(I’m in the throes of a sinus extravaganza today, so here’s something I wrote a long time ago. If you need me, I’ll be making out with a Neti pot.)
Four-thirty a.m. The house is wonderfully silent. I wake from my recurring dream in which Barry Manilow and I co-own a pasta sauce company called “Looks Like Tomatoes” and grab my nasal spray. It’s cedar season in Austin, so my body’s practically bursting with allergy medicine. Last week I even started calling myself “One Singulair Sensation,” but nobody thought it was funny, so I stopped. I drift off to sleep again, now dreaming I’m a hip hop singer named Allegra-D, when I’m jolted awake by a primal scream reminiscent of Amazon jungles and bikini waxes.
Jack’s awake.
Holy shit.
I rush into his room only to find his compact, 3-year-old body peacefully snoring on his “Heroes of Transportation”-themed sheets. (Which, sadly, don’t have pictures of toll booth workers or baggage handlers on them, only airplanes and trains. Like a 747 could reroute a suitcase from Reno to Vegas with only seconds to spare? Some frickin’ hero.) Seeing Jack’s blissfully innocent state, I groggily wonder if it was actually him I heard scream. Maybe it was something outside. A premenstrual cat, perhaps. Or a meth head with a gunshot wound. At any rate, I really don’t care. I go back to bed.
For exactly 10 seconds.
Now Jack’s shrieking louder than a contestant on “The Price Is Right” covered in fire ants. His red face, wild hair and glazed expression remind me of something, but what? Oh, right. Nick Nolte’s mug shot. Nice. Quickly trying to diffuse the situation, I rub my hands on Jack’s back and miraculously, it works. He immediately stops howling, crashes onto his bed and falls asleep. What did I just do? And why the hell didn’t I know how to do it three years ago when he was a yowling newborn? I stare in awe at my hands and decide my skin must be leaking “may-cause-drowsiness” Benadryl and the medicine seeped onto Jack. I go back to bed drunk with my new found power.
For exactly 10 seconds.
For the next two long hours, Jack and I are a bad version of shampoo bottle directions: Scream, Rub, Repeat. After withstanding his heartless torture, I’m exhausted and pretty much ready to confess to anything—-even my real weight and SAT scores. No black hood or electric nipple clamps required, man. But then at 7 a.m., Jack suddenly wakes up smiling. I stare at him morosely with bloodshot eyes and wonder when I was impregnated by Dick Cheney in order to give birth to such a child.
“Jack, sweetie,” I croak. “Why you were screaming all morning?”
“There were snakes in my bed,” he says quietly.
I chuckle. Silly, innocent children. When will they ever learn that snakes are only found on planes? Then I take a deep breath, decide to book a hotel room for myself ASAP and gently offer Jack an explanation only a child of mine could understand. “Listen, Jack—you never, ever have to worry about snakes,” I say, holding back a sneeze and reaching for the industrial box of tissues. “Because they’re all allergic to you.”
Then I furiously rub my magic hands all over his little head and hope for an early nap.
________________
Absolutely a classic. Those early morning scary dreams are terrifyingly real, I guess. My kids tend to talk about mean dragons and crazy inchworms once they’re fully awake.
“Making out with a neti pot.” Been there. Done that. Still better than making out with, say, Donald Trump.
You rock. This is priceless! I hope you’re publishing these little ditties in a book.
Kimber
“Screams louder than a PRice is Right contestant covered in fire ants” – HILARIOUS!
Hope you feel better soon!
Beautiful! I tell my kids they don’t have to worry about monsters because it’s a little known fact that monsters are terrified of cats.
Work that neti pot!
…and wonder when I was impregnated by Dick Cheney in order to give birth to such a child.” The best!! I’m rolling in the aisles (if there were aisles) 🙂
I thought you were gonna call it
“Barry wendy ”
But that a tad morbid for pasta sauce…..
Even doped out on allergy meds, you have more humor in one post than I could conjure in a year. God gave you all the wit – it’s not fair man. As my all time favorite mommie (dearest) says wisely “Life is not fair!”
My kids used to dream about little men with green hair, orange pants, blue shirts, purple shoes and purple skin coming out of their closets…they swore the house was haunted and the little men were coming to take them to the underground!
I once had to write a movie review of a direct-to-DVD kid’s movie called “The Adventures of Food Boy,” in which the hero’s superpower was an ability to spew food out of his fingertips like a 10-tentacled barf monster.
I think “The Adventures of Benadryl Mom” must not be far behind. “She came, she saw, she PUT SOME KIDS TO SLEEP!”
Signed, The Zyrtec Avenger
You and I are on the same wavelength on the whole “Heroes of Transportation.” And don’t get me started on the Sheroes.
This was great.
The girl had night terrors for years and they were fucking EXHAUSTING.
“I stare in awe at my hands and decide my skin must be leaking “may-cause-drowsiness” Benadryl and the medicine seeped onto Jack.”
Funniest line ever!
You have found your supper power. You can become a super hero who defuses criming by putting bad guys to sleep with a rub.
Can you come and caress my back when I have nightmares? Thankyou.
I thought One Singulair Sensation was pretty funny. On the other hand, abuse of a Neti Pot is cause for concern, but cedar fever will push Austinites to extremes.
Reading your post-of-times-past makes me feel like I’m in good company with my insane almost 3-yr-old. When does the good sleep come, Wendi? WHEN?
This reminds me of my Erma Bombeck stack of books that I keep rereading, b/c I love them so much.
This post…just like that. I have to read it again, b/c I love it so much.
[…] it’s her contemplating taking over the open mic at a grade school event or using her weird Allegra Hand Powers on a child with night terrors, she never fails to […]