Flying the Coop

to fly the coop-to leave somewhere

They make Infant Tylenol. They make Children's Motrin. You'd think a little Baby Ambien would be in high demand. At least then, I may have come home from my once-a-year-better-make-it-count "Mom's Night Out" to soundly sleeping kids, complete with flying little z's streaming from their heads, instead of the wall-bouncing, bed-jumping monkeys I found hanging from the ceiling looking like they had just been in a boxing match...actually, that was just Lily who, not wanting to be shown up by her sister, decided a good head banging was on Daddy's Babysitting menu for the night. (I mean, it has only been what, all of a month since her last incident? It was high time...) Although I wasn't there, I think it went something like this:

3 little kiddies jumping on the bed
Lily fell forward and hit her head
Daddy called the doctor (thankfully in the next room)
and the doctor said: No more kiddies jumping on the bed!

As luck may have it, good ol' Doctor Zizi Owl was on Liam-duty and able to treat the damaged left eye to half a band-aid and a shot of "nulk." And just for the record, my maternal instincts kicked in only long enough to chase it with a teaspoon of Infant Tylenol, which in some cases does act a little like a sleep aide...thankfully, this was one such case. A little Tylenol makes a swollen little eye feel a little better...apparently that helps a little person get a little sleep. And then, after completing the evening with the magical powers of a mommy hug and kiss, I was overcome by a huge sense of relief because the little incident DIDN'T HAPPEN ON MY WATCH! YES! Finally...

And in case my sweet, dear hubbie thinks this will make me less-likely to go out in the future, think again. As much as I love watching Lily perfect the breaststroke in the sand, or help Madeline sort through her bucket of carefully collected LIVE SNAILS, or argue with Aidan over whether or not he can see a smell, every mom needs to fly the coop ever so often, to pave the path for the kids to do the same later (or is it just for a shot of sanity and a dose of adult conversation?) The only difference is, unlike my children in their future "adulthood, here I come" days, I'll always find my way back home. I mean, someone has to remember to dispense the meds!

And the next morning...I found Lily, singing a little something like this:

"In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains."