Category Archives: night

The Thing That Wouldn’t Sleep

Posted on November 30, 2010 | 6 Comments

Wednesday night, November 24th, was a thing to be savored.

For Wednesday night was the entryway to the glorious period of time known as the Four-Day Weekend. I could see it all stretching out before me: sleeping in on Thursday morning, a warm and cozy day inside with a fire crackling and the game on the big screen. Maybe even a beer with lunch. And three more days besides! It would be wonderful.

So it should have come as no surprise that Michael would bust into our room at 3:45 AM, hoping to rouse his mommy and convince her to come downstairs to watch movies.

I was having none of this. I arose, and quite firmly instructed him to go back to bed. I ushered him out of our room and steered him toward his own, and then noticed the flickering light of television downstairs. His sister was up.

“What the heck is going on here?” I asked, not pleased.

“Oh, well, I was up already and he came down a little while ago, so we watched two movies…”

“TWO MOVIES? How long has he been up?”

“Uh… I dunno…” she said.

“Go to bed.”

“Okay,” she said, switching off the TV.

I trudged back up stairs, grumpily, then flopped back down on the bed.

“He’s not going to go back to sleep,” my wife said, softly.

“I know,” I sighed. She was right: if he was this awake, he was going to stay awake.

After I took a few minutes to regain my composure, I got up and went into Michael’s room.

“You can come sleep with us,” I said, reluctantly. He bolted out of his door like his room was on fire and hopped into our bed.

After an hour and a half of wrestling and flailing, he finally settled down to sleep.

And for 90 minutes, he did.

At 7:00 AM he was rarin’ to go again, just as perky as ever. My wife and I dragged ourselves through the morning, making preparations for Thanksgiving dinner. We were expecting sister B to make an appearance, as she had stated days earlier that she wanted to spend Thanksgiving with us. However, a phone call later in the day revealed, though indirectly, she’d changed her mind. Thus, we got the bigger turkey and extra potatoes for no reason. My spirits were not improving.

The day crawled along, dinner finally came and went, and by 7:30 I was beyond pooped. Michael was still pretty peppy, though.

Regardless, I decided that it was bedtime for him, and off he went. My wife and I went to bed shortly afterward.

Imagine our shock to have Michael knock on our door at 2:10 AM.

“Michael! It’s the middle of the night! It’s way too early to be up. Go back to bed!”

“BARK!” Michael coughed, making a sound not unlike a Harbor seal.

“HONEY!” I yelled.

“What is it?”

“Listen!”

“BARK!” Michael produced another tussive blast, jolting his mom into action.

“Get dressed! And get him clothes!” She called out orders as she started the shower and dragged Michael along toward it.

I got my clothes on as quickly as I could and found clothes for Michael. She quickly got herself dressed and finished Michael’s outfit while I woke up his sister and explained that we were heading off to the hospital.

On our way, Michael continued his barking cough. Being a nurse, his mother was worried that he was suffering from a potentially deadly laryngeal disease, something that would eventually close off his airway completely. Hence, the urgency.

But along the way his barks gave way to less sonorous coughing, which made us both feel better.

The ER at the hospital was practically deserted; probably all of the action occurred earlier with the home chefs carving off their thumbs instead of the white meat. They saw to Michael right away, and diagnosed his condition as being Croup.

“It’s pretty common in little kids,” the doc said. “And it happens in the middle of the night. The virus hits, and can lie dormant for days, but then will suddenly strike and cause this ‘Stridor’ in his throat. Have you ever heard that term?”

My wife nodded patiently. I wanted to interject: “Dude, she’s a nurse. She used medical lingo with you when he came in. Did you forget?” but I held my tongue.

“Most adults don’t get the croup because you outgrow it. By the time he’s four or five he won’t get it any more,” the doctor continued.

“By the time he’s four or five?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” My wife and I exchanged looks, but held our laughter until we were in the safety of our van, headed home.

The rest of the day was uneventful, but tiring. My wife and I took turns trying to nap, to catch up on that rare, precious commodity known as sleep. We each had some success.

Michael, however, continued on his interminable wakefulness, demanding our attention and prattling without rest.

Again, at 7:30, I decided it was bedtime for him. He went to bed without a fuss…

…and got up at 4:30 the next morning.

It wasn’t until I kept him up until 10:15 Saturday night to watch The Wizard Of Oz that he actually started to show signs of drowsiness.

Fortunately, he slept until 7:00 on Sunday. And even so, he was mad at his mom for not waking him up in the middle of the night to watch movies.

I don’t know where he got the energy to stay up for so many hours this last weekend, but I wish they’d bottle it. I could use a swig.

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Posted in frustration, inscrutable, michael, night

Sleep Wreck

Posted on August 28, 2010 | 6 Comments

Tom yawns and he sets the last button on his jammies. He stretches and climbs aboard the Sleepytime Express, ready for a good night’s trip through Slumbertown.

“Good evening, sir,” the driver says. “Usual stop? 4:30 AM?”

“Not this time, Joe! It’s Saturday! I’ll be going straight on through town,” Tom says with a sleepy smile. He sits down on the second bench seat right next to his wife, who’s already on board. “Just drop me off wherever. 8:30 would be okay. 9:00 would be even better.”

