1.57 a.m. and all is not well

I am not at my best at 2 a.m.

But when I hear the words, "Mommy, I threw up," I do my best.

The first thought that springs into my barely awake mind: I hope she's OK.

Second thought: Wow - it is the middle of the night. And I am too tired to think straight.

Third thought: Oh, please please please, tell you made it to the bathroom.

She did. Thank goodness. Which meant all I had to do was get her settled back in bad. She brushed her teeth, I got a pan to put next to the bed. Just in case.

I returned to bed. Where I lay awake for what felt like hours. I know it was until at least 3 - I glanced at the clock. I composed e-mails in my head, made mental notes of things I need to do. But I didn't ever sleep well.

So this morning was slow. I let her sleep, but she decided at 9 that she felt better and wanted to go to school - she was disappointed that she no longer has perfect attendance. Me? I'd love an extra day off. She was my excuse to hang out, watch movies all day.

My own mother never, ever let on that she was tired or frustrated or even slightly weary when I would wake her up in the middle of the night. She would change the sheets without a word of complaint. I try to live up to this example.

Today, she's all better. She is skipping soccer practice - under the circumstances, this was my recommendation. But she can go to Brownies.

I'm just glad it's nothing serious. And I'm hoping for a better night's sleep tonight.