Spin

Friday, Xavier came down with a little cold -- no fever, just a little runny nose, not at all slowed down. We were invited to an outdoors birthday party, and we went even though the wind was blowing, the bathrooms weren't open yet (a trauma unto itself), and the playground had not been remulched, so it was dusty and -- probably -- moldy. And, of course, Xavier was imperceptibly sick.

Anyway, the kids had a great time, but that evening a thunderstorm swept up with lots of wind, hail, and lightning activity. Miranda was scared at first, but I kept saying, "Wow! Did you see that one? That was beautiful!" And, "Lightning reminds me of Christmas lights!" Xavier started jumping up and down, saying, "Lightning reminds me of fireworks!" And Miranda chimed in, "Thunder reminds me of drums!" And all was going pretty well ... until the power went out.

Even then, I tried to make it sound like an adventure when the kids had to go to bed with no nightlight (I ended up staying with them until Miranda fell asleep -- Xavier is a little braver and was able to carry on on his own.) Reading books with a flashlight was fun.

Still, after a delicious supper of peanut butter and crackers, my husband and I -- who have not quite adjusted to daylight savings time yet -- decided to call it a night around ten o'clock. Just then, we heard a noise at the top of the stairs that sounded like a barking seal: it was Xavier struggling to breathe.

We tried the usual treatment for croup -- hanging out in a steamy bathroom with the shower running -- thank goodness for gas-powered water heaters -- for a quite a while, but with no success. On top of the difficulty breathing, it was clear that Xavier had a tummy ache, and he was quite hysterical; no fever, though. We laid him down on the bed in our room and tried looking at him with the flashlight, but the flashlight has kind of a bluish cast of its own, so we couldn't tell if he was turning blue. We could see the skin sucking in around his ribs, though, and he still sounded like a barking seal, so we called the pediatrician, who said, "Take him into a steamy bathroom and -- oh, that didn't work? Take him to the emergency room, then."

I didn't want to scare Xavier any more than possible, so I asked him, "Xavier, would you like to go on an adventure with Mommy?" Wheezing, he nodded, so we put on his shoes, I loaded him into the back of the Civic (force of habit), Adam forced open the garage door, and we were off.

In the distance, we could see the lightning from another approaching storm, and Xavier kept pointing at it and saying, "Look, Mom -- lightning! It looks like -- wheeze! wheeze! -- Fireworks!" And, "We're on an aventure!" (That was not a mispelling, by the way.)

By the time we got to the hospital, the night air had done what the shower had failed to do -- calmed his wheezing -- but we were there, so I figured I'd better go through with it. It was now eleven o'clock, and in the four hours we were there, I had many the opportunity to rue this decision. Xavier had a grand old time, though -- waving at the teenaged girls, charming the over-fifty set, flirting with the nurses, begging for a drink or candy (refusals did not daunt him much). Even the saline breathing treatment -- which was done with a gas mask that looked like the muzzle of a dragon -- thrilled him ("Look, mommy! I turn into a dragon ... then back into a boy!") Still, around three o'clock, he was tired enough that the novelty was wearing off, so there were no complaints as I loaded him into the back of the Civic -- what was I thinking, bringing our two-door car? -- and headed home to where the power was still out, so I had to feed the cats and put Xavier to bed by flashlight.

The next evening, however, Xavier turned to me as I was putting him to bed, and said, "Mommy, I'm having trouble breathing. I think we need another aventure."

Nice try, kid, but I'd need a REALLY good reason to be hanging out at the hospital at three o'clock in the morning two nights in a row.