|You can see how these three would be trouble, right?|
On the way home she sent me a text that both boys have night terrors and sleepwalk. How is this something I don't know? Ethan's new room is located up a flight of oak stairs that have nearly killed more than one person in the past. I was a nervous wreck! The boys showed up and pandemonium broke out. Three boys ranging in age from 5 to 7. It was crazy! They were throwing balls up and down the stairs, chasing each other with light sabers (with the intent to strike), jumping on the beds. It was mass hysteria. We had just gotten a text from Richard's mom saying a very close family friend had passed away. He was stressed and upset and out of desperation for some peace and quiet (and nervous energy) he decided to try and connect Ethan's TV in his room. I was standing in the kitchen attempting and failing miserably to open a bottle of childproof Ibuprofen for my pounding head when both of us heard IT. And I am not even kidding, it was just like this:
You know that moment? When your kid says something so shocking that you don't even think? You just react? Well, that was the moment! Only instead of the F dash dash dash word, Ethan said, "Come on you, (Word that rhymes with wussy and means the same thing but also means kitty cat)! Throw the ball!" Richard and I both screamed at the same time, "HEY!!!" Then we had the pleasant sit down conversation that went like this: "Where did you hear that word?" Shrug of the shoulders and tears. Rinse and repeat. He never did say where he came up with it and I felt a little like Ralphie's mom with the urge to call all his friend's mothers. But legitimately, because that is not a word that I have ever heard uttered in our house and even the 18 year old was shocked when he heard it come from our just now 5 year old's mouth.
After that little fiasco we decided it was bed time. Ethan lucked out and didn't get the before bedtime Lava soap snack like Ralphie. And the other two boys, terrified of everyone in the house after we screamed like maniacs in unison were frightened into submission and went to bed without a fight. Not our little sweetie though. He screamed and cried and said he was scared of the mural I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for his birthday. To which I promised I would get rid of him before I got rid of the mural (not my finest mommy moment) and Richard, being the better parent, as he always is, tried to convince him there was nothing to be afraid of. Ethan screamed for 15 minutes about how "they" were scared and couldn't sleep while the other two boys sat there with their eyelids drooping saying things like, "Come on, Ethan. Let's just go to sleep. Then you won't be scared." Finally the hubs with his tender heart, sensitive ears, and better parenting skills decided to lay with Ethan until he fell asleep and peace was had by all.
But of course that is not the end of the story. I was awakened from a dead sleep by a bloodcurdling scream and jumped out of bed, trying not to wake Alayna. Attempting to decipher whether the screams were from one child or more, I finally realized they were from Ethan alone but feared he would wake the other two boys. I suddenly had visions of zombie like children stumbling from his room with their unseeing eyes open, arms outstretched and falling one after the other like lemmings from a cliff down our killer staircase. It was so terrifying I ran from the side of my bed without thought and immediately fell over the small metal footstool that has been sitting in my room since the hubs' last "project" and landed right on my ample behind with only the metal handle of the footstool to break my fall. It was all very bright and beautiful for a moment as fireworks went off in my head and my rear. And then I am pretty sure I screamed something worse than Ethan's "wussy". That did finally wake my hero, aka the hubs, from his coma on the couch. He rushed up the stairs two at a time, leaving me on the floor to extricate myself from the life changing footstool fall. Once I had righted myself and my head stopped swimming I made a trip to the bathroom to investigate my surely life threatening injury in my fancy new mirror. Coming back through the den I tripped over a metal chair (that should have already been moved back to the garage) I had been using to stand on in Ethan's room because I couldn't find the footstool, which ironically I had just discovered. The metal chair came crashing down and made a sound I would compare to that of the tin man in a tornado being thrown down a flight of oak stairs. The hubs came running to the top of the stairs to ask what exactly was going on. I ignored him completely, climbed into bed, and passed out. It was all very exciting and I can't wait to do it all over again. And the colorful bruise still visible on my derriere is a constant reminder of all the fun it was
In other news: Big snow storm to hit our neck of the woods tomorrow. Taking a lesson from Cari, I am choosing not to taunt the snow Gods and instead batten down the hatches and take work home with me. Happy upcoming snow day to you and yours!