The Maledictory Mariner of My Mind

I think I might be certifiable.

Last night at 3:00 a.m. Ryleigh came in our room to tell me she had a bad dream. I told her to go to her room and I would be in to see her in a few minutes. I laid there and drifted back to sleep, it was only when I heard her start to cry that I jumped from the bed in fear of her waking the others. When I went in there she told me that Brynna made her watch the movie Indian In the Cupboard and now she was afraid because the toys came to life. Like any mom, I offered to pray, tuck her in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Keely woke during this time and requested milk to which I obliged, not cheerfully, but obliged none-the-less. Fifteen minutes after returning to my bed, Ryleigh began to cry out again. At this point in time, my mind begins to swirl with expletives and I again run down the hallway to try and avoid the whole house waking. Granted, my attitude is not as sweet as the first time, but still I try to comfort her by telling her it’s just a movie and to think of all the fun we will have tomorrow. It doesn’t work, she’s still whining. My patience wanes, I then resort to, “The only thing you need to be afraid of is me. Now go to sleep.” I’m not sure why it didn’t work or why I am not Mother of the Year but it was obvious, I needed a different approach. I thought if I brought her to my room she would quickly go to sleep on the floor and then I too could get the rest that I needed to avoid a major meltdown.

My children don’t realize that different levels should be used when speaking indoors or at night time, they only choose to whisper and mumble when I am asking a question that needs an immediate response. So here is Ryleigh making requests for warm corn bags, cooler pajamas, and more lighting in an unhushed voice. The sailor in my mind is getting a little out of hand. “Lay down and don’t say a word.” Quite ensues. Then 15 minutes later as I begin to rejoin the sandman, “Mom, my arm hurts.”

“It will be better in the morning. No more words.”

Sleep. I am able to begin dreaming of Keely dipping my couch pillows in chocolate. “Mom, it’s hot even when I take the blanket off.” That’s when it happened. I dropped the S-bomb. “Shut-up.” This is a big deal in our house. I was thinking worse, but still it felt good when I said it, but two seconds later I realized that I actually said it and not just in my head…I felt horrible. Brian who obviously was feigning sleep made a little gasp. That just added to my anger, why wasn’t he interceding when I am two seconds away from moving on to some hardcore vulgarity. He was saved by the cry, Vance was awake. I commanded Ryleigh to stay put and off I ran to the boy’s room. My hope was that a paci in the mouth would do the trick – not so lucky. At this point my face is pressed against the wall praying for God to allow me some sleep. I succumbed to the pressure of the wailing boy child and nursed him for fifteen minutes. I tiptoed in the room and hunkered down under the blanket.

“What did Vance want?”

Are you kidding me? Is she ever going to sleep? “Go to sleep,” I hiss.

“Can we pray?” I don’t know if I should try to speak to God when he knows all the horrible things I would like to be saying. I offer up a prayer anyway. It’s short and to the point, “Lord, Let her sleep. Please! Amen.” I shut my eyes as tight as they will go in hopes that it will keep my tongue from passing my lips again.

“And help me not to think of bad things and only good,” she chipperly added.

It was 4:50 am, her last request, not another peep from her. Conviction hit. I decided to utter the same prayer in hopes that the potty-mouthed pirate who was wreaking havoc on my mental process would set sail and that I would drift off to dreamland thinking about how blessed I was to have these little ones – even if Vance was up again at 5:20!