Take a Little Rest, Mama

It being Friday evening, the end of a busy work-filled week, I was feeling a little tired around 6 pm. I'm sure this never happens to anyone else. Dinner was ready and the boys sitting at the table eating nicely, so I said I was going to sit on the sofa while they finished their dinner.

But when I got to the sofa, the two pillows were already propped up against the arm inviting me to lie down for a minute.

I gave in to the temptation. For 7 seconds. Then somebody asked for a second glass of milk.

Up I got, back to the kitchen, fixed 2 more glasses of milk, 1 requested and 1 preventative, and went back to the sofa. It was 11 seconds this time, before somebody needed another napkin but the napkin holder was empty so would I reach up to the high cabinet and get down some more napkins. "Okay, hold on," I said.

Up I got again, refilled the napkin holder, placed a clean napkin next to each person's place, again preventative measure, and went back to the sofa.

It took a minute and a half for the next necessity. "Mama, booger." This was from the little one. He still skips over the verbs in his sentences most of the time. "Come here," I said. "Give it to me." I put out my hand without opening my eyes and he hands me the booger. I don't even know if it really was a booger. It wasn't very big or sticky if it was.

"Night-night, mama," he says and goes back to the dinner table.

Up next: pit stop. "Mama, I have to go to the bathroom." This from the big one again. "Okay, honey," I say, eyes still closed going on 4 minutes at this point. "Don't forget to wash your hands before you come back to the table." Up he gets, stopping by to look at me lying on the sofa before he goes down the hall. "Are you having a nice rest, mama?"

"Yes, love, I am having a nice little rest."

While he is away from the table, the little one calls over to me, "Mama, on a floor. Dirty, mama." "Okay, honey, bring it to me," I say, putting out the booger hand again to get whatever offering he is bringing now. It turns out to be a little piece of mushroom that had fallen off of his plate onto the floor. "Night-night, mama." He says it again as he goes back to the table.

But as soon as he gets back there he says, "Oh no, mama. Here, mama." Not even bothering to tell me that the next thing has fallen to the floor and waiting for my instruction to bring it to me, he comes. "Here, mama," he says again. Out I reach the booger-mushroom hand, and in he plops a whole, wet, cold, oily tomato slice.

"Aaah!" I jump up to see what the hell he put in my hand. "Floor, mama," he says, smiling softly at me.

"No more night-night, mama?"

And that was the extent of my nap. I poured myself a glass of wine instead. Right, preventative measure.