Last night was horrible.
Oscar has had trouble sleeping in the hotel room and was coming down with a cold which coalesced into the perfect storm at 3 am. He was awake, he wasn’t happy and he had some weird crazy energy fueling him. We were up with him trying to get him back to sleep. We gave up on the sleep scenario about an hour later and turned on ‘Alaska Bush People’ which should be renamed ‘the borderline intellectual functioning family goes into the woods’. Yikes.
As the baby cried and walked on our faces I pointed to the TV and said, “Look honey, we could be living with 7 of our adult children in a 100 sq foot sod house in the middle of Alaska – things could be worse!”
She was not buying my comfort.
About an hour later, the sun was up and so were the other boys. For various reasons they also got wound up and upset so that we then had three kids crying hysterically at a volume setting of 11.
Kaety came over to me and said something I couldn’t hear over the trio of screamers, I looked at her and said, “WHAT?”
She yelled, “HAPPY THANKSGIVING! LETS GET BREAKFAST DELIVERED!”
When you are standing in an endless tornado of hysterical children sometimes hope can become an UberEATS delivered waffle. We grabbed that hope like a drowning man grabs a floating log.
As Noble and I headed down to meet Laticia in her Jeep Cherokee the Bush People on TV were off the town to ‘get some women’. God help those women.
Breakfast came and the tornado of crying was still going on. The reasons for the crying had morphed into who got more strawberries and who got to eat in their bed and who didn’t. We shipped everyone off to Grammy’s room to create a cone of silence so that the overly tired drippy-nosed mess of a baby could sleep. The Bush People got turned off – it had stopped being entertaining and was now just a re-enactment of all the family court sessions we’d been to.
Just as he fell asleep one of the kids knocked on the door. Somebody’s something had been left behind and was required to sustain life as we knew it in Grammy’s room. The knocking messenger woke up the baby of course. Against all advice to the contrary, we shot the messenger.
We had finally lost it in Las Vegas.
