Late night with children

It’s been a decade since we sold the baby bed. I have enough to do driving the family taxicab during the day without pulling the after-midnight shift of motherhood.
One evening recently, however a son returned from a day of mowing lawns with a swollen hand. “I can’t bend my fingers. I think a bug bit me.”
A call to the doctor resulted in, “Take two ice packs and call me in the morning if it isn’t any better.” I penciled ‘doctor’ into my schedule for the next day. The kid snuggled up to his ice packs and fell asleep.
With a sick one in the house, my mothering instincts woke to a digital clock cheerfully declaring it was 2:11 a.m. I walked down the hall, tiptoed into where he slept and touched his hand, it was cooler.
I was relaxing into blissful sleep when a knocking at my door was followed by a scared, “Mom, I don’t feel good.”
I sat up, glanced at my sleeping husband scheduled to leave early in the morning on a business trip. The red glow firmly declared it was 2:37 a.m. Let’s go out to the other room.”
We talked quietly, found a solution and sleep overwhelmed us both. As we headed for our respective bedrooms, I read a fiery red 2:51 a.m.
I was drifting off to the distant rumble of an approaching thunderstorm when my rain-sensitive sleeper came trembling into the bedroom, “I’m scared.”
“Go back to your room. We’ll talk in there.”
We talked. The fear left, the storm walker slept and I headed for my bed again. I didn’t take a flash of lightning for me to note the taunting red 3:34 a.m. as I collapsed into my pillow. Ahhh, sleep.
I was enjoying a delightful dream when a cat meowed in my ear, begging to be let out. I leaned out of bed and pushed up the lower bedroom window. The cat hopped onto the sill, looked at the wet ground the falling rain, put its tail up in the air and walked out past the angry glow of 4:17 a.m.
I dozed off only to be startled awake as my husband sat up, “Oh no! I should have left by now. I’m gonna be late.”
The clock was a sinister red 5:54 a.m.
Lights from a bathroom and closet followed the morning routine of shaving and dressing. I groggily wandered out to the living room to rest away from the activity.; As he left, he asked me to do something later that morning. I sleepily wrote myself a reminder and wandered back to my bed. The light of dawn was blessing the clock’s snickering reminder that it was 6:23 a.m. and time to get up. I didn’t care; all I wanted was sleep.
Sleep felt so good. I barely noticed when a young male voice boomed through the house, “Does the cat need to be let out?”
I opened one eye. “Probably. How is your hand this morning?”
“I can bend my fingers again.”
“Good I won’t have to take you to see a doctor.”
I crossed it off my list. But an innocent red glow reminded me it was 7:30 a.m. and I had several urgent errands that morning. I love my family. I don’t mind helping out, but sometimes I think I would love a good night’s rest more.