A Normal Night

This is the epilogue to A Normal Day.

Or it was supposed to be.  But unfortunately, I didn't jot down any notes from that night, so I am going to give a play by play of a normal night.

I must say though, that our nights have drastically improved from when we had a newborn, an almost two-year-old and an almost four-year-old.

Think...

• an almost 2-year-old crying in the night.  
• the almost 2-year-old's crying waking the sleeping newborn who immediately begins bawling.  
• loud
• Whaley loud
• me trying to calm a newborn and an almost 2-year-old at the same time.  
• all the commotion waking the almost 4-year-old.  
• me trying to calm a newborn, an almost 2-year-old and an almost 4-year-old at the same time.  
• me yelling from the kids' room trying to wake the hubs to come lend a hand.  
• me wondering if the hubs really can't hear all the commotion or if he really thinks I am superwoman.  
• chaos.  
• almost nightly.

I do not miss those nights.  Not one bit.  Do yourself a favor if you have kids.  Get good sleepers.

Brandon

But I digress.  Here is our normal night...

                                         *******************************

I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed Claire's hair away from her eyes.  She lay there, clutching her favorite "doggie" blanket, made especially for her by Mrs. Brenda.

"What song would you like, Claire?" I asked.

She pulled her fingers out of her mouth long enough to whisper, "Precious!" and immediately stuck them back in.

"Why do you always sing to Claire first?  I never get to have a song first," complained Corrine from the other bed.

"Corrine, I'm singing to Claire first.  Be happy about it or you won't get a song at all," I replied.

Then I sang to Claire her favorite lullaby that I created:

Goodnight, Claire-Clee
Sleep my precious one
God is watching o'r you
All the night long

You are a gift
Sent from above
I'll hold you close
Until the day is done

Goodnight, Claire-Clee
Sleep my precious one
God is watching o'r you
All the night long

After a hug and a kiss, or two, or three, I moved over to sit on Corrine's bed and began rubbing her back.

"What song would you like tonight?"  I asked.

"I May Never March in the Infantry," she said.

"That's not exactly a bedtime song," I commented dryly.

"I really, really want that one, though," she said.

I tried to sing it in my best lullaby voice.  But marches don't make good lullabies.  Within seconds both girls began trashing wildly in their beds, attempting to march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, and fly over the enemy.  I scooted backward to get out of the war zone and sang faster.

"Okay.  Okay.  Calm down.  Claire, put your head on your pillow.  Corrine, stop.  I'm going to pray now."

When I finished praying, Brandon was calling for me to come sing to him.  Allan had already tucked him in, but I usually sing and pray with him.

""Momma, Momma!  Don't go yet, I need to ask you a question," called Corrine.

(Bedtime is "talk time" in her world.  She had a 50-50 chance of getting the right beddy-bedtime genes...and she lost.  Go figure.  Something happens inside that pretty head of hers whenever it hits the pillows, and she becomes immediately filled with all the unasked questions of the day.)

"Okay.  One more question," I responded, sitting on the side of the bed.  "Momma's just about D-O-N-E done for the day."

She looked up at me, paused for a minute, then asked, "Why do chickens have one hole?" (This week's questions have included: "What do penguins do?"  "What is mating?"  "Do people mate, too?")

I think part of her truly does wonder and the other part of her is smart enough to choose questions that require more than a one-word response.

We had our conversation, then as I stood to go to Brandon's room, she called out again, "Momma!"

"What?"

"I'm still hungry."

"How can you be hungry? You ate dinner, and you just finished a snack.  And I already brushed your teeth." I said.  That's it.  You can't be hungry.  You just can't.  I brushed you teeth already. 

The waterworks spouted.  "But I am.  I'm really, really hungry," she sobbed.

"Okay.  You can only have string cheese, so your teeth don't rot."

She went to the frig and got cheese.

"I want some.  I want some sing cheese," whined a 2-year-old voice.

I rolled my eyes.  "Really, folks.  It's bedtime.  Corrine, go get one for Claire.  Goodnight."

I went in Brandon's room.  I talked to him for a while then sang and prayed.

Once they were all settled down, I went to the living room, plopped down the couch next to Allan and thanked the Lord for the blessed quietness.  I love my kids immensely, but there is definitely something to be said for having them all sleeping soundly in their beds.

After a couple of hours we decided to call it a night.  As I drifted off to sleep, I heard a noise, followed by the thud, thud, thud of little feet.

"Mommy," said a voice by my bed.

"Corrine.  What are you doing up?" I asked.

"I need a drink," she replied.

"That's why I put a cup of water on the nightstand by your bed," I grunted.

"I know, but I need you to tuck me back in afterwards," she replied.

Bless you, my child.  

Oops...Lord please help me to be patient.

I crawled back in bed and fell asleep, only to be awakened by frantic crying.  Brandon.  Brandon sound asleep, sitting up in his bed and frantic meant only one thing.  He had to use the bathroom.  I woke up Allan because I am finding that it's hard to drag a sleep-walking/talking child out of a loft bed when he's getting close to 60 pounds.

Allan took him to the bathroom, but spent what seemed like an eternity trying to get him to wake up enough to use the bathroom.  The entire time, Brandon was crying and talking about random things.

After that Corrine woke up needing to use the bathroom.  Then Claire woke up and said she needed to sleep on the couch because the mice might get her in her bed.  Then Corrine woke up again dreaming about scary men on motorcycles with fireboxes.

Yup.  This is normal.  Very normal.  In fact, there have been two nights since Claire's arrival 2 1/2 years ago that all three have slept through the night.  Two.

But it's getting better.  I have hope.

Even though I may not sleep through the night (I never have in my entire life anyhow), I'll take sleepless nights with trips to the bathroom, praying about nightmares, cups of water and midnight snacks over sleepless nights due to sickness and emotional upheaval anytime.

If you're a mother of young children, I think of you often during these "normal nights".  I empathize with you and pray for you.

And the words of our neighbor (who raised five kids) come to mind frequently: "The nights are long, but the years are short."