Last night, at 2:30 am, Anna woke us up with a request to get re-covered with her blankets (not an uncommon request around here; our attempts to get her to do it herself have been largely unsuccessful), so I trudged wearily into her room, tired because (a) it is 2:30 am, a time that most of the world, myself included, think of as “the middle of the night” and (b) because I had stayed up too late reading this book (a fascinating read).

I tugged the covers up to her chin, started turning on my heel to trudge back to my own warm bed, under my own warm covers, when….it hit me. The smell. Oh no. I stuck my nose closer, sniffed. Stuck my hand under the covers to verify what I knew to be true. Urine. Damn.

“Umm, sweetie?”

“ungh!”

“Anna, sweetie…you need to get up. You peed in your bed.”

“No I DIDN’T!” she indignantly replied and tried to roll over, away from me as I moved to uncover her.

“NO! LEAVE COVERS ON! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

This is the point where Adam wakes up and yells, “What’s going on in there?”

“She peed,” I said, “but she doesn’t want me to change her or the bed.”

“(@*%^#*@&*! Listen to Mommy, Anna!” (edited for language).

And suddenly, the child who, just moments earlier, had been prepared to drift back into guileless sleep became a lean, mean, kicking and screaming machine.

“oof! Yowch! You. Have. To. Change. Your. PJs. I. Have. To. Change. Your. Sheets. No. Choice. MUST DO.”

“NOOO! I NO WANT TO DO THAT!” (as I strip her sopping wet pajamas and undies off of her flailing, writhing body)

“I WEAR MY PEE PEE UNDERPANTS! DON’T TAKE MY FAIRY PAJAMAS! I SLEEP IN PEE PEE PAJAMAS! GIVE THEM BACK!!!!”

Adam, true to his ability to remain completely comatose and non-functioning when tired, remains in bed and periodically shouts out commands (“Stop screaming,” “Change your clothes,”) and, when that fails, finally gets out of bed and attempts to persuade us both towards the lazy route: “Let’s just all go back to sleep in Mommy and Daddy’s bed and deal with all of this” –arms sweeping to take in the pile of wrinkled and disheveled sheets, blankets, pajamas– “in the morning, okay?” Ever hopeful, he offers Anna an encouraging smile. “Okay, Bird?”

“NOOO! I NO WANT TO SLEEP IN YOUR BED! I SLEEP IN MY BED WITH MY PINK SHEETS!” (Unfortunately, the “back up” pink sheets are in the washing machine–my bad–and the back up to the back up, a white sheet, is deemed completely unacceptable). In protest, Anna urinates, in dribbles, all over herself, a large section of her rug, and in a trail towards the bathroom. No urine actually makes it into the toilet. Not even a drop. It is like the pee gods are laughing at us right now. It feels like a calamity of Titanic proportions. Now I am really awake. I go into crisis mode and start ordering people around. Surprisingly, it (sort of) works.

“Anna. Take this washcloth and wipe yourself off. There are no more pink sheets right now so you are going to sleep on white sheets.”

“Adam. Get me some towels so that I can wipe up the floor. Help me strip the bed and make it up again.”

Finally, after what feels like an hour, but in actuality is probably closer to 15 minutes, we have cleaned floors and carpet, clean sheets and blanket on bed, cleaned child and clean underpants and pajamas. Everyone is tucked in, dry and warm and quiet. Anna (briefly and with minimal protest) asks for a book to be read to her (ha!) and is rebuffed. It is now almost 3 o’clock in the morning.

Lucky scratches to be let out; we exchange a glance, a look of understanding, both battle worn and weary (Lucky doesn’t like the screaming anymore than we do). I duck into the garage, start a load of laundry. It is immensely dark and dreary outside.

As I re-enter the house, I am aware of the sound of sleeping. Light snoring, intense quiet. I try for the same for myself but toss and toss and turn and turn, eventually resorting to a book and then, when that fails me, a snack. And then the internet, where I look at recipes, check in with Facebook, fire up my blogging program and then, empty of words, close it down again.

Eventually, at 6:45, I slip on my rain boots, murmur quietly to Adam that I will return shortly, and drive out, streets quiet and wet, to Lazy Acres, where I buy eggs and cream and bananas. I love the grocery store at 7 in the morning. So still and mellow.

Today I am in that weird space I get into when I’ve gotten little to no sleep. Contrary to what one might expect, lack of sleep doesn’t turn me slow as molasses, unable to function. On the contrary, my mind races. I plan and I execute those plans. Today I made chocolate mousse, two pans of lasagna (to freeze for later), a sheet pan of dinner rolls (all of this before 10 am).

The mind racing isn’t all pleasant. I find my brain wandering, time and again, to those thoughts that consume me in my dark times of anxiety (I think of it as a “flare up” of my mostly-under-control OCD–the therapy I underwent years ago helps prevent most full-fledged attacks but it comes back every once in a while). I imagine things, terrible and gruesome and scary things, over and over and over again and then…shake it out. I have to shake it out. Think of something else. Something else. Anything else. Do something. Do Something. DO SOMETHING. That is why I DO, when I’m tired and anxious and overwhelmed. Because if I’m not doing, I’m just sitting there, thinking, thinking those bad thoughts. I’d rather be doing.

And all because one small child wanted to be tucked back under her covers? No, it’s not her fault, I decide. If it wasn’t that, it would have been when I woke to pee, or Adam shifting in bed, or the dog’s loud snoring that woke me and drove me into these thoughts. It could have been anything.

Bottom line: tonight I have to sleep. Sleep is a must.