Post by Rhonda on May 20, 2009 20:29:28 GMT -5
The All-Night Twin Merry-Go-Round
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Twins & More
By Marian Gormley
Anyone who thinks the art of conversation is dead ought to tell a child to go to bed.
~Robert Gallagher
The night started out ordinarily enough. Jake and Tara, our six-year-old twins, were in their respective beds surrounded by books and stuffed animals. My husband, Pat, and I went to sleep upstairs. Pat, having recently explained to Jake that he would need to stop coming into our bed in the middle of the night, was looking forward to a restful night's sleep. In an effort to provide Jake the security he needed and Pat the uninterrupted sleep he wanted, we made Jake a makeshift bed at the foot of ours in case he needed it.
Sometime after midnight, Jake quietly touched me. "Mommy, I want to snuggle in there with you." Remembering his father's words, Jake's whispering voice pleaded, "Mom, I promise I won't take much room." Although I knew Pat would be far from pleased, I just couldn't send Jake away. I shifted gently to make room. My son soon fell asleep, curled up comfortably next to me. As I kissed his freckled face, the moon cast its light over Jake's contented smile as he drifted off to sleep. My husband snored rhythmically on my other side.
Then Mr. Motion (aka Jake) began. An arm flopped over my shoulder. A few moments later, legs jutted onto mine. Poking. Tossing. Turning. Kicking. "I need to get some sleep," Pat said emphatically. "Please put him on the floor bed." I obliged. The motionless calm of night returned.
An hour later, the monitor carried Tara's voice into our room. "Mommy, Mommy, I need you." I carefully stumbled my way downstairs. "Mommy, my nose is all stuffed up. I can't really breathe very good." After retrieving her medicine from the bathroom, I gave it to her, spilling only a few of the bright red, sticky, dye-filled drops onto her pink bedspread. In a sad, congested voice, she pleaded, "Mom, will you please stay with me a little while?" Tara doesn't often get up at night, and I wanted to be there for her.
"Okay, Tara, Mommy's right here…"
She wanted me to climb over her and sleep on the side by the wall. That was the side on which all twenty or so of her stuffed animals slept. I quickly tossed them into a pile. A sudden "Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!" startled me. The battery-operated puppies barked as I lay on them. I smiled to myself as I thought of Pat's grumbling upstairs if the barking over the monitor woke him. I added the puppies to the pile of topsy-turvy animals and dolls. I then stroked Tara's hair and rubbed her back as I made a mental note to avoid the puppies when I crawled back over the pile on my return upstairs.
Ah, back to my own bed. I was determined to sleep. But to my surprise, I found Jake sleeping on my side of the bed. He looked so content that I couldn't remove him. Quietly and carefully, I squeezed back into bed between Pat and Jake. Shortly after I nodded off, it started. Poking. Tossing. Turning. Kicking. Pat begged impatiently, "Marian, please put him on the floor."
"Okay, okay." Jake returned to his bed on the floor.
I did manage to get some sleep before I heard Tara's voice again, "Mommy. Mommy." Maybe it was a dream. I fluffed up my pillow and closed my eyes. "Mommy, I had a bad dream. Mommy!" In a zombie state, I returned to tend to Tara. "Mom, please lay down with me a little bit. I had a bad dream, and I'm sooo scared."
"Of course, honey. It was only a dream, Tara. Mommy's here and everything's okay." We fell asleep in each other's arms. Later, I returned to my own bed only to find Jake once again occupying my space. I put him on the floor and climbed into bed.
"Mom, I just want to come in for one minute for a snuggle because I miss you so much," Jake pleaded. I was too tired to think. We were a trio again.
I turned over a short while later and noticed that Pat was gone. When he didn't return in a few minutes, I wondered if he was all right. Our bathroom was empty. No one was in the kids' bathroom. The kitchen was as we'd left it hours before. Tara slept peacefully alone. The house was quiet and night-filled.
I eventually found Pat. He was snoring in Jake's bed, tucked in amidst the 101 Dalmatians sheets. His head was on Patch's face, and a myriad of stuffed animals surrounded him. I studied him with affection, surprised again by how much Jake resembled him.
Even in my sleepy state, I thought of how soon these nights of merry-go-round beds will soon be over. In their place, my twins will be grown. Jake will be a young man, looking even more like his father. Instead of nightmares, Tara will be dreaming of leaving for college. No doubt before I'm ready, our twins' rooms will be much too quiet and empty, with perhaps a sole stuffed animal and a few childhood mementos on dusty shelves. So it is especially on days when I'm exhausted after a night on this mom's merry-go-round that I remind myself that these very days¯and nights¯are, in fact, "the good old days," ever so precious and fleeting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Twins & More
By Marian Gormley
Anyone who thinks the art of conversation is dead ought to tell a child to go to bed.
