Roosters and a wet bed

Fucking Roosters.

The previous evening did not go as smoothly as one might have hoped. The whole day was just "off" and it swept into the evening, spent with friends and friends of friends, having a lovely dinner, and lots of good conversation and vodka drinks.

But there was this undercurrent. Sick kids, all hot and sticky looking, with tired puffy eyes, and slightly choked voices and very stuffy noses. And there was some minor whimpering and cause for concern. It ebbed. It flowed. We left the gathering, ran a few quick errands, headed home....things still seeming strange-ish. Underwater, slow-moving, otherworldly off.

We got the kids clean (O, how filthy they were with their sweat and their bare feet and their chocolate cake) and in bed, and everyone was swiftly, immediately, deeply asleep.

Until 2am.

When the pitter patter of little feet was accompanied by one of the most dreaded phrases in parent-speak.

"I had a little accident".

A Note for new or soon to be parents:

There are no "little" accidents. When there is an accident of any kind, simply isolate all items that are in the surrounding area and either wash them (in the case of a wet bed) or throw them out (in the case of vomit, poop, blood or any other staining/smelling/traumatic accident). Do not attempt to sniff or inspect each individual item, hoping to save yourself time and effort. It saves no time, and requires significant effort - and you always miss something and put it back on the bed until such time as there is a SMELL and you have to go through the entire bed AGAIN trying to locate the source.

When the accident occurs at night, wash the kid, put them on the sofa with a dry blanket, throw everything in the wash, and go back to bed. Do not stand in the dim hall light in your altogether attempting to locate fresh bedding, tearing almost everything out of the linen closet in your effort to find all necessary components. There inevitably will not be an extra mattress pad or pillow when you need it, so just don't bother.

Many times, when there is an accident and the child was heretofore potty-trained and reliably dry through the night, assume illness. Even in the absence of barf. Check for fever. A dose of Motrin would not be out of the question. Because every damn time we have an accident, it turns out that there is a fever involved. Or something else. Something grosser. I'm just saying. Rather then spending time cleaning up and remaking the bed, spend the time cleaning up the kid, checking them out thoroughly, and getting them to go back to sleep.

Because time spent standing in the hallway arguing about where the extra mattress pad is, well, that is time better spent sleeping. And as a result of an extended period of wakefulness, you may find yourself unable to fall back asleep, and therefore trolling the internets at all hours, reading other blogrolls and keeping up to date on Supreme Court goings ons in California and Washington D.C. Which is fun, but not as fun as SLEEPING.

And then, just when you think you might actually be able to fall asleep, you hear this noise floating through the house. At first, you think it is the washer, hard at work dealing with the "little accident". Then you realize the noise is outside. Then you see a street sweeper for literally the first time ever in you r eight years as a resident of the state of Hawaii, and you stand in the window and stare in disbelief. Has it always been here ? Or is it just a mirage, a figment of my sleep-deprived imagination, some Polar Bear Express version of a street sweeper ? Does it only come through at 2:47am and somehow you have never actually been awake at the magical hour of the magical day where the street sweeping happens ? And as the noise dies away in the neighborhood, it is replaced by another sound. A squeaking, repetitive sound, accompanied by thumps and perhaps some moaning and Oh Good God please close your windows neighbors, if you are going to do that sort of thing so loudly in our peaceful family neighborhood.

But then, it gets worse. First one, then another, then an cacauphony of the aviary kind - fucking roosters. Our neighborhood is full of Fucking Roosters (I know this because we also have plenty of hens and chicks, so i got proof people. Actual fucking roosters. And what I want to know is, what the hell is so bad about cockfighting again ? Because as far as I am concerned, the less roosters the better, and if you can eliminate a rooster plus make a little money on the side, well, who am I to judge ? I'm just saying. Roosters suck.

And now dawn is breaking, and my darling will be waking up and leaving for work, and I am going to try to get maybe one more hour of sleep before I embrace the day all weepy and disheveled from lack of sleep and extra laundry.

Lets all say a little thank you that I have the fixings for bloody marys right here in my kitchen. Hallelujah.