One Night in Crazytown: a Mother’s Tale (& a Martini)

With a downward facing dog and a fart, we were off! Destination: Crazytown.

It was our final night, after a busy few weeks visiting friends and family in the UK. Hubby had booked a hotel room at the Manchester airport. The idea was that it would not only make our early morning departure a bit less early but it would also be a nice way for the five of us to wind down after a very sociable few weeks.

The kids would have a bubble bath. We’d order room service and watch a movie. Best of all, we’d get a good night’s sleep and be rested and ready for our early start in the morning and the long day ahead.

This was the plan anyway. And this is likely how it would’ve gone down had Mini (age 4) not fallen asleep in the car on the way to the hotel..

When the time came to turn out the lights and go to sleep, Mini was just gearing up. The impromptu snooze and a handful of chocolate eggs had her completely wired.

With a large and mildly aggressive spread eagle, she claimed her sleeping position between Zed and Rose.

“Owwww. Mini!!!”

Mini laughed hysterically as her toes probed her sisters’ ribs.

We made a quick adjustment to our sleeping arrangements. Hubby crammed in some ear plugs, and he and Rose were set up for success. I, on the other hand, had sacrificed myself and was now sandwiched between Zed and Mini.

Zed tickled my back until she fell asleep. Not long after that, Mini farted while doing a downward facing dog.

This is when my time as the hostage of a 4-year-old yogi, began…

Overcome by giggles, Mini writhed like a crazed hyena. Then paranoia set in with ghost sightings and other random hallucinations.

The hours in which I was trapped in Crazytown were filled with dramatic ploys for attention and foiled attempts at emotional blackmail. They were also riddled with obstacles that Mini was forced to overcome and I to tolerate.

Her legs developed “sickness,” and monsters stared at her with their (fire detector) red eyes. She suffered a “weally, weally hot neck” which forced her to tear off her clothes. She even lost her vision for a few horrifying moments until tracing imaginary animals in the air brought her sight back. She whimpered, claiming that “For weal. In weal life” something was stuck up her nose. She blew her nose into the darkness of the night, in an effort to release it.

I got her some Kleenex while she looked out the window and apparently observed the earth up in the sky “all round, like a ball, with blue and green on it…”

She laughed some more.

She cried.

She whined and she lashed out.

If I rubbed her back, I was “elbowin’” her. If I said “shhhhhh,” I was mean. If I rolled over, she rolled even closer. She wiped snot on my shoulder and told me stories that starred her as the most “impo-tant” princess in the land.

I was hot and sweaty.

I was tired and trapped.

And then, without warning, she passed out, topless and with a furrowed brow.

Sometimes kids are like drunken fools: prone to outbursts of affection and belligerence, determined to entertain, endlessly needy and almost impossible to reason with.

Luckily, like drunks, all is forgotten in the morning.

But the circles under my eyes tell the tale of my night in Crazytown…

{This ‘Best of Blunt Moms’ post was first published in August 2014}