“Okay, sir!” The driver pulls the doors closed, releases the brake and carefully steers the Sleepytime Express out onto Drowsy avenue.

“Boy am I bushed,” Tom says as he nestles into the seat for the night-long trip.

The bus drives on through the night. The lights of dreamland flash by as Tom sits back and enjoys the journey. He recalls previous trips throughout the week, ones in which he was forced to get off at his 4:30 or 5:30 AM stops, feeling entirely unrested. This non-stop trip through town would be a welcome change.

“Wow, I might make it through this time,” Tom thinks as the bus passes a sign for 4:15.

CRASH!



Out of nowhere, a brick wall named Michael appears in the middle of the road, taking the Sleepytime Express driver entirely unawares as the bus and all of its passengers smash into it at full speed.

With tinkling glass still flying and the smell of charred rubber heavy in the air, Tom and his wife lay sprawled on the road, blinking and jarred, next to a mile marker that reads “4:24″

The wall transforms into a six-year-old boy.

“Mommy? I’m all sweaty!” Michael cries as his mom and I reluctantly haul ourselves out of bed and into active service.

It had been such a nice trip. Maybe tonight we’ll make it through.

In all fairness, it was sister S’s alarm clock that woke him up. I have yet to understand why she’d have it set to go off then. But there’s precedent, so it doesn’t surprise me much.

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Posted in dad, frustration, michael, night

TGIM

Posted on April 5, 2010 | 9 Comments

What a weekend.

Friday I came home early, having contracted whatever plague Michael had brought home. The disease we’d shared was characterized by an unrelentingly stuffy nose. He suffered through his bout by continual, vigorous sniffing. This of course served no useful purpose other than to annoy his older sister; it did not provide any relief for his symptoms. Since Oregon doesn’t allow the OTC sale of Psuedoephederine HCL, there was little to do but just ride it out.

And there wasn’t much rest to be had on Friday anyway as there were many errands to be accomplished, for which I volunteered to be chauffeur. Fortunately I got something akin to rest for the half hour that sister S had her physical therapy appointment. Michael and I sat in the car in the parking lot. I attempted to allow myself to dip down into a lower state of consciousness briefly while Michael peppered me with questions from the back seat regarding the movie he was watching (Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs).

The real fun began at midnight.

Michael woke up because he heard the downstairs phone loudly declare its rapidly declining battery life. His manner of dealing with this crisis is to report it to his parents immediately. And that meant crawling into bed with us. I tried my best to remain inert, but my alleged snoring was found to be disturbing to Michael’s mommy, and amusing to Michael. I was asked to roll over. Instead I got up and went downstairs, first and foremost to grind that annoying phone into a fine powder put the phone back on the charger, and then to curl up on the couch where I wouldn’t disturb anyone. My absence proved more disturbing than my snoring, so I was soon joined by my wife and son. We watched “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” yet again.

At 2:30 I put Michael back to bed, and his mom and I tried to recapture our sleep.

At 7:30, Michael comes bombing into our room, chipper and fresh as a daisy, ready to greet the day.

I opted against decaf coffee that morning.

We got a few clean-up and preparation projects accomplished, and took Michael to “The Chicken Nugget Store” (aka McDonald’s) as per our standing agreement: if he has a good week at school, he gets a treat on the weekend. This week he picked a trip to McDonald’s for chicken nuggets and playtime on the indoor play structure.

Naturally he spent his hour playing on the videogames there instead of crawling, sliding and climbing on the play structure.

Fortunately he did nap. It was a requirement that he do so, or his mom and I would shoo the Easter Bunny off the next morning. My wife and I attempted to catch naps ourselves, though that was difficult with one absent teenager choosing that time to provide sketchy text information regarding when her impromptu visit with her friend would be over, and when and where she’d need to be picked up.

Sunday started rainy again. I had vowed that after Church, I’d finish working on the hot tub. The week before I’d refilled it and started it up, only to find that rather than starting up and running, it would merely emit an ominous buzzing sound. After shutting off the power, I pulled open the spa’s electrical control box to discover that the GFCI was not wired properly. I’d need to repair that. To compound this repair job, I thought it would be smart to disassemble the jet diverter unit as well, since over the years the jet control knob had been getting increasingly difficult to turn.

I learned a valuable lesson right then: do not attempt to undo plumbing in a system that is currently under a great deal of water pressure.

So this weekend, since the hot tub had completely drained itself, I would fix the diverter and the faulty GFCI. Fortunately the diverter was easy to fix: a little smear of vaseline on the o-ring and it was perfectly happy. The GFCI was a different matter. The one in the hot tub was not wired right, meaning our beloved hot tub had been a potential death trap for as long as we’ve had our house. Code states that the GFCI be in the breaker at the main box, so I bought one online for what I knew to be a great price.

Sunday afternoon I shut down the power, and attempted to remove the electrical panel. It was then that I discovered that the shelves I’d put up in the garage included a brace that was covering three of the screws securing the panel.

Brilliant.

I had to cut holes in the brace to get the screws undone.

