It was that black-hole time of night. After I'm finished eating dinner and I try to clean up a little bit, and the kids insist they're still hungry but they're actually ducking under the table and throwing food when my back is turned. And I needed to put the laundry that was soaking in the basin in the washing machine so I could put the children in the basin, and everyone wanted to "help" me and this is really only a one-person job. I caught Buttercup throwing clothes pins in the washing machine along with the clothes, which would certainly ruin them, so that was it for her: up she went. The big kids had to clean up a few things in the main room and I was wrapping Buttercup and running a bath. Emerson whined that he didn't know what to clean and I suggested he mop up the water since it was suspiciously wet under the table. Our whole apartment floor is tile, which gets dangerously slippery as soon as it's wet, and the kids are always running and falling down and landing on their bums and crying. Emerson got really excited about mopping, and he was trying to stick the mop under the bath water that I was running and I was trying to convince him not to, and then I was trying to convince him that I wanted him to mop UP the water, not mop MORE water all over. Meanwhile Buttercup had a toy cell phone by my head that she was talking on and banging around and whining, and Hibiscus was interpreting "clean up" as meaning she should put her back on a couch pillow on the ground and push herself around with her feet, which (obviously) involved a lot of screaming and strange noises, so I had one ear out to hear if there was a genuine problem. Emerson came back for more mop water, and I followed him out of the bathroom telling him that he wasn't supposed to be mopping at all, someone could fall. Well, he already had, and it turned out he had just mopped our illogical three giant stairs between the bathroom and the rest of the apartment. And my feet went right out from under me and I crashed down the stairs.
The older kids were both in the bedroom, near the stairs, and I saw their faces turn to surprised horror as they realized I really was falling, that Mama isn't magical and can't stop all the disasters. I must have hit all the steps on the way down, because there were several crashing feelings and it took a little while. Buttercup started screaming bloody murder and I didn't know if she was hurt, and I must have cried out too. As soon as Hibiscus saw us crashing, she collapsed on the bed and started screaming as though all the pain were inside her body, too; she flapped her hands and bounced and writhed and waved her head. Emerson's face fell in fear and guilt as he suddenly connected the dots about the mopping and slipping. I think he felt too bad to cry, which at least was less noise. Oh, and Hibiscus was also screaming "I telled him no for mopping da stairs, I telled him no for mopping!" (which she didn't, she was busy being upsidedown on her pillow, but I understand the sentiment).
I think I said something to them, or several somethings. And then all the pain hit me. I very rarely cry out loud, as I just feel better holding my breath in, but I ended up on my hands and knees, crying. Which of course made the kids even more distraught, but sometimes -- what can you do?
I have a giant bruise and scrape on one arm, from the heel of my hand all the way to my elbow. It was bright purple and swollen almost an inch up by the time I looked at it, a few seconds after the fall. I have another bruised patch on the very lowest part of my back, taking up about half that area, not as swollen but already purple and scraped. Both my wrists are painful and tweaked, like I tried to break my fall with them. The hurt arm is, naturally, the right one (and I'm right-handed), and since the entire muscle is so bruised, using the muscle at all pulls at the pain. I thank God so much that I don't think Buttercup was hurt at all, at least not hurt in a way that leaves marks, although she must have gotten a good bump.
I finally managed to get the kids to stop screaming, and stood there, just shaking in pain. This is the point when you think "who can I call to get the kids ready for bed because I can NOT manage it?"
And this is the point where there is no one to help and you just have to do it.
First of all, I got out ice and a bag and a washcloth, and ibuprofen -- even just using my hands for those little actions hurt like crazy. And Emerson, now crying in guilt, was trying to be "helpful" by doing things like re-filling the ice cube tray with water before I was done with it, and spilling water all over because he was shaking, and Hibiscus was "helping" by telling me there was one more ice cube left in the corner there -- get that one, mama, look look there right there get that one let me bang it for you ----. Since she wasn't hurt, I am so thankful that Buttercup was already wrapped up, because I couldn't have managed any more "help" at that point!
Then I tried to convince the kids that I didn't need to go to the hospital, and that they needed to get ready for bed. They are old enough to complete many of the physical bedtime chores, and they are old enough to understand that there was a reason that I couldn't do it for them, and they are old enough to feel guilty and want to help out. They are not old enough to put all those thoughts into action. There was a lot of wandering around in the wrong rooms and crying about taking a bath first and fighting about who was going to have their teeth brushed first even though I wasn't actually brushing anyone's teeth.
And then the power went out.
They were both in the bathroom and I was in the main room, and they both started to cry and I told them to stay where they were but they didn't. And just as I got everything out and got the candle lit, the power went on again and Hibiscus blew out the candle although I told her not to. Because a minute or so later, the power went out again and I had to start with lighting the candles all over again. And Hibiscus went to helpfully put
her dirty clothes in the hamper, like I told her to, but she brought the candle along with her and placed it on the floor while she tossed clothes over it. Briefly. I am once again glad our apartment is so dang small and they cannot easily be out of sight!
We got everybody ready. Except for Buttercup, who was quiet in the wrap, except for occasionally saying "mama big owie" in a worried voice. She gets her bath in the morning, and I thought she could live the night without getting her teeth brushed, so I just kept her up there out of the way until diapers and pajamas and read books.
And of course they managed to argue even more than usual about the reading books. Hibiscus picked out three and insisted those were the books for tonight, but Emerson hadn't picked his yet and when he contributed it Hibiscus kept trying to put all of hers in my lap first. Usually I have been sitting propped in bed, with Buttercup on my chest and one child on either side. But since I had to keep ice on my arm, I couldn't put anyone on my lap or my arms around anyone either. Hibiscus started off generously holding Buttercup on her lap, but Buttercup actually wanted to snuggle up next to me instead of being flung around on her sister's lap, which meant that Hibiscus would have to be an entire six inches away from my body, which was totally unacceptable and required a great deal more crying. The prelude to the crying was pushing and yelling, which got sleepy, quiet, wrapped-up Buttercup all awake and lively again. And I couldn't do anything to stop them, not even move over six inches, since I was balanced precariously on the pillows so nothing was pushing on the giant bruise on my back. Oh, but the power was on again.
The end of the story.... they're all asleep. And I either need a new pair of hands by tomorrow -- I can take mine off at the elbows until they heal -- or it's going to be a very long day.
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