from my escape, the treacherous world of Panem, with it’s ruthless Capital and sadistic gamemakers, it’s so nice to have those little lovely faces to burst into bright smiles after a few tickles, and throw their little chubby arms around my neck and hang on for dear life. Then, slime or no slime, there’s nothing better to warm my heart than a little snuggle with my wee ones.
They are our hope for the future and our joy in the present, and even though it’s demanding to care for 5 sick kids, I don’t see it as bad. If the measure of our humanity is in how we care for the weak and vulnerable, I hope that caring for them when they are sick will make me more compassionate and more human. Will help me grow…but hopefully not horns!
The other thing that’s been keeping me going in this flu marathon, is you, my wonderful readers. Just knowing you’re out there, and having other “big” people to talk to, or write to, is really great. Also, my iPad mini makes the most lovely sparkly harp sound every time someone likes a post, makes a comment, or starts to follow my blog, so these little magical noises brighten my day as I’m taking care of the kids. It’s like finding candy to see new notifications from my blogging platform, WordPress, on my home screen when I flip open my iPad.
You’re all awesome! Thanks for visiting Crazyland, and as my herd of wild monkeys has finally settled down, it’s time for me to sleep.
My little one wakes in the night
in search of a snuggle.
All day she runs and plays
talks and sings
dresses up and strips down
to toddle about in her diaper.
She seems like such a big girl sometimes
counting her toys:
“One, two, seven, ten, sixteen…”
and asking,
“What’s after ‘e,’ Mama?
But inside, in some ways,
she’s still a baby
only two.
And sometimes she needs to come home
find that spot in my arms where she fits just perfectly,
fuzzy warm head resting on my chest,
luscious eyelids fluttering like slow-motion butterflies…
After long enough to write this poem,
and give her many kisses,
her little comfort-tank fills up again
and she nestles into sleep.
Just East Of Crazy Land 