Yappy #1 and Yappy #2


Good morning. It’s 4:12 a.m. The neighbors’ yappy dogs have begun to bark.

4:12 a.m. and 15 seconds: Z wakes up crying.

4:12 a.m. and 20 seconds: The Ever-Suffering Mother (hey, that’s me!) retrieves crying child and deposits her into what can now be called The Family Bed (of Pain).

4:13 a.m.: Yappy dogs still barking. [Mostly it’s the dog with the higher-pitched bark, but the other joins in occasionally if things are getting too quiet.]

4:13 a.m. and 17 seconds: Z shifts and says, quietly, “Hold my hand.”

4:13 a.m. and 18 seconds: The Ever-Suffering Mother holds her hand.

4:22 a.m.: Bark. Bark bark bark bark bark! …Bark Bark Bark BARK BARK BARK…BARK BARK! Bark bark bark bark bark Bark BARK. Bark bark bark bark bark bark bark…bark bark…bark bark bark bark bark. BARK BARK BARK BARK!

4:25 a.m.: Z and Ever-Suffering Mother blink at each other in the near-dark. Suffering together.

4:26 a.m.: Bark bark bark bark BARK BARK…bark BARK (etc.). Z shifts again, impaling the Ever-Suffering Mother with her leg.

4:27 a.m.: Silence.

4:27 and 36 seconds: BARK BARK!!!!! Bark bark bark bark BARK…bark bark! BARK.

4:29 a.m.: Silence. Z shifts, kicking leg into the Ever-Suffering Mother’s back (back still sore from the previous night’s kicking abuses).

4:29 and 12 seconds: Ever-Suffering Mother balances precariously on edge of the Family Bed (of Pain), almost out of range of the Kicky Feet.

4:33 a.m.: BARK! (etc, etc)

4:34 a.m.: The Ever-Suffering Mother drafts dialogue for nasty phone call to owners of Yappy #1 and Yappy #2.

4:35 a.m.: Still barking.

4:36 a.m.: The Ever-Suffering Mother contemplates scenes of graphic violence to Yappy #1 and Yappy #2. Too graphic to recreate here, but basically involving firearms, poisons, and a spork.

4:39 a.m.: The Ever-Suffering Mother kicked again. Just punishment for her 4:36 a.m. Evil Thoughts.

4:40 a.m.: Still barking.

4:41 a.m.: Z still awake. The Ever-Suffering Mother still awake. Husband sleeps. [How? How? Must find out his secret.]

4:42 a.m.: Silence.

4:43 a.m.: Silence.

4:44 a.m.: Silence. Will it last? The Ever-Suffering Mother dares to hope. While perched on edge of the Family Bed (of Pain), the Ever-Suffering Mother puts defensive arm against lower back. Maybe sleep will finally come at last.

4:46 a.m.: BARK! BARK bark BARK barkbarkbark BARK…BARK. BARK bark BARK bark bark bark bark BARK! Bark…bark bark bark barkbarkbark.

4:47 a.m.: The Ever-Suffering Mother hauls suffering self off the edge of bed, finds neighbor’s phone number, and dials.

4:47 and 5 seconds: Silence.

4:47 and 30 seconds:

Mrs. Neighbor: [croakily] Hello?

ESM: Hi, this is ESM, your neighbor. I’m sorry to call so early, but your dogs have been barking for a half hour and I can’t get back to sleep [Subtext: you terrible person why haven’t you done anything about those noisy pests when no other dog I know has ever been so terrible they should be put down they are a blight on our society].

Mrs. N: Oh, I’m really sorry. Mr. N just brought them inside. I apologize.

ESM: No problem. [WTF? Why would the ESM say “no problem” when it so obviously was a problem? Her internal scientists (small, confused people that they are) continue to puzzle over this behavior problem.]

ESM & Mrs. N say goodbye, hang up.

4:50 a.m.: Silence. The Ever-Suffering Mother reperches on edge of the Family Bed (of Pain).

Sometime after 5 a.m.: Both Z and the Ever-Suffering Mother fall to sleep again.

For a too-brief interlude.

And the Ever-Suffering Husband, bless him, deals with both the highly-spirited Z and the highly-dis-spirited Ever-Suffering Mother as he tries to get ready for work. He gets up early every work day, despite his own lack of sleep, to deal with an either cranky or hyperactive toddler, and a cranky or extra-cranky wife.

So, happy Father’s Day, Ever-Suffering Husband!

*Because the Ever-Suffering Mother doubted the legality of breaking into Mr. and Mrs. Neighbor’s back yard and taking picture of the Very Demons From Hell Yappy #1 and Yappy #2, Z provided the artwork for today’s blog post.

The Object of My Fantasies

…or…On the Effects of Sleep Deprivation in Mothers of Toddlers.

I kept getting kicked in the head last night.

She’s really quite strong, my little Z.

And so, instead of a real blog post, I give you a quote from poet Maureen Owen:

…Some mornings it is cleansing
to lean from bed     lift the window     and scream     I HATE CHILDREN
into the lovely green yard.