With that complete, I peeled back the panel cover (which had been left open). I was greeted with a black spider the size of Rhode Island, a critter that had been happily living under the electrical panel cover, and who was only millimeters from my fingertips at one point.

I am not a lover of spiders. I must have given out an involuntary scream (yes, I confess – they really bother me that badly) because my wife called out “Tom! Are you okay? What happened?”

I met her at the garage door, still shuddering.

“S- s- sp- spiiiiiider!”

Michael of course had to see, so I led him outside to view. Once he got within eight feet he ran inside and cowered under a blanket on the couch. I dragged out my favorite spider-slaying device, the trusty Miele vacuum.

Once the spider was devoured, I was able to move on to replacing the hot tub circuit breaker.

After pulling out the old one, I discovered that my low-cost, sight-unseen internet purchase was the wrong type.

So here I learned another lesson: be sure you know the manufacturer of your electrical panel before buying circuit breakers.

After all that, I could not finish my project. This weekend warrior had been defeated.

I hate when that happens. Makes me glad for Monday.

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Posted in family, life, night, stress

Of Nightmares and Zombies

Posted on December 6, 2009 | 7 Comments

Michael had had a pretty bad day yesterday. Not sure who did it, but someone must have put an extra dose of Random in his frosted flakes that morning, because all day he demonstrated just how mischievous he could be.

It was with much glee that bedtime finally rolled around last night, and off he went. I told him I wasn’t happy with him, and that he needed to be much better if he was going to get a visit from Santa. I told him we’d be getting our pictures taken with Santa tomorrow, and that he’d know whether Michael was good or not.

His mom and I were fairly exhausted from the week prior as it was, so we headed to bed early hoping to catch up on some sleep.

So it shouldn’t have surprised me much to hear Michael crying at 1:05 in the morning. I shuffled into his room and asked:

“What?”

“(unintelligible verbiage)”

“You had a bad dream?”

“(more unintelligible verbiage)”

“About what?” I asked.

“There was Santa Claus and it was okay and he was nice and the moon was there and it had a scary face and it was stuck on me… (dissolve into hitched crying again)”

“Santa Claus?”

“No, not Santa Claus,” he said.

“The moon?”

“No, it wasn’t the moon. It was a balloon and it had ears, and it got stuck on me.”

“Well, it’s over now, so let’s settle down and go back to sleep,” I said, stroking his forehead and hoping he’d settle back down.

All seemed well as I headed back to bed.

“At least you didn’t yell,” my wife observed. “That’s your usual M.O.”

“Well, anyone can change,” I said, hoping maybe I was actually making inroads in that department.

Then we heard the crying again.

Back into Michael’s room I went.

“Now what?”

“I’m still sad!” he said, crying.

“Michael, there’s nothing to be sad about.” I sat with him and explained what his nightmare was and that everything was okay, that it was all in his mind. We talked for a while, I told him what weird thing I had dreamed about before my sleep was so rudely interrupted, and he seemed mollified by my words. My reasoning was that if I could take his mind off of his own imagination, maybe he’d get a new train of thought going, on more pleasant tracks.

“So, you’ll go back to sleep?”

“Yes,” he said, confidently.

“No more crying?”

“No,” he said, pulling the covers up over his shoulder.

“Okay. Night-night,” I said, and headed back to bed.

Wait five minutes, cue the crying.

Back in I go.

“Michael, you promised!”

“I’m so sad!”

“Okay, off to mommy & daddy’s room, then,” I said, and shooed him out of his bed.

As was to be expected, Michael did not settle down nor sleep in our room, even by the loosest standards. He was as lively and alert as ever.

“I can take him downstairs,” my wife suggested. I just heaved a sigh in acceptance. Maybe I can get some sleep, then relieve her in a while so she can sleep.

I couldn’t sleep. So after twenty minutes or so, I headed downstairs myself.

By this time, it was closing in on 2:30 AM.

His mom had already gotten Sprout tuned in, Michael’s favorite channel when he’s not feeling his best.

He asked for eggs to eat, his mom made him eggs. He asked for sausage… no sausage.

“I can go get some,” I said. “We need milk anyway.” This was true; the gallon and a half we had on Friday had already been absorbed by his sisters, who probably would be happiest if we had a couple of dairy cows in the backyard and a Pasteurization system in the garage.

So at ten to 3 AM, I was off to the store. I was surprised to see so many cars out at that hour. I was also surprised to find that our 24 hour grocery store has a fifteen minute window every night in which clerical work must occur and no register can be open. So I stood in front of the pharmacy end cap, right next to the Ricolas and cotton balls, glaring (cheerily) at the clerk, who seemed to believe that the clock on the wall would reprimand her severely for daring to process my groceries before due time.

Finally made it home with the groceries. I started in cooking sausage right away because I could see that Michael’s mommy was fading fast.

Michael, however, was not.

After he’d finished his sausage and juice, he wanted to play. I tried to explain to him that this was not play time.

I eventually told my wife that she could head up to bed. “But I’d feel guilty,” she said. I tried to show her the practicality of it: if both of us are bleary-eyed the next day, we won’t be much good. But if she’s gotten some sleep under her belt maybe I could catch a nap later. Maybe.

