Dear Ferret Folks-

Here you mothers and grandmothers out there must have some pity for my
ignorance. While it is true that I can keep very small children from
killing themselves for long periods of time, I can keep them them fed
and entertained, and generally prevent mass household destruction at
their little hands, I am *not* a Mommy. Never have been. There are
Things Of Which I Have No Knowledge, such as night terrors. I am eight
years older than my little sister, and when she screamed in the night,
my parents dealt with it. I spend a great deal of time with my other
nephew, Alexander, but when he screams in the night, he does it in
another house. He's never done it *here*. This was an entirely new
situation for me, and I may be forgiven, I think, for imagining that
the incident was OVER when RJ threw himself back into the pillows in
disgust, and was silent. I gave him a kiss on the head, turned the
lights off, and I remember thinking "that wasn't so bad."

Ha.

And while I was crawling back into my warm bed, RJ, the toughest little
hombre ever to wear tights and pink plastic princess shoes studded with
fake gems was thinking about the bite mark on Uncle Danny's nose....the
shadows moving on the cieling....the sound of the wind outside....the
fact that he was sleeping in Ping's *bed*....and that he was under the
dominion of Auntie Alex, who was clearly out of her mind. It was *inna*
bed. Period.

I was juuuust falling asleep (again) when the awful crying began in
the next room once more. I thought to myself "his sister's child,
his turn." I rolled over and elbowed Uncle Danny (how could he sleep
through that, *twice*?) and explained the problem as concisely as I
could, because I knew my husband was not yet ready for complicated
information. He was initially very grumpy until it sunk in that I had
already tried, and failed to contain the situation. I hadn't just
elected him house psychologist once lights were out. I had already
made the cold trek out of the bed and back.

Uncle Danny gamely sat up and pulled on flannel PJ pants. His blonde
hair stuck up on top as if a porcupine were squatting on top of his
head, slightly off-center. His blonde pony tail looked as tired as the
rest of him. He had worked a very long day that day. Part of me wanted
to listen in and hear what Uncle Danny said to RJ, and part of me
wanted to stay beneath the warm blankets. Quickly making the decision
for me, the ancient reptile part of my brain calculated the temperature
outside of the covers in December in New England at 'X' distance from
the wood stove, expressed in BTU's. (British Thermal Units.) The number
was pitifully small, so I stayed right where I was, as Uncle Danny
headed for the guest room with it's now LOUDLY wailing guest....

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 5478]