~Robert Gallagher
The night started out ordinarily enough. Jake and Tara, our six-year-old twins, were in their respective beds surrounded by books and stuffed animals. My husband, Pat, and I went to sleep upstairs. Pat, having recently explained to Jake that he would need to stop coming into our bed in the middle of the night, was looking forward to a restful night's sleep. In an effort to provide Jake the security he needed and Pat the uninterrupted sleep he wanted, we made Jake a makeshift bed at the foot of ours in case he needed it.
Sometime after midnight, Jake quietly touched me. "Mommy, I want to snuggle in there with you." Remembering his father's words, Jake's whispering voice pleaded, "Mom, I promise I won't take much room." Although I knew Pat would be far from pleased, I just couldn't send Jake away. I shifted gently to make room. My son soon fell asleep, curled up comfortably next to me. As I kissed his freckled face, the moon cast its light over Jake's contented smile as he drifted off to sleep. My husband snored rhythmically on my other side.
Then Mr. Motion (aka Jake) began. An arm flopped over my shoulder. A few moments later, legs jutted onto mine. Poking. Tossing. Turning. Kicking. "I need to get some sleep," Pat said emphatically. "Please put him on the floor bed." I obliged. The motionless calm of night returned.
An hour later, the monitor carried Tara's voice into our room. "Mommy, Mommy, I need you." I carefully stumbled my way downstairs. "Mommy, my nose is all stuffed up. I can't really breathe very good." After retrieving her medicine from the bathroom, I gave it to her, spilling only a few of the bright red, sticky, dye-filled drops onto her pink bedspread. In a sad, congested voice, she pleaded, "Mom, will you please stay with me a little while?" Tara doesn't often get up at night, and I wanted to be there for her.
"Okay, Tara, Mommy's right here…"
She wanted me to climb over her and sleep on the side by the wall. That was the side on which all twenty or so of her stuffed animals slept. I quickly tossed them into a pile. A sudden "Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!" startled me. The battery-operated puppies barked as I lay on them. I smiled to myself as I thought of Pat's grumbling upstairs if the barking over the monitor woke him. I added the puppies to the pile of topsy-turvy animals and dolls. I then stroked Tara's hair and rubbed her back as I made a mental note to avoid the puppies when I crawled back over the pile on my return upstairs.
Ah, back to my own bed. I was determined to sleep. But to my surprise, I found Jake sleeping on my side of the bed. He looked so content that I couldn't remove him. Quietly and carefully, I squeezed back into bed between Pat and Jake. Shortly after I nodded off, it started. Poking. Tossing. Turning. Kicking. Pat begged impatiently, "Marian, please put him on the floor."
"Okay, okay." Jake returned to his bed on the floor.
I did manage to get some sleep before I heard Tara's voice again, "Mommy. Mommy." Maybe it was a dream. I fluffed up my pillow and closed my eyes. "Mommy, I had a bad dream. Mommy!" In a zombie state, I returned to tend to Tara. "Mom, please lay down with me a little bit. I had a bad dream, and I'm sooo scared."
"Of course, honey. It was only a dream, Tara. Mommy's here and everything's okay." We fell asleep in each other's arms. Later, I returned to my own bed only to find Jake once again occupying my space. I put him on the floor and climbed into bed.
"Mom, I just want to come in for one minute for a snuggle because I miss you so much," Jake pleaded. I was too tired to think. We were a trio again.
I turned over a short while later and noticed that Pat was gone. When he didn't return in a few minutes, I wondered if he was all right. Our bathroom was empty. No one was in the kids' bathroom. The kitchen was as we'd left it hours before. Tara slept peacefully alone. The house was quiet and night-filled.
I eventually found Pat. He was snoring in Jake's bed, tucked in amidst the 101 Dalmatians sheets. His head was on Patch's face, and a myriad of stuffed animals surrounded him. I studied him with affection, surprised again by how much Jake resembled him.
Even in my sleepy state, I thought of how soon these nights of merry-go-round beds will soon be over. In their place, my twins will be grown. Jake will be a young man, looking even more like his father. Instead of nightmares, Tara will be dreaming of leaving for college. No doubt before I'm ready, our twins' rooms will be much too quiet and empty, with perhaps a sole stuffed animal and a few childhood mementos on dusty shelves. So it is especially on days when I'm exhausted after a night on this mom's merry-go-round that I remind myself that these very days¯and nights¯are, in fact, "the good old days," ever so precious and fleeting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~