Finally, at 5:00, Michael wrapped himself up tightly in his blankets, the sure sign that he’s feeling drowsy and ready for bed.

Seizing the opportunity, I carried him up to bed and tucked him in. He snuggled into his blankies and drifted off to sleep.

I finally headed to bed myself, and thought it took me a good forty-five minutes to fall asleep, I finally did.

And then Michael came barging into our room at 8 AM, chipper as a caffeine-soaked Jack Russell Terrier, ready to go and rarin’ for action.

I don’t know what lesson there is to be learned here, other than the fact that Michael is some sort of mutant who doesn’t actually need sleep.

So I ask: can someone be his buddy for the day so his mom and I can get a good nap?

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Posted in frustration, michael, night

More Nighttime Fun

Posted on May 1, 2009 | 11 Comments

Last night, I thought maybe I’d try a preemptive strike.

Since it was Thursday night, and Hell’s Kitchen was going to get down to the final two, I was determined to avoid repeated call-backs from the little despot upstairs.

While putting Michael to bed, I gave him a little lecture.

“Okay, Michael. Let me make this clear. You may not call me back upstairs for anything other than blood, fire or spiders. Do you understand?”

He nodded his head.

“I mean it. You can’t call for me to report a bug, you can’t call for me to cover you back up, you can’t call because you dropped your leopard, you can’t call for me if you think you heard a noise.”

“Okay.”

“Got it?”

Nod.

“Do you call me if your fan isn’t on?”

Shakes head.

“Right. You turn it on yourself. Do you call me if there’s a bug flying around?”

Shakes head.

“Do you call me if you see a huge spider?”

Shakes head.

“Actually, for that, you can call me. Spiders, blood or fire. For those, call me.”

“What if I have to go potty?”

I think it was right here that I made my tactical blunder.

“You’re big enough to get up and go potty all on your own. In fact, I’d like if you would go potty in the middle of the night, so you won’t wet the bed.”

“Okay!” he said, a little too eagerly.

We read a story, I tucked him in, we said our prayers, and I bade him goodnight.

And all was well.

For about ten minutes.

Then, while downstairs and full absorbed in the antics of an overly-stressed out chef and his aspiring students, I heard a door open.

“Is that okay?” My wife asked.

“Yeah, I told him he could go potty. He’s just going potty.”

“Didn’t he go just before you took him up?”

“Yes.”

Thump. Thump-thump.

From overhead came random, vigorous thumping, as if someone were dumping a truckload of cantaloupes into the bathroom.

Thump. thump thump thump THUMP! THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!!

“That is entirely too much percussion for a simple trip to the bathroom,” I muttered to no one in particular.

I resignedly hoisted my posterior off of the couch and rounded the corner to head upstairs. I found Michael standing in the bathroom doorway. The light was on, but he hadn’t actually made it all the way to the toilet yet.

“What are you doing?”

“Going potty,” he said.

“So go.”

He got himself ready, moved into position, and after a minute worth of preparatory flapping and dancing, he exuded exactly 1/2 teaspoon of urine into the bowl.

“I’m done.”

“Okay, sport, look. Just because you have the permission to go potty at any time does not mean you should be trying to go potty at all times.”

After washing his hands, he went back to bed and this time he went to sleep.

I think the subtlety of the difference between authorization and obligation is still beyond him.

But this too shall pass.

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Posted in frustration, michael, night

The Master Plan

Posted on March 25, 2009 | 9 Comments

I’m pretty sure Michael implemented another phase of his master plan yesterday. This is the plan he has to topple my reign as daddy.

He woke up at 4:15, two and a half hours earlier than I would have gotten him up myself. His mom bolted out of bed to go get him because he was crying.

He’d wet the bed. Soaked it, to be truthful. This happens from time to time; it’s to be expected, given his genetic makeup.

So after a shower and fresh clothes, he was wide awake. As was I.

Down we stumbled into the family room to occupy ourselves, and let mom hopefully get a few more hours of sleep. He was perfectly perky, asking for breakfast and a chance to see SpongeBob. As he ate, I put his soiled bed linens into the washing machine and started it up.

Later, after his mom left for work and it was getting close to time to head off to Ms K’s, Michael started nodding off.

Sorry, pal. You can’t escape that easily. You got up, so you’re staying up. And you’re going.

I put in a full day’s work, sitting in front of a computer monitor, writing documents, tweaking schematics. By the end of it, my eyes were ready to dissolve. The world was clouded by a thin fog of drowsiness.

On the way home I called my wife and let her know I was in no shape to think of what to have for dinner, let alone cook. So it’s take out burgers tonight (Not healthy, I know. I’ve already got guilt; no need to heap on more.).

Michael kept us busy for the duration of the evening, giving us suggestions about various fun activities we could engage in: playing Wii golf, drawing, blowing bubbles, even asking to go out for a walk.

I had to take care of a little home improvement business outside, and because it involved a ladder and climbing up to the second story windows, Michael was intrigued. I had to tell him no fewer than twelve times that he couldn’t climb onto the roof until he’s much older.

“When I grow up?”

“Yes, when you grow up. When I’m too old to do it myself.”

