Pumpkin-Head

FINALLY,  I am sitting in my bed, watching Desperate Housewives.  I have just escaped from the noise and confusion of downstairs, and made it safely to the haven of my bedroom with my laptop, the newest edition of Oprah magazine, a Tervis Tumbler of ice water, and 6 Brach's Mellowcreme pumpkins.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.  And again.  Breathing in the good, breathing out the bad.  I am two days post-migraine. . .  badness, be gone!

It was noisy down there.  And I'm the first to admit that this is the pot calling the kettle black, or at least a very dark shade of navy.  I am a noisy girl.  I escaped football (which I really do love) and headed to the basement to watch television in the cool darkness, and then down stomped the children for a ping-pong tournament.  Ping-pong is. . .um. . . loud.  There was a Jenga tower collapse, iTunes playing on the computer, and more television.  Even Abby doing the dishes seemed extraordinarily loud.  I was grateful for her help.  I kissed her on the cheek, and it echoed in my head.

Sam went to bed after hugs all around.  One down, two to go.  Although, I was fairly certain I would be next anyway.

Obviously, I am in need of one last painkiller and a good night's sleep to fix this final day of coming down from the pain.  "And a back rub," I told Adam.  He agreed, since I spent a good part of the day updating his iPhone since I happen to be good at that kind of stuff.  More noise, more screens, more buttons.  Ergh.

Why is Sam back downstairs?

     "All of the continents are falling off of my Earth balloon.  South America fell, and then Antarctica.   The label for the Arctic Ocean fell off, too, but I stuck it back on."  He is holding the construction paper continents in his hand.  
     "We can fix it all tomorrow, Sam.  Put the continents on your dresser and I will help you glue them tomorrow."
     Off he went, with the whole world in his hand, or much of it, anyway.

     It was 8:44.  I knew I needed to scat to bed if I was to have any time alone upstairs before everyone came loudly upstairs.  A mad rush to gather my things.  Water, magazine, computer, purse, and a quick dip into the bag of pumpkins that most everyone thinks are gross except me.   Post-headache, I can't think clearly.  I want 6 pumpkins.

     Here's the thing about my stupid headaches.  I hate them, clearly.  I didn't feel well on Thursday, and I took some pain medicine, thinking, "something's coming."  And then it did.  Did I cause it to happen?  There are days I talk to my mom and she'll say, "Do you have a headache?" and I say, "No, why?"  And then about 2 hours later I get one.  She says she can tell by the way I'm speaking or acting.  I should try to use my mom like a headache Ouija board--you know, call her to find out when and where the headache will strike so I can use preventative methods, or at least, hideout and be prepared.

     Jono is ransacking his room for clothes, I can hear it.  I hope his baseball pants are clean because God knows I'm not going back downstairs.  I checked on Sam and he's sleeping with his head at the foot of his bed, Earth balloon dangling from the curtain rod.  Abby is asleep, and Adam will be upstairs in exactly 4 minutes, because that's the way he rolls.

It was noisy for a while.  It was peaceful for a while.  And now it's bedtime.

Good night stars, good night moon
Good night iTunes, good night Earth balloon :)