"Do the best you can, whatever arises."
Helen Nearing
"I recommend weeding out desires, leaving only the holy hungers, so that you can live most agreeably in a world that most increasingly is full of disagreeable surprises."
MFK Fisher
Folklore has it that one should always be kind, especially to one's mate. Notice that I am throwing around the word 'one' this usually means that I am not going to follow the rules. Mr. G knows this and even had Sherman Alexie inscribe the dictum "Susan, always be nice to your husband" with his autographed copy of Alexies' book. I find 'one should do this, and one should do that", is so tiresome a way of escaping consequences and responsibilities for "ones" actions.
The night before it all happened, James, our five year old grandson, awoke in the middle of the night, crying. Not wanting to disturb us, his darling nine year old sister, Lauren came to his bed and told him "think happy thoughts and you'll go back to sleep". It didn't work and she finally came in to get me, gently tapping me on the shoulder. These are dear children, so kind and sensitive. I got up and James and Lauren were there to describe why he was crying and I told him "Mommy and Daddy are right next door and we will see them in the morning." It wasn't difficult to quiet him, I got in bed with him and hummed "Tender Shepherd" until he told me to stop. The next day I asked James, "why didn't you come get me?" He said, "I didn't want to bother you". His Mom, Anne said "it is unlike him to be awake in the middle of the night" and this should have been a good tip off to all of us that he was coming down with something.
We had a grand day, starting out with a brunch listening to my story being read on the radio with some friends. Then we ate lunch on the deck and decided to go to the beach since it was sunny and almost 60 degrees. We stayed for hours, tossing balls, examining tide pools, playing baseball, climbing rocks, altogether a glorious time. We came home sandy and hungry. Enroute James complained of a headache but only once and then was quiet although he was holding his stomach.
Zach, our son, asked if he and Anne, could go out for a well deserved night on our little town. We happily agreed and stayed home with Lauren and James always delighting in having their company. They are at perfect ages and so funny and bright, a real joy to us. Except, that night poor little James was complaining of a stomach ache. When we asked Zach about it he said, "no problem, he's probably just hungry." We thought that was reasonable and sent them on their way.
After he threw up the first time, James said, "I think I could eat a hot dog now" but happily good sense prevailed and I countered with, "how about some yogurt." Well, he had two bites and moments later threw up again. No more food for him. By this time my husband gathered a bucket, newspapers and blankets so James could remain on the couch in the living room where we could keep an eye on him. We let Lauren go into the TV room with the movie "Babe" and James finally roused himself enough to join her a half hour later. I breathed a sign of relief, clean up a bit and went into the TV room to cuddle with James. Lauren kept looking over at him with a worried expression.
Since they'd already had baths, bed time was a snap. Lauren is quite a good reader and settled in bed with her book. I read Bartholomew and the Oobleck to James, which I admit, was a questionable choice by any one's standards. He was falling asleep and so light's out, kiss and tuck and I repaired downstairs to watch part of a dreadful movie Mr. G selected. I went back upstairs, read and fell asleep, tired from the day at the beach, walking, food prep and grandchildren tending.
A repeated touch on my shoulder woke me at 2 AM. It was dear James, very solemn and for very good reason. He had thrown up in his bed. The sheets were a mess, also the comforter, the mattress pad, and even the mattress was damp.
Let me divert for a minute. Years ago [35?] our two boys ages, 6 and 4 managed, with no difficulty at all, to acquire the stomach flu at precisely the same moment. It was probably the same witching hour, 2AM. I awoke to crying and Josh calling, "Mom!" I stumbled into their room and turned on the light. Unfortunately they had both violently thrown up. Did I mention that they were in bunk beds? Did I mention that Zach was in the top bunk and he turned to the wall to heave? It looked like a scene from a battle, vomit cascading down the side of the wall, and Josh puking over the bed and on to the floor. And the smell? As dear James said, "I don't like the smell of throw up." Gee, neither do I. At this point my sleepy husband entered the horror scene took one look at it, smelled it and at least had the courtesy to go throw up in the toilet. Well, not every drop. He moaned, had the decency to apologize and went back to bed. This is where I get to feel very sorry for myself. I cleaned and soothed the miserable boys for a couple of hours and then got to bed and, you guessed it, someone threw up again. At least this time I had remembered a trick from my Mom which she used for these auspicious occasions, I had put a towel on the pillow and under the boy. Would that I had remembered this tip before 2 AM Easter Sunday morning.
So, back to Sunday with James, shaking, though stoic, and now naked having stripped from his now soaked PJs. I gathered the works in my arms and was heading for the door when who should appear but Mr. G fumbling with his glasses. This is the part when I am not so nice. I snarled, "get out of my way," and imperiously marched downstairs to throw the mess into the washing machine. To his credit he said nothing, and also to his credit and maturation, he stayed, made James another bed with couch cushions while I sponged off the mattress. James fell asleep immediately as only children can. I, however, lay awake staring at the ceiling wondering how on earth I could have been so: 1.optimistic; 2.stupid to think that the last bout of urping was the last; and 3.foolish not to have remembered the towel trick. Then I really started worrying: 1.that this could be the start of a more serious illness; 2.that Lauren was going awake with the same flu; and 3.that I was running out of sheets. 'One should never get one's self in a frenzy after a trauma'. Ha! That went out the window and I was as big a mess as the sheets. The "one shoulds" guidelines flew from my head. Finally, I got a grip and I remembered all of my anti anxiety tips. I lulled myself back to sleep with happier thoughts of our grand day as I snuggled against Mr. G's back.
I guess you could say that all of this was a "disagreeable surprise" and you could also say that I did the best I could, but snapping at a loved one at a time of tension is something I am going to have to work on. Perhaps 2 AM is not the best time to start.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
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