Seems some birds had broken into our attic through a vent, and were merrily tearing out the insulation to use for their nests. They weren’t exactly tidy about it, though, leaving fluff all over the walkway and poop all over the windows. Lousy wildlife.

So I tacked a piece of hardware cloth over the hole, blocking it off to anything larger than a gnat. They won’t be able to get through that. Imagine their surprise today when they try to pilfer our attic insulation. Take that, nature! Hah!

Anyway… after our evening walk, it was bedtime. 8 o’clock had come, and my wife and I were quite glad to see it. Michael is going to be heading off to bed, and so can we.

Whooops – not so fast. Guess what? We forgot to dry Michael’s sheets and blankets.

Sigh.

For an hour, we played Wii sports. I lost 200 points off of my golf score, sending me perilously close to falling below the “Pro” line. I was not happy about that, to say the least. Michael, on the other hand, beat me on two games; one with a chip-in at 52 yards for a Birdie. Amazing.

Finally, after the sheets and blankets were dry, I was able to put him to bed.

At 9:30, my wife and I finally made it off to bed ourselves. As I lay in bed recalling the day’s events, it occurred to me that Michael had implemented quite a plan: getting us off-balance at the day’s beginning, keeping us moving and distracted throughout the day in order to extend his bedtime and further our weariness.

Day by day, he’s systematically and calculatedly wearing us down.

He must be getting his ideas from that Plankton character on SpongeBob. I’ll have to see if I can get him interested in watching Go, Diego, Go! Instead.

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Posted in family, frustration, night, parenting

Spider-Zilla

Posted on September 18, 2008 | 4 Comments

Last night, Michael’s Mommy, sister S and I are relaxing with a smidge of wind-down TV after having successfully put Michael to bed. Not that it’s usually a struggle or anything — I gotta say if there’s anything I can be happy about with Michael, it’s his willingness to head off to bed when the time arrives – but his energy level keeps us all going until he’s safely snuggled under the covers and I can shut the door. Then it’s Miller Time. Or apple crisp time, in our case.

Anyway.

There we were, relaxed and unawares, watching “Kitchen Nightmares” and finishing up our fruity treat. Michael’s Mommy was in the process of making an observation about something, when she stopped in mid-sentence and made the sound that invariably gives me chills: The Frightened Whimper.

She has a range of sounds that she can make when communicating fear, depending upon the situation. There’s the basic Startled Scream, the Terrified Shout, The Plaintive Moan, and the one she used last night. This particular sound implies that the object of fear has so thoroughly surprised and frightened her that in her mind, it’s too late to do much of anything but curl up into a ball and surrender.

I followed her eyes downward to the floor.

There, walking nonchalantly out from under the couch, the one that we were just sitting on, the one that we sit on with great regularity, the one we had only recently turned over and cleaned thoroughly, was the biggest spider I have ever seen.

I’m not counting tarantulas or those camel spiders you see on the internet. Those are far away in other countries that are separated by large distances and bodies of water and stuff.

This spider was right here, live and in person, winding its way around our very own feet.

It was big. Did I mention that? It could have had its own zip code and congressional district. It was bigger than the last one I had to deal with, a month ago to the day.

In specific terms, this spider was easily three inches in diameter. Its body alone was an inch long.

I stood staring, agape. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I couldn’t believe the audacity of this creature. My mind raced. If this thing was here and in plain sight, are there others? Is there some kind of Aracumantula nest beneath the house or perhaps concealed within the bowels of the couch itself?

“Get it, get it!” Michael’s Mommy shouted, bringing me back to my senses.

I had a job to do. I am man. I am vanquisher of spiders.

Quickly, I fetched the Miele vacuum cleaner, and set it to maximum suck.

“Keep your eyes on it!” I shouted, as I hauled the vacuum over to the nearest outlet and plugged it in. I hit the switch and waited impatiently for the motor to wind up to full power.

Eyes narrowed and fixed on my prey, I extended the hose tube to full length. I needed to strike fast and true. I wouldn’t get a second chance. Big as he was, he could move quickly and I knew it.

Wielding the vacuum like a saber, I struck out at the evil monster – and it was no more. Devoured by the heartless maw of the Miele, to meet his doom amongst the dust bunnies trapped inside.

For good measure, as I always do, I hunted for other things to suck up, to act as missles to finish the job. Unfortunately, Michael’s Mommy had done a very thorough vacuuming earlier that day, so my quest was a difficult one. Fortunately I found an errant Kix and a couple of chocolate wrappers, courtesy of Michael. I can always count on him to provide a consistent layer of detritus wherever he goes.

While we all discussed our plans for fumigation, I did some research on this particular spider, the image of it still burned into my retinas.

I had thought it might be an Aggressive House spider, or perhaps a Brown Recluse. But the size charts on these two indicate that whatever kind of spider we had just dealt with was a whole lot bigger than those. And it might have been a Hobo spider, because it looks an awful lot like that. But again, the Hobo is a whole lot smaller.

Further research leads me to the conclusion that this particular creature was a Giant House spider, which, according to my research, is easily mistaken for a Hobo spider.

The biggest relief I got out of this particular page are the words: “…venom is harmless” and “they kill and eat Hobo spiders.”

