Thanksgiving 2003 was a memorable one. We were in the midst of moving from Utah to Colorado and checked in to a hotel room. Chaco and Wolfgang were elementary school-aged, and Meego was a toddler. We'd just arrived in town, and the bulk of our possessions were on a moving truck somewhere.
After getting settled at the hotel, we went to check out our soon-to-be new neighborhood. We made sure the keys worked in our empty rental house, then took the short walk to the elementary school to check out the all-important playground while the school was closed due to the holiday.
About halfway to the school, however, Wolfgang started to lag. This was strange as back-in-the-day Wolfgang would typically be leading the pack once the word "playground" was audibled. A quick once over determined that, yep, he'd come down with something.
By the afternoon, Wolfgang was feverish and languishing in the hotel bed. Everyone else was raring to get out and explore our new surroundings. Plus, it was Thanksgiving. What's to eat?
I "took one for the team" and stayed in the infirmary with Wolfgang while Magnum took Chaco and Meego out for exploration and dining. I don't remember where they went to eat, but Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant is a bit depressing to me anyway. As I recall, our hotel room had a mini fridge and I'd gotten some food to sustain us. Wolfgang and I probably had some sort of hotel room sandwich for Thanksgiving '03.
I do remember him sleeping a lot while I read the book, Holes, in its entirety. As I was out getting a few groceries earlier, I'd picked up the book to read while "holed up" at the hotel - it seemed fitting. Tightwad Thoughtful, caring mom that I was, I purposely selected a book that the whole family could read rather than something that would be particularly entertaining just for me. Note that this was before hotels had wi-fi, and you could just stream videos willy nilly.
So I read all about Stanley Yelnats digging holes at a desert boy's detention camp while listening to Wolfgang's febrile mumurings. Wolfgang had this thing - maybe he still does, dunno - where, when sleeping off a fever, he would talk in his sleep. A lot.
He never sleep walked, but he would sit up and talk about all kinds of things as if he were fully awake. His eyes would be wide open, and he'd look me right in the eyes and speak from some far off plane.
It wasn't often easy to "talk him down". In fact, I think most times, he just stopped on his own whatever schedule and would fall back to deeper sleep.
That day, the other guys eventually came back, and the room got a little more energized. Meego and Chaco were watching something on the TV when Wolfgang suddenly sat up, looked over at Chaco and said,
"Don't do it, Chaco!"
Don't do what? We all wanted to know. Wolfgang cleared it up for us as he was acting very protective of his pillow.
"Don't touch my pig!", he clarified, somewhat cradling the pillow.
"Wolfgang, you're dreaming", I told him .
He turned his head toward me, looked me right in the eyes, and said, "Okay".
Then he went back to glaring at Chaco, "Don't do it!"
This exchange repeated about three or four times, then was over as mysteriously as it had started. The pig apparently unharmed.
By the weekend, our moving truck had arrived, and Wolfgang was mostly over his mystery illness after a few more sleep rants in the new-to-us house. We did all end up reading Holes (which strangely includes an imperiled pig) together, and later, watched the movie. Probably because of that fateful book selection, none of our kids ever ended up n a boys' desert detention camp.
It was certainly a memorable Thanksgiving.
- We moved across state lines,
- We conducted a successful preemptive strike against the potential for any of our kids ending up in boys detention camp, and
- We preserved the safety of a beloved pig. Apparently
Eighteen years later, I'd say we have yet to top it.
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Linking up this week with Mama Kat for the prompt:
3. Write about a memorable Thanksgiving.
6 comments:
Oh lordie! Best story! Sleep talking is kind of frightening because the sleeping awake person is so lucid. My husband sleep talks. My son did when he was little. Demanding and determined to find the ball- "what ball" i asked, "The ball with the guts in it" like , "of course".
I am so relieved to hear that
Chaco did not harm the pig pillow. and that all managed to not do time digging holes in the desert. Whew, life is a close call every moment.
That is the best thanksgiving story ever! Heart you!
Sounds like it was a fun-filled and exciting trip for all concerned.
Mary once explained the story behind *Holes* as "It's *Stand By Me* with holes." Is that a fair description?
Now that's a thanksgiving. I was married to a man who did sleep walk Some of things he did were funny but also scary. When awake and I would tell him, only then was it funny. But the first time was a shocker right? I'm glad you can all eat something other than from a mini bar this year!
Linda Sue, Yes, so clear and lucid for someone who's asleep! Weird stuff.
John, it's been a while since I've seen either "Holes" or "Stand By Me", but yeah - similar. "Holes" involves the importance-of-friendship and common enemy theme, but has more comic relief than "Stand By Me".
Peggy, I think sleep walkers would freak me out. I have a friend whose husband sleep eats.
Oh my gosh I don't think our family would ever let the protective pig owner live that one down. So funny!
Kat, he pretty much hasn't lived it down. And whenever Chaco's about to do something risky, somebody chimes in, "Don't do it, Chaco!" in that purposeful pig protective voice. Wolfgang's the only one who doesn't remember.
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