Questions on my ceiling

Franklin and I have spent most of our parenting years "up most of the night".  And, as luck would have it, when the kids started sleeping through the night, we could not.  Our middle aged bladders have maxed out and we can not make it through the night without getting up to use the bathroom.

After I get up, go and get back in bed, there are always questions on my ceiling.  Similar to those projection alarm clocks that flash the time on your ceiling.  I am getting old, but I am not "there" yet to have one of those clocks.  Instead, I have my "questions on the ceiling".

Before all of the "DRAMA" the questions were, "what do I get everyone for Christmas, what kind of wrapping paper and what color ribbon, what will I make for dinner tomorrow, what about the left over rice I have in the fridge, should I paint the porch, when was the last time I changed the oil in my car?  You know, those kind of questions.

And then the drama.  Boy, the questions changed.  "is he safe, where is he, when will he come home, who is he with, is he in jail, in the hospital, why is he so angry, why does he hate us, will it change, will he ever change, have i changed, when will all of this change and go away, is he on drugs, what kind, where did he get them, why didn't I notice, how long has this been going on?"

Then summer camp came.  "is he safe, does he have a bunk mate, is the bunk mate named Bubba and is he after the button, is the button still so angry, is he getting in fights, will he ever speak to me again, what can I do, what shall we do, how do I do it, when do we do it, is it even possible, and when will I ever see the button at his best again."

Summer camp ends (thank goodness) and here comes the Land of Oz.  "is he safe, what are his room mates like, are they a good influence, is he learning anything, is he happy, will he make it, will he leave and take off and I never hear from him again, does he hate us, will we ever be re united, when, what can I do to help him from afar and does he know how much we love him and care about him and was this the right thing to do and when will we know if it was".

I really wish I was worrying about the color ribbon on the Christmas wrappings.

When Walker was in the "big class" at pre-school, he came home with the first paper ever, a horse, that he colored in with his name written on it.  First time ever he wrote his name on a paper. 
Franklin and I would have sworn he was a genius.  That was until I saw the other classmates handwriting.  I knew then, "Houston, we have a problem."  Yep, he was a little behind.  I swear I didn't sleep for weeks over that and just worked myself into a tizz.

Some nights I listen to my husband breathing, that deep sleep breathing and I am so envious.  About the time I finally drift off I hear his Barney Rubble feet hit the floor and I know that his time "question and answer" time is next.

If you are a parent, and you are up doing the same thing, call us.  We still don't know all the questions and we sure as hell have found the answers yet.