Dang. I got one of the good guys. Well, I didn’t know! It was menacing my family, what with its walking on the carpet and standing there doing nothing.

They should wear white hats or something so I can tell them apart.

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Posted in dad, moments, night, stress

This is love.

Posted on August 18, 2008 | 6 Comments

It’s late. It’s been a long day. You’re tired. You’re very much looking forward to hitting the sack and getting a decent night’s sleep. But when duty calls, you gotta be on your game.

The other night, I’m saying goodnight to the kids, when I heard a shriek from the bedroom that can mean only one thing: Spider.

“Tom! It’s huge! Hairy spider right there!” I ran into the room where Michael’s Mommy was standing, bent over, staring at the wall behind the table. I looked at the wall and just saw the last traces of the hideous creature as it casually sauntered on along the wall, now obscured behind some books.

It was big. Big enough to get angry at me and maybe seek revenge if I didn’t act swiftly and decisively.

So I quickly darted around to the other side of the table, where I expected to see it continue its journey along the wall.

Not there.

Had to get a better view, so I mustered up my strength and in one motion pulled the table out away from the wall. This table holds a television, a box of books, two potted plants and a few assorted items. It’s heavy. But we’re talking big hairy spider, here.

Still, no sign of spider.

I’m handed my flashlight, the one I keep by the side of the bed for the nightly spider patrol. I’m not kidding about that. Every night I have to scan the ceiling for any creepy-crawlies that might be lurking there, ready to pounce.

Searching the area, I see nothing. Nothing behind the curtains. Nothing in the window case. Nothing up above behind nor in the folds of the valance. It vanished.

I pulled out the box of books from the table, and went through every one of them. Nothing.

I checked through the potted plants. Nothing.

Okay then.

Now it’s time to go through the boxes that were on the floor underneath the table. There are four of them: two full of papers and books and things, two full of Michael’s toys. I fully expected the skulking arachnid to shoot up out of one of them at any moment and latch onto my eye or something, so I moved slowly and carefully, keeping my guard up at all times.

After going through every paper, every toy, every knick-knack and paddywack and dog bone there was in those boxes, still nothing. The underside of the table was clear. The floor by the table was clear. The vent was clear. No spider.

Meanwhile, Michael’s Mommy has grown weary of the chase, and has moved on to brushing her teeth.

I’m not quite as calm. See, I don’t like spiders much either. And as I mentioned earlier, this one was big enough to calculate a diabolical scheme. It was no doubt planning to bide its time, keep hidden where I would least suspect, and then it would slowly make its way up along the wall, crawl across the ceiling and then pounce on us in our beds. It would suck us dry in the night. No doubt.

So after an hour of searching, I called it off. But I kept the light on. And I laid there with one eye open and my flashlight handy. Waiting. Watching. Knowing that the spider would attack soon.

He didn’t, and I fell asleep. But it was a restless sleep.

Fast forward to this morning, two days later. Chatting amicably with my wife, planning the day and the logistics of who’d be home when and who’d get Michael… and then she suddenly paused and pointed up on the ceiling.

“What’s that? It’s a big dark spot!”

Sure enough, it was Boris the spider. He was making his way over to our bed as slowly as he could, probably assuming the human visual acuity is based upon movement. Hah. His mistake.

I hurried downstairs and brought up the secret weapon.

I set the Miele canister vacuum to maximum suck, and in a quick flick of the hose, zooped him up.

I then vacuumed up a few dead ficus leaves and errant cheerios and paper wads I found on the floor, just to properly finish the job.

Vanquished, at last. I have fulfilled my loving obligation to my wife.

I’ll sleep well tonight.

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Posted in marriage, moments, night, stress

Tales of the Trip, part 2: No Rest for the Weary

Posted on August 7, 2008 | Comments Off

As I’d mentioned in my last tale, we rolled into Joseph, Oregon at the end of the day.

We were worn out. Aside from the mental assault wrought by Dora and her buddies, the strain of keeping the van moving while keeping everyone inside relatively happy, and the stiffness brought about by remaining in pretty much one position for the entire time had taken its toll.

Now, I don’t ask for much. I really don’t think I do. I was only hoping to relax when I got there. After all that driving, I was hoping to just zone out for a while.

But as long as Michael’s on the job, there is no zoning to be had. Constant vigil is his implicit theme.

And as bed time rolled around, it was clear that he would demand vigilance down to his very last waking moment. I’m no stranger to Michael’s aversion to allowing me to have a peaceful night’s sleep, and thus while brushing my teeth for the night, I was already braced for a struggle. There would be no smooth sailing tonight, but mizzenmast stowed and rigging secured for a Nor’easter.

The kids had assumed Michael would be bunking with them in the big bonus room. But his mom and I knew that if we tried that, nobody would get any sleep. We’d already made up our minds that the easiest way to weather this storm would be to defuse it from the get-go and just have Michael snuggle with his mom all night.

Only, Michael didn’t want to snuggle with mommy. He wanted to be with his sisters and cousins. He wanted to be where the action is. Where the fun is. Where all the big kids are staying, obviously not sleeping but whooping it up in an all-night toy, movie, candy and flapping-around fest. Michael had it all figured out.

