Thursday, November 15, 2012

Everyone Is Marti Pellow

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My son tends to rumble across the landing early in the morning's shrieking, "I don't want to pee." Which isn't true at all. He certainly does want to. But more than that he wants to go back to sleep and he's terrified that one of his parents will whip his pajamas off, plonk him down on an icy-cold toilet seat with the shockingly bright bathroom light glaring in his eyes like he was an enemy combatant. Quite often I'm already up when he thunders across. But lately his mother has been up and gone to work already at some ungodly hour. This morning though I heard him trundle across some time right after 3am. The night before I'd grabbed him as he came in the room (relatively late for him) and peed him. I'm sure it was on his mind this morning as he completely avoided my side of the bed and ran at his mother squeaking faintly, "I don't want to pee."

His mother - who had been going to work at Stupid O'Clock due to not sleeping after 3am the last few weeks - was very asleep. But as any parent can attest with young kids, "very asleep" is nothing close to what it means for people without kids. Basically think of any amount of good, long, deep sleep and relabel it as "about 3-4 hours of poor quality sleep." But as luck would have it this was one of those nights where my wife had fallen asleep and had managed to achieve Level Two of sleep and wasn't prepared to come out of it regardless of a child's needs. I craned my head around to see if his mother was going to take him to the bathroom and heard her ask the laughably silly question, "do you need to go to the bathroom?" Shockingly he whimpered that he didn't. He could have been gripping a tube of monkey fudge by it's very tip with the other 1/6 of it already out and he'd claim he didn't need to go at that time of the morning. He - like his mother - did not want to wake up. At which point his mother gathered him up in her arms and duvet and cuddled him back to sleep. I - obviously aware of the impending Yellow Doom - waited until I felt comfortable sneaking out and went downstairs about ten minutes later. About 5am-ish I woke the wife up for her early start. As she struggled with the idea of being awake I heard my daughter rumble across to jump in the Big Big Bed as well.

Another ten minutes later and the wife was up, dressed, downstairs and ready to jump in the car. I won't say she was awake because I'm not entirely convinced of that. Which - again - is not usual as she's been very used to being wide awake earlier than this and off at work already. I pointed out her laughably ridiculous question about my son's urine and she pretty much pointed out that - as he was dry when she got up - that's it's not her problem now. Bugger. Knowing she was right I went upstairs and turned the bathroom light on and looked into the bedroom to see how they were positioned. As is usually their want my daughter was way to low in the bed so that her feet may even have dangled off the bottom. She had arranged the duvet around her so that her head was the only thing sticking out. Her brother - ever desperate for human contact - if he has made the trip to the Big Big Bed - was curled around the back of her head like a bizarre hat. His groin - the potential source of Yellow Misery - was positioned like a very inappropriate yarmulke on the back of her head. It says a lot about my priorities that I was initially happy about this because it meant if he had gone off already the duvet wouldn't be wet.

Then I coughed. Not a real one - but a "hey can you hear me coughing?" one. It was 5.45am by this point and I was more than prepared for them both to be awake. Both of them frequently get up not that far much later anyway. And my son is such a light sleeper it brings to mind those movies where assassins attempt to nobble the hero in their sleep but they wake up to foil a room full of Black Ops ninjas just as they are about to silently stab them. And yet here he was catatonic. I even turned the laundry room light on - which glares a light into the bedroom without it directly stinging the eyes. Nothing. Which I took to mean that my daughter at least needed to stay asleep as long as possible. So I decided there was no more time for diplomatic measures. No hints to wake up for the boy. I'd just reach in and check to see if he was dry and then remove him like federal agents stripping Elian Gonzalez from his relatives.

Then! Disaster!! The dog got up animated. He never does that. I mean he's a clumsy tit and falls out of bed every morning. But he never gets up grunting and running like he's furious that you're in his personal space. But that's what the silly bastard did. I had just checked my son and he was dry. But the bark stirred him awake quicker than he would have liked. His sister didn't flinch. You could likely jackhammer the walls down around her and she wouldn't move when she's like this. 9 times out of 10 if I so much as went upstairs before 6am they'd both wake up in the most insanely wild mood possible. But that other one time - usually on a very rare morning where we're all traveling somewhere and the kids have been told they'll be getting up early - you couldn't wake her up short of dunking her in ice water.

It was then that my son immediately said, "I need to pee." Not with confidence. But with shame. We both knew that in his unfocused wakening he'd committed a Yellow Crime. All over the nape of his sister's neck. And did she wake up? No she didn't. Actually he could have let it go when he was perfectly coiled around her head. But the slight movement had led him to gush it over a much smaller surface-area of her body than that. I got him up and stripped and plonked on the toilet to release anything he'd failed to fountain all over the place. Then I shook her lightly to wake up. Nothing. So I started stripping the bed around her and - amazingly - washer her neck with a wet washcloth withotu her waking at all. Then I softly said "honey - Owen wet the bed..." and she rolled off the bed ready to take on those Black Ops Ninjas as well. She pulled off her pajamas and let me wash her some more without any fuss at all. Then we were all downstairs with the bedsheets rumbling about in the washing machine a few minutes later. The kids though were all kinds of happy this morning. They even recreated the scene of the Yellow Catastrophe for you all - sans liquid, thankfully.

And I don't care what kind of smile and cheeriness she has - at some point today it's going to hit her that her brother urinated on her head.

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