A Dark and Stormy Night

         Thunder rumbles overhead. The lights flicker. I really should log out and turn off the computer. The pungent aroma of chicken wafts into the computer room. I forgot about the soup stock! I wade through a sea of Lincoln logs, puppets, and dolls. "Ouch!" The sharp edge of a Lego penetrates the outer skin of my foot. The injured area stings slightly as I tear the white flap of skin off. Was that doll laughing at me? Couldn’t be. I’ve been reading too much Doll People.*

         My sore feet welcome the cool tile as I step into the hallway. In the kitchen, I am greeted by a cloud of steam. My runny nose appreciates the humid atmosphere. I turn off the burner and pull the pot soup bones aside. The remains of the chicken carcass rises out of the sea of stock like an island mountain. It smells so good, I’ve just got to test it. Ohh, that’s good, Ow! The liquid gradually runs down my esophagus, burning the entire way. I’ll separate the bones after it cools a bit. Now it’s time to finish that review I was working on.

         Thunder booms again and rain pounds at the window. I glance out the window into the street. The corner light shows the water raging like a whitewater river. A flash of lightening leads another peal of thunder through the air. I catch a brief glance of the trees, nearly bent in two by the pounding wind. I really do need to shut down the computer.

         As I pass the girls’ room, I stop and flip on the hall light. The soft beam illuminate my four beautiful angels resting on their beds. The four-year-old snores. I brush aside her mass of blonde curls. Her forehead is hot. I thought she was getting over it. She's resting well, so I decide not to wake her to give her medicine. Another peal of thunder awakens my two-year-old and she whimpers. I pat the sparse, wispy strands of hair on her hot head. “It’s okay Princess, go back to sleep.” She rolls over and I tip-toe out of the room, turning off the hall light.

         Another thunder crash draws me to the task at hand. I really need to get this computer turned off. The yellow web page entices me as I sit down. I’ll just read this last post, it’ll be okay. The wind rattles the door, but the rain is slowing.

                A sniffle catches my ear. My two-year-old patters across the carpet, sleepily navigating the mass of toys. She climbs into my lap and runs her nose across my shoulder to dispose of the accumulated snot. She sits side-saddle and rests her head on my chest. Not enough cushion. She maneuvers around to straddle my hips. Her head falls to my shoulder where it rests momentarily. Alas, my typing and moving the mouse jostle her tired head too much. She reaches out and grabs my arm with her pudgy hand, repositioning it to her back. I hold her like this a few minutes until she decides to shift positions again. She stands on my legs and her bony little heels dig harshly into my thighs. She looks at me with her red, puffy eyes overflow with tears as if to say, “Make it better, Mommy!”. She sits back down side-saddle, squirming around until she is comfortable. Her head falls to my forearm and soon drops heavily to her chest. I lean her back and watch as her breathing evens out through the clogged sinuses.

              Thunder peals in the distance. The storm has passed.


*Doll People is a y.a. novel, beautifully written by Ann Matthews Martin, revealing the secret lives of dolls.