And to make it all the more pleasant, his sisters didn’t want him there. They (particularly the older two) are hyper-sensitive to all forms of external stimuli. Movement of any kind, excessive vibrations of air molecules, the errant photon, gamma brain waves within a forty foot radius; these are all unacceptable manifestations of commotion when they’ve made up their mind to sleep.

This is directly at odds with Michael’s need to flop around before he goes to sleep. It’s just what he does, and they’re all aware of this. Watching TV downstairs at home when Michael’s just been put to bed is usually punctuated with reports from upstairs, where it sounds like Michael is remodeling. They should know he doesn’t just drop off to sleep.

So when we brought Michael into their room, we were met with a collective groan. At least his Cousin A was amenable. He’s a good guy, and always willing to step up to the plate and do what’s right. We bade them goodnight and hoped all would be well.

It wasn’t even five minutes when sister B escorted him back into our room.

“He won’t stay in his bed. He keeps getting up and running around,” she said.

“Okay, Michael. You just stay here with us. Let’s read a book,” I said.

“I don’t wanna stay here! I wanna be with the big kids!” he whined.

He flopped around in our bed while I attempted to read a couple of books, chatting with his mom, asking for water, crawling around and using our legs as a makeshift McDonald’s playland.

Lights out time came, and this energized him all the more. He rolled over on this side. He rolled over on that side. He climbed on his mom. He climbed on me.

Eventually, we grew weary of this, and offered him one more chance with the big kids.

I escorted him back to the room, where the collective groan was accentuated with a collective eye-roll.

“I wanna sleep with A,” Michael said. We asked cousin A if that was okay, he said yes.

“Okay, Michael. But you have to stay here. Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

“Good night, everyone,” I said, and headed back to our room.

And all was quiet, for a long time.

I was just starting to drift off, when I heard a cry: “No! No! No! No! Waaaaaaaah!” It grew louder and louder, approaching our door.

(Insistent pounding on the door)

“What?”

Sister B reports: “He keeps getting out of bed! He ran to mine, then he kept poking me. Then he jumped out of my bed and ran to Ss, and started pulling her hair. He won’t stay in bed.”

I got up and opened the door.

“All right, Michael. You’ve used up your last chance. You are staying here,” I said.

“No! I don’t wanna!”

“Too bad. You should have been good.”

“I’ll be good!”

“It’s too late for that.”

“I don’t wanna it be too late!”

“Come on, climb in bed.”

He did, still sniveling.

“Good night, Michael. Go to sleep.”

But sleep, he did not.

He climbed on his mom. He climbed on me. He wanted to slip in between his mom and me, so he’d have full access to each of us.

He didn’t want the covers on, so he kicked them off of both of us, effectively chilling us both.

He rolled around, elbows and knees flailing, providing a kinetic counterpoint to the cold.

He touched his mom’s face, poked her ribs, pounded on her belly. He elbowed me in the eye socket, grabbed my nose, and inserted his finger in my ear.

His mom picked him up and rolled him over onto her side, mostly to keep him away from me. He waited until mommy was quiet and still, and then tried to slide off in order to escape from our room and return to his sisters. She grabbed him just in time and held firm.

He wriggled free from her weakening grasp and climbed over her again in order to torment me some more.

I tried to remain motionless, in order to provide proper example for him. I had hoped he would get the point of this whole “lying still” thing. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my head, could sense a mischievous grin spreading across his face. His arm snaked out and slid over my face ever so slowly, and then his fingers closed around my nose again.

My hand shot up with ninja-like speed and grabbed his arm. “Michael, no. You go to sleep,” I said, growling.

“buuuuuuwwwaaaAAAAAAAAAA!” he cried, obviously tired and horribly offended that I would refuse his kindness.

“Come on, Michael. Snuggle with mommy,” his mom says, returning to her basic axiom that when daddy’s sleep is jeopardized, Michael should be kept out of his reach.

While I lay there fuming, I was inspired to invent safe and effective alternatives to chloroform. Visions of a brainwave-altering LED strobe and a concentrated brew of chamomile, valerian root and blue vervain circle my mind. There has to be a way of consistently getting a kid to fall asleep that doesn’t involve a rubber mallet.

Whether he was still flopping around after I finally fell asleep, I do not know.

But after what felt like a brief, dreamless sleep, I was suddenly awake again, the room brightening to the mounting glow of the dawn. One of the great joys of visiting here is seeing the sunrise. The view of the northeast horizon from this bedroom was unsurpassed, and it would be only a few minutes before the sun would rise over the hills in the distance.

As I stood there staring out the window, a brief green flash heralded the rising of the sun as it finally peeked up over the hill.

Though I felt like I’d gotten no sleep at all, I was definitely awake for the day. My wife and son lay there peacefully, asleep at last. They didn’t wake up for another hour or so.

My wife informed me later that she probably got three hours of sleep.

Not a good way to start the day: sore, exhausted, and still bone-rattled and delirious from the previous day’s trip.

But today was a special one, and my wife and I knew we needed to buck up and deal.

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Posted in kids, memories, night, travel

Cowboys and Aliens

Posted on July 28, 2008 | 4 Comments

3:00 AM.

