Dita Parker

Friday, March 25, 2011

To Edward Murphy, thanks for everything, Dita Parker

Say you're putting your child to bed. Your bed, because he was feeling funny, and you felt sorry for the little guy, because you're his mom, and you love him to pieces, and you only want him to be comfortable and feel better.

Say you're finally ready to go to bed yourself after making sure everything is in order for the next day, and you're feeling a bit funny yourself because it's an important day, one you want to face sharp of dress and mind, you know?

Say you hear something that could be categorized funny if you didn't know what it is you're hearing, a series of serious coughing coming from your bedroom, and you know, you just know, that in five seconds you'll be knee-deep in the chili you cooked for dinner with dessert thrown in (read: up) for good measure.

Say that's what you're dealing with three past midnight and it will be three till one in the morning before the child is washed and clothed and calm enough to try to go back to sleep in his own bed, and your bed, well, you're thinking of burning it because how will you ever get it clean and smelling decent, and it will be two before you've done all you can so the whole house doesn't stink, and two thirty before you've set up camp in the living room and are calm enough to try to catch some sleep yourself, and three thirty before you start believing you'll never sleep again, and four o'clock in the morning when you realize you're totally and irrevocably fucked.

Oh well.

There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for my babies, and today...today's for you, sweetie darlings, so we could be together a little more, so let's hope that not everything that could go wrong necessarily heads in that direction, and wash your hands, and stop picking your noses, and if you don't know what it is, please don't put it in your mouth, okay? Okay. I think I smell coffee. I think I need it. I think it will be all right.

No comments: