The Case of Returning Children

You know you have achieved empty nest freedom when you can sleep through the night without getting up for a 2:00 am feeding.  Or in the middle of a dead sleep you are awaken by the sound of dinner being upchucked all over the newly painted wall.  Or as you softly slumber a teenager pokes you in the forehead because the cat is afraid of the thunder.  Then the children (now adults) come home for a visit.

All three of my wonderful children had been home for a few days of slave labor, bonfires, marshmallow toasting, and just fun.  Nicole stayed a few days longer than her brother and sister.  She has never been one to sleep well.  She'd roam the house like a zombie on his last night, moving do-dads, eating goodies while leaving a trail like Hansel and Gretel, waking me up to let me know Robby had missed his curfew.  Obviously things had not changed.

I awoke to an insistent tapping on the bedroom door.  "Mom, Mom!"  The screaming whisper propelled me out of bed so as not to wake Doug.  He, of course, could sleep through child "emergencies."

Stumbling into the dining room I drowsily asked Nicole what was so important at 12:30 am.

"There's something in the heating vent!  I hear it scratching!"

"I have lived here for nearly two years, dear Nicole.  There are no ghosts.  Anywhere!  Go to bed and sleep!"

"Sshhh!"  She commanded like a drill sergeant.  "Hear it?  I think it's a bat."

Sure enough, there was scratching coming from the heating vent on the floor.  We tip-toed closer and listened.  It was then the noise got louder and closer.   My angel wings propelled me back so fast I crashed into the dining room chair.  "Shut the vent!  Shut the vent!"

Brave Nicole slammed the vent closed before the offending noise could charge out at us. 

"It's probably a mouse.  We've had mice in the house before.  We can keep the vent closed and he will go back to where he came from," I rationalized. 

It was after we almost needed rescuing from the uninvited intruder that Doug appeared.  Nicole filled him in on what was happening declaring adamantly it was a bat.  "I saw it's head with my flashlight.  I feel sorry for him stuck in that vent."

Would she really feel sorry for him if he whipped out of the vent, attacked her red hair, and flew off with it?  If indeed it was a bat.  Which, of course, it was not.

We all held our breath as Doug opened the vent.  We turned blue.  We had to gasp for air.  No noise came out of the vent. 

"Let's all go back to bed.  There is nothing in that vent but imagination,"  Doug proclaimed. 

After a peaceful night sleep I joined Doug in the kitchen.  He was sipping his coffee admiring the snow covered landscape.  I brewed my tea as Doug wandered up stairs.  It was then the small brown mammal hanging on the curtain of the door caught my eye. 

A bat!

Did I yell at Doug or would this awaken the bat and he would attack my hair?  I tried to whisper loudly.  "Doug!  Doug!"  He didn't hear.  I tried to screech softly.  "Doug!  Doug!"  Then I plain out screamed.  "DOUG!"

Once again Doug came to my rescue.  Forgoing his coffee, he donned thick work gloves and a heavy towel.  I convinced him despite his close-to-the-head haircut, he needed a hat.    He efficiently snatched up the bat and threw it outside.  Bat story over!

The moral of this story is your children do grow up.  They still wake you out of a dead sleep.  But sometimes they do know what they are talking about.