My blissful dreams, whatever they were about, are instantly shattered by a very adamant pounding on our bedroom door.

Michael wants in.

Once again, I play possum as my wife responds to this urgent matter. Something about evil spiders again, or maybe monsters, or ghosts, or nematodes; the exact nature of the crisis matters little.

I am now awake. And by that, I mean completely and utterly. But for some reason, this time I’m not bothered by being awakened so early. I lay there silently and assess the situation.

Though his mom tries to have him snuggle back to sleep on her side of the bed, he is unceasingly kinetic. And verbal.

Knowing without a doubt that he’s just not going to settle down, I arise and walk over to my wife’s side of the bed to scoop him up.

“C’mon, sport. We’re going downstairs,” I tell him. I was hoping my wife would go back to sleep, so that later in the day at least one of us wouldn’t be bleary-eyed.

“Can I watch SpongeBob?” he asks, whispering, as we descend the staircase.

“Not now. Since you’re on my time, you’re going to watch what I want to watch.”

Settling us in on the couch, I flipped on the TV and switched to the American Movie Classics channel.

The movie playing was “A Fistful of Dollars”, a top-notch spaghetti western if there ever was one. You can’t go wrong with Clint Eastwood as directed by Sergio Leone. I happen to have it on DVD, as well as the other two in the trilogy.

“I don’t wanna watch this,” Michael whined.

“Then you can go back to bed,” I said, knowing I held the aces in this game.

“No!” he moaned.

“You’ll like this. This is a cowboy movie. We like cowboys.”

“Cowboys?”

“Yeah! The bad guys are trying to get all the poor people in this town, but this is the good guy, and he’s going to get the bad guys,” I said, pointing out the characters in the show and explaining the action in terms his little perspective could grasp.

“That’s a bad guy?” he asked, pointing to the main bad guy, Ramón.

“Yes, that’s a bad guy.”

“That’s a bad guy?” he asked, pointing to Joe.

“No, that’s a good guy. He’s going to get the bad guys.”

We watched them square off, the camera switching from tight, squinting close-ups and low angles of spur-bedecked boots to images of cowering townspeople and dusty, windblown streets. Michael was transfixed.

Eventually Joe dealt with Ramón in his standard, clenched-teeth fashion, and soon the now-courageous townspeople dispatched the last of the bad guys just before he bushwhacked Joe.

“He gots blood?” Michael asked, seeing the stuntman bust through the flimsy wooden railing and topple out of the second-story window before the scene cuts to a close up of his blankly staring eyes.

“Yes, but it’s not real blood. It’s just pretend blood.”

“The good guy gots blood?” he asked.

“Nope, Joe is doing just fine,” I pointed out. “The bad guys always have the blood in the end.”

“I like cowboys,” Michael says. Then he thinks about it a little and adds, with a note of pride, “We’re boys, and we like cowboys.”

“Yup,” I confirm. “You and I are the only boys, and boys like cowboy movies.”

Pretty soon Joe was riding away as the camera pulled back for an ever-widening shot of town.

“It’s over?” he asked.

“Yes. See? It says ‘The End’. That means it’s over.”

“T… H… E… spells ‘The End?’”

“Very close! It spells ‘THE’”

“I wanna see more cowboys!”

“Let’s see what comes up next,” I said. Sure enough, the next movie was another western. But this one was a much older film called ‘Westward Ho!’ starring John Wayne. A very young John Wayne.

And it was in black and white.

“Why it’s all grey?” he asked.

“This is an old movie. All the really old movies are in black and white.”

“These cowboys gots blood?”

“Yes, but it’s black and white blood,” I said.

“I gots red blood… where they gots black and white blood?”

“Okay, I was sort of kidding… it’ll just be black, because there’s no color in this movie.”

We watched it a little bit. Soon Michael got squirmy and bored, and started looking for something else to occupy his attention. The pacing of those old movies was just not the same as the more recent films. The dialog was hard to hear and the scenes were not as compelling either. I couldn’t see him sitting still through this.

“Can I watch SpongeBob?” he asked, yawning hugely.

“No, but we’ll find something else. How about the alien movie with the little boy who looks like Michael?” I was referring to ‘Close Encounters’, in which one of the characters, a little three-year-old boy, bears a striking resemblance to Michael. Except that this little boy doesn’t scare the aliens away by screaming, doesn’t destroy their feet with scattered Legos nor try to whap them with a stick horse.

“Okay!”

So I put on Close Encounters and we watch.

“Those are the aliens?” he asked, pointing to the guys who’ve just arrived in the Sonora Desert to check out the planes from flight 19.

“No, they’re secret government agents,” I explained.

He was silent for a long time. He didn’t move as much any more either.

“Daddy? I just love you,” he said, squirming up to give me a hug on the neck.

“I love you too, Michael. It’s nice to watch movies late at night some times, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

He was silent for a little while longer, snuggling down into the blankets. The digital clock on the VCR read 6:33 AM.

“Daddy?” I want to take a nap,” he announced.

“Go right ahead,” I said.

And he rolled over, and he slept.

I’m sure he was bushed. Keeping your dad up half the night is a tough job, but it’s a labor of love.

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Posted in kids, night